Real Treasure
When did you last see a rainbow?
I asked my son, I really don’t know.
Have you seen frogs during the rains?
They were a familiar sight on our lawn and lane.
What about the fire flies?
No mom he uttered with a sigh.
I am sure you have seen butterflies?
Oh yes, in Kuala Lumpur, in butterfly park, I don’t lie.
Have you seen a moonlit sky at night?
I have no time after a hard day’s grind.
Have you ever watched the dawn?
No mom, he replied with a yawn.
On a crisp winter noon, have you felt the warmth of the sun?
Where is the time I am always on the run.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Who is the Teacher
What would life be
Without colours?
“I have no clue
What they look like”
Said Pushkar.
I have been
Blind
Since I was three.
His calm face
And confident pace
Showed his total
Acceptance.
He had an acute sense
And sometimes
While reading
To him
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Step out of comfort zone! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
I lay,
He came
The mask slipped
Unabashedly cried.
He looked with soft hazel eyes,
Slipped his hand into mine.
Passed me a face tissue
And a tumbler of water.
And gently said
Come, get up
Need some fresh air
And a long drive over
The expressway.
Guess what,
Mustard fields
Await you for
Your yearly tour.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A visual treat good enough to eat! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Purple red cherries
Visual treat arranged by hawker,
Tightly nestled in
Card board boxes.
Enticed from afar…
Fresh from cool hills
Of Nainital.
Madam, only for connoisseurs.
After haggling
Settled over a price.
Couldn’t wait to wash,
Held one with tender green stalk
It brushed against my lips,
Sensuously tickling my
Taste buds; ripe for a bite.
Before I knew, the bowl
Was almost, empty.
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Night Jasmine- Tree of Sorrow
Mild, balmy breeze,
Hauntingly fragrant
With Night Jasmine.
A small evergreen tree,
Twinkling
With ivory white flowers
In my garden,
Resplendent at night,
Like the star
Studded sky.
Before the day breaks,
The tree silently sheds
Its crowning glory
On Mother Earth’s breast.
To pay homage
In all humility.
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When I Fly
I really feel it’s a pity
I have to live in a city.
I feel a sense of unrest
And discontent.
The sensory distractions,
So called attractions
Cause a feeling of fatigue
And a sense of ennui.
When I fly so high
I hear myself sigh,
And the white clouds drifting by
In the azure sky
Fill me with peace.
And put my frayed nerves at ease.
With my eyes glued to the outside view,
And distractions a few,
I forget I am in a plane.
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A Wish
A friend
Stoically said,
I wish
My son would die
While I am alive.
I looked at her
in disbelief,
And saw the anguish
And grief in her eyes.
I lie,
Sleepless at night
In torment and fright.
How will he cope
When I am no more
And
He is all alone?
I sensed her pain
And reached out for her hand.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Road Less Travelled
I was called a rebel
And always raised hell.
When asked to conform,
And meekly perform
Like other girls did,
And stop acting like a kid
I defiantly said,
While lying in my bed,
I wanted a life,
And not just be a wife
Mother and daughter,
I added with laughter.
I chose to wear blue,
And hated pink and all its hues.
I loved climbing trees
And the feeling of being free.
I opted for as I grew,
Subjects of which no one had a clue.
I did opposite of what I was told
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Portulacca
As soon as I open my eyes,
I quietly rush to the balcony,
And watch with bated breath
As the Sun rises.
Dainty Portulacca come to life,
As if to say Hi.
In their vibrant hues and colours:
Yellow pink, red and orange flowers,
In small pots lined in a row,
Full of light and glow.
Enchanted, I watch them for a while
And feel happy and smile.
As I gently spray them with showers,
I am filled with a sense of wonder.
How these delicate flowers can be so sturdy,
And keep blooming despite hot dry winds,
Which makes us humans wilt,
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Can it be.. Flowers can Speak
Can it be…
Pansies are clairvoyant?
I had an uncanny feeling
On a bright sunny day
At the end of December,
When winter is at its peak,
As I went for a walk
In an immaculately
Laid out park.
I saw rows and rows
Of flower beds
With lush, velvety Pansies.
In hues and shades
As vibrant
As on the colour wheel
Nodding away
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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