A Love Affair that began in Childhood
On that November noon, as we drove in
To my home town, at the foot of Shivalik hills.
I realised, why it is so close to my heart,
This is where my parents gave me a start.
So many fond memories come rushing in.
It seems yesterday I was a kid creating din.
My nephew who had got posted to my town,
Urged me, Aunt why don’t you come down.
Saying, he had waited to see the city,
And through my eyes, built memories
I recall he was tall, lanky and all of ten,
When he came for my wedding celebrations.
Now he is a renowned heart surgeon,
Kind, compassionate and a genial person.
I rang him when a family wedding took me there,
Well son, let me show you around now that I am here.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Speaking Trees! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
It was an eight hour transatlantic flight
Airborne, glanced down from 36,000 feet height.
On route back home, in economy comfort, seat belt tied.
Stretched my legs, studying fluffy clouds gently glide.
This had been my first trip to Europe in winter.
As I landed at dawn, though well clad, shivered.
Amsterdam was just beginning to wake up.
To keep myself warm I sipped hot water from a cup.
I saw the canals, windmills as we drove on the highway.
Captivated, thought am really going to enjoy my stay.
Landscape though barren was kind of serene.
I saw some lamas quietly graze in the fields.
The houses with windows dressed, looked so pretty.
With flowers and foliage as if it was mandatory.
Folks were walking their dogs in the lanes and parks.
Top to toe clad in woollens, gently nudging as dogs bark.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Mam Walks The Streets
That old man near the traffic light
Was expelled from home at midnight.
He walked away steady on his feet.
And made his home on Delhi streets.
My driver whispered in a resigned tone.
I looked up putting down my mobile phone.
He carried on his shoulder a jute bag,
And in his hand a clean yellow rag.
As the traffic light blushed red,
The driver to stop compelled.
The old man near the traffic light,
Asked the driver –may I wipe?
He had a gentle voice and even stride,
Erect back and manner polite and mild.
Now this was his new means of livelihood,
He hoped to be paid to pay for some food.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Celebrating Women's Day! ! ! ! !
When God sat down to make a woman
He gave her empathy love and compassion,
By the time he finished with her
He had no more left for the man.
He gave her the ability to be a mother
And nurture and take care of others.
Slowly, on reflecting, it dawned on her
She was being treated like a piece of furniture.
At first she resigned to her fate
Bore the indifference of her progeny and mate.
Slowly she realised she didn’t have to be a victim,
And didn’t have to be at the mercy or everyone’s whims.
She knew it was not going to be an easy battle to be won,
Yet she took on everyone.
She began to firmly express her views
And waited to get her due.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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