The Late Awakening
I woke up
Very late in the day,
Having lived in a haze,
All the way.
An obedient child,
A submissive wife,
An indulgent mother.
Life, a dream
In an uneasy sleep,
Where I was a zombie.
In the evening,
Alone and lonely,
(Having time to ponder)
I realised the blunder,
Of having never lived
For myself.
poem by Renu Beri
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Born at Death
‘Born at death! ' Hark! the piercing cry of freedom.
Emancipation from the restrictive bonds of the womb of life,
A devious, dark hole of exhausting responsibilities,
Social arrogance and moral instability.
Man, an innocuous, insignificant, weightless thistledown,
Blown in every possible direction of desire,
Driven along the narrow by-lanes of hope,
Carried down the dark, meandering river of destiny,
Panting up the steep, rough hillock of endeavour,
Finally emerging from the dark hole,
Liberated into the bright light of eternity,
A bodiless, glimmering soul.
poem by Renu Beri
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A Mother's Fear
Memories,
Of a bundle
Of innocence
God blessed me with.
Fear,
Grasped my heart
The day
My daughter was born.
Will
She be loved
By those
She herself deeply loves.
Can
She bravely endure
The tests
Set down by Fate.
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poem by Renu Beri
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The Life History of The Little Flower
The delicate petals fanned the tiny flower,
Waking fragrantly after the nudging shower,
Shyly it peeped around the beautiful bower,
Not realising its immense power of attraction.
Its quaint face and vibrant eyes,
Made onlookers feel grateful and wise.
Emotions, spirits and thoughts nobly rise,
In appreciation of the aesthetics of nature.
It looked at the sun and the shadowy moon,
Not knowing it would miss them soon.
Life is so brief. It was getting to be noon.
But that did not dismay the flower at all.
A bee saw it from the corner of its eye,
Skilfully it zoomed down closer to pry,
Lighting on the flower with spirits high,
It soon zoomed away with its fill of nectar.
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poem by Renu Beri
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My Head Bent Low and My Eyes Filled With Tears
My head bent low and my eyes filled with tears,
Drops of self-pity, not pearls of compassion.
Had I not procrastinated but acted in time,
I could have saved an isolated human life,
Reduced the unhappiness of a tortured soul,
Relieved the pain of a suffering heart.
I remember noticing her everyday from my window,
A diminutive figure dressed in a worn out sari,
Her head neatly covered with the end of her drape,
Slowly sweeping the fallen leaves into a heap
Finally lighting a bonfire of the dead leaves.
On the second of every month she stood before me,
Her rough hand outstretched, large eyes lowered,
I put in her hand a meagre reward for her labour.
Sita, my impudent maid, knew her fairly well.
A lonely, childless soul, abandoned by her husband
Driven out of the home she had struggled to set up.
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poem by Renu Beri
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The Year 2113
Year 2113,
Blazed the bill-board.
In the city named Earth
Moved about young people.
No senior citizens, no babies,
Only the youth; born young,
From birth tubes.
Human beings inhabit Earth,
In perfect harmony with the elements,
Made consistent by them.
No morning rush for office,
No monotonous household chores.
Everyday, for a few hours, one works,
On one's personal Super Computer,
The rest of the day is one's own to spend.
One would think they enjoy life to the full,
But they are busy bees in search of time
To add to their allocated twenty-five years.
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poem by Renu Beri
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