The Good, The Bad And The Ugly
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY
Women tend to be shy of admitting their age
And try to forget as they slip beyond thirty five
Daunting feelings that their innings are over
LBW'ed men are peeping into somebody's splendor
Those Barbie dolls are now Rugby balls
The nature has redeemed the charms it pawned
Sweet, cute, juicy and wonder girls
Are stunned in defeat, at their abrupt fall
Blush-ful faces have dried up in patches
Glossy skin is dull in scratches
The smiles they sported have dimmed as past
Stress and strain have pulled them down faster
Whatever be the causes, there is a class of men
Who, in private, admire at those ripens
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Busy Lovers' Guide - Mud - Horse Heroes
BUSY LOVERS' GUIDE - MUD-HORSE HEROES
I used to scribble always
since my college days.
a few of my close friends
used to ghearo me often
urging me to write
in sweet terms, love letters
running to pages, all trash
to decoy their innocent lovers
posing themselves as literal master
Likewise, I had sinned several times
and with borrowed bricks, cement and mortars
all were thriving high and fast
but riding always on the mud, dumb horse
giving no chance to the other-side
of the chain of foul plays involved
But, I must be the most worst idiot
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Self-willed Hero
We heard that you are rushing to marry
STOP a while - to listen to our bad story
Too late, that our advice won't catch and carry
all set and ready, you seem to be madly in a hurry
We are already battle-slain and are in a quandary
Beaten, twisted and squeezed just in a laundry
our finer originality lay abandoned at the boundary
we stay reduced merely as our mistresses sentry
we, husbands, are the dignified bonded-labourers
dressed up asses without passions or valour
wicked wives and their wretched ways
you have to be henpecked to buy sex and peace
you are too young and look very handsome
pushed to this ring on a paltry ransom
to try your head inside a big lion's jaw
lion is merciful, but she tramps you under her paw
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Mona Lisa
MONA LISA
All through the days of the week
Double-busy with my table work
I can return home little earlier, but
Have to sit with my son's homework
And if I am really free at home
My kind wife would order some jobs for me
Dusting the windows, cleaning the ceiling,
Washing the gas-stove and scrapping the sump clean
But for her duties as merely a housewife
She keeps a servant full-time on all meals basis
Just as a ‘mistress' she does only supervise
With her starched Kota sarees' crease never shuffling
Scientists make bombs but politicians use it
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poem by Santhana Louis
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The Paper God
ON A maiden VISIT TO OUR PLANET,
Old and bearded god once slipped and fell down
-not used to quick running at a zebra road -crossing
Someone behind helped him to the side walk and soda water
God was happy and thanked that ‘living Samaritan'.
a few yards as he had passed-by and it pinched him to pause
Only to realize that in the melee he had lost
The purse and all cash and credit cards he carried
‘clever Samaritan's charge for the services just lent
God was vexed and sent a SOS to His Father
To send Him a V-SAT MO - care of local GPO
The money promptly arrived, but was politely declined
on the grounds of lack of identity and for the want of a known surety
How our GOD would have felt of the universe, that He only has made
If the ‘Maker' himself is not spotted, identified or heard
Melted into the crowd as His mission was so aborted
Dear friend….. please watch out
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Two Bicycles
when I was a little boy
of 14 years of age,
I desired to have a
‘Admiral' small 18' bicycle
to attend school,
roughly 4 kms. away.
promise after promise,
for every Christmas and birthdays,
yet, the cycle never turned up
my school days, were by then over
I joined a college hostel in a small town
Fees, books, dress, hostel deposit and allied
my father had paid them all, without any murmur
at the end of the degree course, I passed out with distinction
joined the bank at a remote village, as cash-cum-accounts clerk
by the grace of bank, festival advance Rs.150-
cycle advance of Rs.300
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Love L O S T
LOVE LOST
I missed the Fantasy
of LOVE
when I was of prime age
aptly, my friend hinted once
that I have lost
50% of charms of life….
……….his statement was perhaps true !
for, I was poor, simple
and of very ordinary looks
quite unfit for sweet little talks
in cheap cotton pants
on to it un-ironed shirts
in faded dhoti and Hawaii chappal
and with rationed pocket money, on hand
even the poorest girl
could not have liked me in -
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poem by Santhana Louis
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A Begging Saint
A BEGGING SAINT
JOSPHINE, now 63
lame and invalid, by birth
at the gates of Eda Street,
St. Mary's Rosary Church -
crawling by her palms
for her essential movements,
eking out a living on the meagre alms,
Unnoticed -
still by a majority of worshipers
I have been watching her
for the past 40 odd years
at the same spot
in the same rags
and in the same state
no traces of noticeable changes
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poem by Santhana Louis
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NSS (Training in Social Service at college level)
NSS (Training in Social Service at college level)
Radiant faces in Pantaloon chhudi, tops
Pedaling their way on a picnic outdoor
humming a film tune in a louder chorus
NSS girls, heading for their maiden service
reaching the target (village) , roamed the lanes and bye lanes
test visit into the thatched dwelling house
chit chatting with those rustic mermaids
yawning gaps in between their living life styles
a class on alphabets and a slice advice on HIV
hygiene techniques, do-it-yourself demos and magic
lecture on breast feed, supply of napkins, live group hand-wash
de-addiction mock camps, tit bits of social laws & Dandia practice
do pahar ka khana arrives hot from the Dabba
half-starved children perched on the tree tops
are counting the menus right by the very aroma
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Miss ADventure
On tiredly getting back from work
I met the girl in a moving bus
thanks to the flowing rush inside
got tightly docked to her womanly scent
our body lines lay rammed and I was scared
that something untoward was sure to be there
a virgin bachelor, as I had been
could not help fighting the delicate sin
sweating nose and those silent lips
matching blouse was wet, in heat
marble cheeks with three pimples
drove me straight to a dream sequence
flowing hairs on the slip shot shoulders
in Garden Silks wrapped up glamors
at a kissing distance......... but without any right
'chastity was trespassed' in the true vedic light
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poem by Santhana Louis
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