Generation Gap
The old man twitched his brow,
Blasting music, jarring his ears,
Endurance threatened, he rose from his armchair,
Dragging weary limbs, he staggered away.
His grandson in cargo jeans,
Gyrated and swivelled to the jazz,
Drumming beats drove him crazy,
His waist swayed in rollicking jig.
To get a grip on his losing self,
Withdrew the oldster to his solitary space,
His eyes, searching for his betel box,
Tucked away under his grubby cot.
Groping in dark, he looked high and low,
And in every nook of his dingy room,
His shocking gaze soon espied,
His betel box freshly polished.
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poem by Valsa George
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Ripples
Down the dusty road,
in tattered rags,
He came,
weary,
wilted,
and
withered.
Body bent with age,
bones sticking out of the flabby skin,
with a tremor
running down his limbs,
and with expectant eyes,
He waited at my doorstep.
No words came out from pursed lips
But,
in mute language
begged for alms.
I held his shrivelled hand,
helped him ascend the steps.
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poem by Valsa George
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Reality or Illusion
Thirst! Thirst!
Scorching thirst!
From head to groin
From hip to tip,
Fire rages.
My entrails shriek and crackle
As twigs in a forest fire
My nostrils flare
With the reeking smell of burnt flesh
My tongue and gullet
Melt like plastic on exposure to heat
Like a hornbill
I thirst for a dropp of water
Wow! Before me is poised a chalice
Full and to the brim
With scarlet, bubbling liquid
As elixir, suddenly lowered from Heaven!
Extending my hands to hold it
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poem by Valsa George
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Seeker
Dreams lie entangled in the cobwebs
And the spiteful spider waits at the helm
The talons of fear pierce into the flesh
Diffusing into every atom.
Sorrow piled on sorrow
Guilt burdened with guilt
That bore holes in my brain
Turning the mind into a simmering pot
In childish fancy hoped in vain,
That all buds would bloom
And all blossoms into fruits grow
But when did the truth dawn on me
The sour Truth - hard to neglect or reject
That many a bud could be nibbled by worms
And fruits - blighted before ripe?
Reeling under the weight of life,
The dull beats of Time
Resonate on the walls of a vacant mind.
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poem by Valsa George
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A Hymn to the Unsung Heroes
Under the green sods, lie unknown
The mighty warriors of our land.
Strong and steadfast they marched to the field,
Wielding weapons in their hand.
Their daring and their deeds of grit,
Secured freedom for our land.
Blessed be the wombs that bore,
Those dauntless men of fiery brand.
Plucked away from hearth and kin,
They oft dwelt in lands unknown.
Many a laurel they had won.
Living a dismal life forlorn.
Lay in ambush in dingy trench
Crossed swords with formidable might
Starved to death in enemy camps
Fought with verve for country's right
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poem by Valsa George
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In the Eddying Current
Time speeds away unmindful,
Ages added on to aeons,
Piling changes on change,
it moves on,
seldom posing lull and loll.
With the current rushing swift and fleet
we race past from old to new
from times primeval to times neoteric
watching the ceaseless chain of births and deaths
tasting life's vicissitudes of joy and pain
In the ever unwinding circuit of time
How long is my sojourn here?
50 or 60,70 or 100
Does it count much
Does it mean more
than a mere dropp in the ocean?
Like the bubbling foam
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poem by Valsa George
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The Sundown in My Village
With the sun moving westwards
The sky turns crimson like a bride.
Shadows lengthen along country lanes
as snakes uncoiling in the dark.
From the far away minaret,
The muezzin's loud cry is heard.
The *coolies, after the day's toil,
hasten away to their cluttered shacks.
The notes of a familiar lay
flow down from the talkie house.
Women in gaudy, silken wear,
with strings of Jasmine tucked to their hair,
saunter gaily to the local shrine.
Men winding up their day's business
retreat to their habitual haunts.
The herdsmen from slopes of hills,
hasten the sheep to be locked in pens.
Storks line upon slimy fields
to feed on fish, trapped in puddles.
In the slanting beams of evening light,
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poem by Valsa George
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Adieu! My Love
Through the clamour of distressful days
I live alone in soulful memory of my Love
In vain, I keep my door ajar
For her light footsteps, once more to fall
On my lonely bed, I turn around
For her warmth, I shall never here enjoy
Through the dingy corridors, I stray alone
After elusive shadows, I wander forlorn.
I know she is in some far Paradise
Her eyes feasting on the glory of each new dawn
With fadeless flowers blossoming all around
And endless mysteries in all marvel enshrined
Though an emptiness, often engulfs me
I am reminded of the constancy of her love
That she often avowed between tender sighs
As I lay silent on her cleaving breast
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poem by Valsa George
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The Spider Yarn
The spider spins his magic web,
With dexterous skill too hard to beat,
Each yarn so carefully knit,
In crisscross fashion, amazing to view.
Like a fabric buoyant in the air,
His gossamer kingdom hangs afloat,
Supported on leaves, twigs or walls,
It stays intact, never crumbling down.
At the centre, he proudly dwells,
Like the monarch of a vast empire,
With discreet vigil, he keeps alert,
To trap the spies that cross the bounds.
The arrogant despot never allows,
Intrusion from anyone around,
Those who dare to trespass his terrain,
Are meted out with the penalty of death.
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poem by Valsa George
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Dementia
His mind like a deciduous forest
has shed all its leaves
in the blighting autumnal blast.
It is bare - dismally barren
of all memories - sweet and sour.
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.
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poem by Valsa George
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