A Mother's Lullaby
Oh, my child, fret no more
Close your eyes and go to sleep.
Here I am by your side
Singing lullabies, sweet and cherished.
All sounds are stilled for you to sleep in quiet
All lights out that no beam hurt your eyes
All storms calmed that to a blissful rest you glide
No horrifying dreams to rob you of your snooze.
Sleep, sleep rocking in the sea of joy
Sleep, sleep close to your mother's throbbing heart
Sleep, sleep listening to this gentle lay I tune
Sleep, sleep to wake, to the miracle of life.
Fear not, around you much love abounds
And legions of angels, to guard your sleep.
Thy eyes shall hither new beauties behold
And many a marvel, for you to rejoice.
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poem by Valsa George
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Guru
Teachers are always a venerable sort,
Happy that I belong to that ‘special' lot,
Instilling in young ones -
newer insights gleaned,
Enriching their lives -
with atoms of knowledge pooled,
Brightening their paths -
with millions of lanterns lit,
Rowing them away -
from the perilous shoals of life,
And leading them to be anchored
on safer shores!
A teacher sure stands taller above,
Every other mortal who serves! !
She has to play all at once, myriad roles,
More of a mentor and not just a tutor,
A physician who heals, a nurse who tends,
A parent who cares or a pal who shares,
A patron who supports or a lawyer who argues,
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poem by Valsa George
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The Great Escape
Left alone in a dreary mood,
With none to lean on and look for,
She tethered her soul to sordid gloom,
And chained her fancy, never letting to soar.
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats,
Mind devoid of any buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
She lay awake, staring on the ceiling above,
Her eyes so lost in a fixed stare,
Never a smile alighted her stony face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up her brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
She had long lost her zest for life,
With life saps drained out like an empty well,
She felt nothing but the heat of scorching drought.
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poem by Valsa George
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The Deity
Her world collapsed all too sudden.
The ground she stood wobbled below.
Her dreams crashed down like pack of cards
Death robbed the man, she wed days before
No more a bride in dazzling silk.
Never shall she be bedecked-
In brocades, jewels or gems.
Never her hand, be held in love.
No more shall she be the former Rajput bride
Now a widow shunned and abhorred by men
With tonsured head, so ugly to view
Cursed and doomed in the eyes of all.
A stigma, scorned and borne in shame
A defenseless bird with clipped wings,
Destined to languish within a cage
Never shall she see again the outer world.
Fore warned to keep out even from the kindred folk.
Alas! She preferred Death to Life
Gave her consent, free of pressure,
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poem by Valsa George
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That Dusky Eve
When rain had gone and dusk had fallen,
When birds had roosted and their chirping stilled,
When sky had cleared and the lone clouds trailed,
You held me close and whispered in my ear.
Your voice, like a tremulous rivulet gurgled,
With passion sweet, you did chant,
“In your eyes I see, the blue of the sky,
In your soul, you hold the depth of the seas,
Love swells, like tides on rise,
My life, I vow, by Jove, never to part,
On this dimpled cheek, a kiss I plant,
A gesture warm with abiding love.
Crisscross lain as warp and weft,
We together shall weave the garb of life”.
Words that served as balm to the soul!
Still they echo, gushing a flurry of thoughts,
But alas! To a far unknown land you fled,
‘From whose bourn, no traveller returns’,
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poem by Valsa George
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An Epilogue to a Prologue
A nest of intricate design
A piece of art unmatched in decor
Amid the verdurous darkness
Of needle like leaves
The gay habitat of a swallow and her brood.
How suddenly it erupts into a clatter of sounds,
As the mother bird comes diving in
With a wee bit of a wriggling worm
Discreetly borne in her tiny beak.
Thrusting it into the gaping mouths
She departs and comes again
And again comes with something
A whirring insect or a twisting thing.
Nothing can appease her ravenous horde
And on she goes ferreting about.
At night fall she alights abrupt
From what infinite heights, God alone knows
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poem by Valsa George
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A Tribute to My Dog
Here lies my dog, motionless in his kennel
unable to wag his tail as he always did.
Yesterday when I saw him, curling helpless on his mat
he still wagged his tail and from him arose
a faint tremolo of love
punctuated by gutturals of pain.
At some bleak hour of the night,
the last ember of life died down
and his supple body turned stiff and stark.
Now he lies straight and majestic in death
leaving a track record of love
far difficult to break,
- a love no vessel can hold
or equated with what we humans feel.
Speechless as I stand, memories churn within.
He came to us - too young to be weaned,
a glossy black puppy with tawny gleaming eyes.
His short, sturdy limbs, large drooping ears,
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poem by Valsa George
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Silence that Speaks
Silent move the meek docile lambs,
Behind the shepherd to be huddled inside.
Food and shelter is all they need,
And abide to be sheared with no trace of dissent.
Silent are the beasts that trot along,
Miles on end through rugged roads,
Blissfully ignorant of what awaits,
They stagger lamely to the slaughter house.
Mournful is the silence of the slaves,
Flogged and beaten to bear the yoke,
Stifled is their cry within the throats,
Never once let out to break the calm around.
Heart rending is the silence of the dumb,
Trying in vain to utter fleeting thoughts,
Through signs and gestures crude to view,
Lisping and blabbering in broken sounds.
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poem by Valsa George
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Poet
Wielding a tool, mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod
He reigns, monarch in Fancy's domain
Sketching life in all colours and mode
Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On the fabric of words in befitting verse
He steals away from the noisy crowd
In to the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy's mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will
He recounts forgotten tales of yore
Of bloody battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past
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poem by Valsa George
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The ‘Yaga’ on the Mount
Nailed and screwed on hands and legs,
Maimed and marred far beyond repair,
Cut and bruised out of shape,
Stripped and peeled, so bare to shock,
Lo, there lies a man! The Son of God,
On a cross erected on the summit of the Mount,
Brutally suspended between Earth and Sky,
Stationed amid thieves on either side.
He slipped and slithered under the yoke of weight,
And tottered the rugged route to Calvary,
Scourged and flogged all along,
He bore the cross with none to help.
Never complained nor cursed but suffered the pangs,
Never whined nor moaned, but drained the cup,
Through His death, mankind was to be redeemed,
By His precious blood, their infirmities to be cleansed
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poem by Valsa George
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