Best Rupees Poems
The boatman jabbered, “Ten rupees for each,
For a cool ride down the Chilika Lake”,
We egged on the elders, their child within,
The wooden boat, barely a few feet long,
Holding hands, brown and sturdy we climbed on,
Through the obtuse bending, welcomed us warm,
The boatman oars, stirs still waters about,
Tall grasses tickle the sides of the boat,
Nudging it slow, out of the serene shore,
The soft mud surfaced, soon bubbled away,
A leaf large of lotus gladly made way,
The frog caught lounging, swiftly dived away,
The evening sky, bright orange and gleaming,
A beautiful sun preparing to ease,
Right under the horizon, cackling geese,
Jellyfish soaring to breathe in the play,
White bodies against transient amber haze,
Surrounding our boat to pay their homage
Graceful ivory cranes, their young and new,
Downy feathers fluff, their eyes start to droop,
In the tangerine sundown, sight to scoop,
The bank reached, the journey hypnotic,
As the beauty of nature, exotic,
A mystic boat ride on Chilika Lake!
On an old bicycle, he pedals the streets
finding a steady supply of following feet
"Here comes the balloonwalla", in unison they scream
clamoring for the balloon of their dreams
Each one gets one at rupees five a piece
leaving a tiny little pair of hands empty
Just when tears well up disappointment droops
the balloonman with a flourish, downward stoops
Pulls out a little piece of blue with a twinkle in his eye
happiness smiles end to end as the balloon grows as big as the sky
Tiny hands cannot grab the big blue thing
so he ties it to the little finger with a string.
Afroze Ali
date: July 19th 2011
For Francine's contest 'Happiness is a balloon'
(the Balloonwalla is a man who sells balloons, on his bicycle is attached a pump to blow the balloons.)
One fine morning the mirror showed
some silver strands in my black hair
though few in number but very bold
started sprouting here and there.
For me it was a disadvantage
started thinking to get rid of them
so that I could hide actual age
told my son,'Let's start a new game'.
With him soon I made a small deal
'Rupees one for each silver hair,
just pluck them off my black head,till
no more patches remains there'.
Merrily he agreed with that,and
whenever wanted to make some quick bucks,
used to tell me,'Just lie down dad,
I can see some patches to pluck'.
Soon those silver strands disappeared
son was happy with the bucks he got,
but something different started to appear
the mirror now shows a big bald spot'.
© kash poet
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Placement: 5th; (December 2011)
Contest:Silver Strands
Sponsor:Susan Burch
.
Once glorious, but now rusting buildings, lined every dusty road.
Somehow everywhere clung the smell of cow dung.
My heavy bag, a giant rucksack,
Most of it I shipped right back.
I thought there wasn't much glitz or glamour,
And fought rough in a bit of a clamour.
Tuk-Tuk's going tut-tut, the hawkers piercing eyes and traders raise the price.
Welcome to Mumbai!
First, I met Tony, who promised to show me,
All the sights and sounds and where stuff might be found.
He exerted Rupees and expertly duped me,
But for a guided tour, I'd have expected to pay more.
My first "queue" for train tickets,
I was newly in the thick of it,
Could they organise a straight line?
They're walking on the train line!!
The infusion of livestock into the traffic,
My confusion and shock, all of this madness,
Each to their own, but, who the hell planned this?
But first impressions are often misleading,
Best get some rest, a wash and a feeding.
An open mind, that beliefs, often null and blind,
Just might find, can lead toward the fuller life.
From the mountains to the Thar desert,
Everywhere, I found was rather pleasant,
Lived like a king, paid like a peasant.
The colours everywhere and flowers worn in hair,
The spices on display and price you have to pay,
Surprises me to say, she'd grown upon me more each day.
And I had five months to travel through,
I bid a sad goodbye India, I'll see you real soon.
On scented breeze, she'd whispered to me,
As her saffron voice caressed my ears,
She hinted with ease and flickered desire,
While cinnamon curls lingered from her hair,
and nutmeg sweetened my dreams.
Meera counts the money.... just one hundred and fifty rupees. Still to pay to the grocer and the electric bill. The guests will come and to greet on the Diwali and Happy New year, some sweets for them. For children , there should be chocolates and light drinks. The homeless people will come in the morning and will have to give a rupee to each. It just leaves 15 rupees. Tomorrow will be Diwali and the day after The New year….For years I have not given any gifts…Oh, Madan.
Meera looks at one of her gold ring on her right hand
As the ring’s grove is empty without any stone.
She lost the diamond of the ring long back unmindfully.
She left for a jeweler’s shop to sell her only treasure.
And to buy a Dipawali Gift for her husband Madan
Who liked and used to play with it in their secret hours.
She buys a gold single bangle for her Madan’s right hand
Even after finding the perfect gift, she begins worrying
That he will be displeased by her bare wrists’ appearance.
Madan comes home, looks at her and greatly shocked.
Reacts a little knowing that his reaction will make sense
When Meera opens the gift of diamond he bought for her.
As she opens the box, Madan reveals, he bought it
Selling his gold bangle, a positive sign of his masculinity.
The story stops here zooming out of the epic proportions,
The gifts that seem useless are the quests successful
We feel, they are the wisest givers and are the magi.
Meera and Madan - the Indian Names
**Bangles are traditional ornaments worn mostly by South Asian women in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Some men also wear a single bangle on the arm or wrist called kada or kara. In Sikhism, the father of a Sikh bride will give the groom a gold ring.
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January 1, 2015
Form: Free Verse
First Place win
a grab-and-run pack
a small survival sack
with one set of clothes for spouse and self
passports, a file with just few mails
an old diary with addresses to contact
in England, Finland, and Switzerland
and some currency notes
couple of thousands
in rupees that does not stretch
like the American dollars
they were what i needed most
as the pogrom was in progress
in my Tamil homeland
while i always went to bed
with shoes on my feet
Blind-
Help me son, help me daughter, help this old beggar,
Give a coin, give some water, help this blind creature.
Help this aged, come to aid, help this downcast blind,
Draw your hands, off you pockets, mix your hands, combined.
Lacking sleep, bloody hunger! I'm pale and dying,
Ten rupees! quite some offer, at least start trying.
Lovely girls, my harmless kids, can't you see their plights,
They dream about shining prince, don't they have their rights.
Start giving at least something, shall we have some trust,
A coin, two or ten like him, something kind and just.
Cripple-
Hear me all, hear this cripple, hear this handicap,
Please be kind and please do mind, ah! coin on his lap.
I'm poor and deep in trouble, help this old cripple,
My legs were great, not again, I'm week and brittle.
Holding stick, without pleasure, I don't have a home,
Finding space, seeking treasure, kids are left to roam.
Share a coin or one or two, quench my thirsty lips,
Old ladies, beautiful girls, let me have some chips,
So let me beg, earn my right, give me something great,
Ten or more or what you have, something for my gait.
Blind-
Who is there, is he begging, Is he robbing me?
Go and beg anywhere out, you can't beg near me.
Can't you see that I cant see, don't you be absurd,
I came first, so he should leave, he should speak no word.
Cripple-
This is train, so I can beg, I shall take what's mine,
You can't brawl and make me stop, now you stop your whine.
They are souls, some nice people, they won't make me leave,
You should stop, zip your lips or they will make you leave.
Passengers-
Blind and cripple, are they ill, what more should we see.
You are right they ain't so good, let them stop and flee.
Look, its great, to see them fight, beggars fighting each.
Hey! stop, what are you doing? don't you bark and preach,
You are ill and more than them, you should be more kind,
What they do, shall not matter, you should sit behind.
©Anees Rahman
Under a Banyan tree
In a loud voice
she is shedding the tears of guilt
she is weeping before the crowd
The Chairman declared his verdict
That she is the convict
and has to pay fine for her guilt
against her chastity
None has taken her side:
who can deliver her justice,
to feed her two-month old hungry child
she bartered her chastity
Fifty rupees fine
and barred from the chaste society
Penniless she cried,
none to share her sorrow
The gracious chairman who fined her,
paid her fine and gave the warning
not to stoop so low
With loud claps for him
the gathering melted,
the helping hands of the chairman
pulled her crumpled hips
to his bed room to thrust on her the crime again!!
Man wants life, too easy, as sweet as honey
But for that needs money.
Money he may though have
But not sufficient for him to behave.
Not sufficient for his needs and deeds
Like uncountable rosary beads.
For his satisfaction of materialistic lust
He requires money to sweep away his hungry dust.
But wherefrom will he get more money
Which for him, it is as sweet as honey.
Atlast, he lays his hands for debt, debt for a few rupees
And from that day, a charge on his character levies.
Today, tomorrow came and went
With the end of each day, money came and got spent.
Again, he requires more money to sweep his dirty dust
Again some generous donors fulfilled his lewd lust.
Days came and went, with each sunrise and sunset
But his mind never sensed shame and regret.
Again he needs money to sweep away his dirty dust,
But this time no generous donors did him just,
Instead their generous face, radiated bright with rage and disgust.
Now he was all alone
Trusted by none and havoc prone.
He now realized his folly
To waste money in leisure and be jolly.
Company owners found him useless
Wasting time and energy in task meaningless.
They asked him to give his resignation letter or else get fired
He remembered the bright sunny day when he was hired.
Everywhere he was surrounded by dense cloud of darkness
No light, no hope only sadness.
Alas, he had no other option but to repent
Sit alone in dark and lament.
He went to a nearby river bank
Saw his reflection in rippling water and his heart sank.
Unable to bear the pain, the grief, the depression which pinched in him in
He jumped into the mighty river to wash away his sin.
husband told his wife
running along a rickshaw
he saved ten rupees
wife said him foolish
he could have saved one hundred
if ran along car
We are the children of time
That big round clock
Arms like arrows
Not a minute to be wasted
In this precious cycle
Of ambition
We succeed
While hearts bleed
Yet we go on and on.
Growing up isn't tough
Mature before puberty
Nature versus nurture
A mind like ours is never a child
We are born fighters
Running full speed
Living the modern life 24*7.
Childhood was no fairytale
Education only for the male
Running the household
Responsibility of the female.
Every mark mattered
Couldn't afford to fail
We had dreams to go to Yale
Lopsided economies of scale.
Never heard a nursery rhyme
Anything but calculus was a crime
Professors of arts and humanities
Never earned a dime.
Peter Pan a fantasy
Charlie's chocolates a forbidden ecstacy
Mowgli a triviality
Winnie the Pooh served no practicality.
Industrious (child) laborers like us
Live in a world of reality
Where domestic violence is a commonality
Amidst high infant mortality.
Basic necessities are scarce
All the money gobbled up
By the fatty Babu's of
Our royal municipality.
Nasty neighborhood to live in
Mass murders ain't a confidentiality
Mafia's rewarded for their masculinity
No individuality
Fear of homosexuality.
Dreaming dreams do no harm
Waking up punched in the stomach
Not aided by an alarm
Learning to shoot a gun before ABC
My basti had no dearth of firearm
Attracting pity is our only charm.
Working day and night
50 rupees a month
One meal a day
Is our only right
Reading by the moonlight
Whenever free
If caught dozing off
Whipped brutally by the underdog
A terrible affright
No FIRs for our measly plight
To get out of that clumsy area
Is a dream a come true
But every Chotu
Doesn't have a happy ending.
When you are but a mule
A tiny part of a big racket
Any wrong move
And you are smashed like a bee
Slammed like a fist
Held in a cage
Anything but flying free.
Gaining independence is rare
Thinking of freedom a dare
Every chaiwala ain't no
Slumdog millionaire.
Cow-dung cakes getting sold in a blink,
So it seems in India one may think.
Duly gift-wrapped and given,
To get with someone even,
Pretty sweet revenge proves with that stink!
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Online shopping seems to have taken India by storm that would include even cow-dung cakes-- one of the most currently popular gifts ordered—often with a request to gift-wrap before delivered. And stocks run out, an eight piece package may cost up to 400 rupees. Hope, I won't get one for this ditty.
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Happenings | 08.03.2017 |
FARMER’S SON
There’s the sky, look at it
Giggling with the high-mast light
Twinkling not with the stars, but with rays of illumination
Coming from the back windows of a thirty storey mansion,
There stands in the balcony, like a lonely school boy
The subdued farmer’s son.
Head held high, eyes gazing the sky
Staring intently at its vastness,
Admiring the stretch to the far off remote village
Where dull dusky dark and remorseful it seems
There, with the rest of his family, his father lives.
Skinny face as if a marathon runner
Two packs ab and a pair of distinct ribs
Flaunting like the horns of a merino sheep,
His father could challenge the best of the fatless torsos
Daily diet comprising three hundred gram rice and a black tea sip.
The farmer’s son when in college
After a long long wait
As if in the queues of a government ration shop
Could able to get a pair of new dresses,
Witnessing half-barter
With the brother of a cloth merchant
His father sold paddy two full sacks.
There was more harvest that time
Paddy fetched a good amount though not much more
Four sacks exchanged for a second hand bicycle
Two for buying household needs in the village fair,
Another three for buying good food
Two medicines one for guests
And five sacks kept aside
For the marriage of his grown-up sister.
Now than the previous, the yield is much more
With hybrid seeds and costly fertilizer
Fifty per cent of the harvest just flows down like water
And from the left over,
One third is being engulfed as a lion’s share
By rupees two a kilo rice-empowered
Nearly extinct sophisticated labour.
All the efforts to keep his early esteem
Went in vain as the son of the farmer
Had no money in pocket for labour payment
Migrated to the city as an unskilled worker,
Adding to the construction of a thirty storey apartment
With two hundred and fifty a meagre
He works each day for twelve odd hour.
Zelda Twilight Wishes
(Credit to game creators of Twilight Princess)
As Link I become imprisoned in myself in Highrule land
Like a drug addicted monkey I take my task in hand
Midna, a creature from twilight world enchants me
I transform into a wolf as she rides upon my back and laughs
Two wild creatures set out to find their quests
I need to free Zelda from the hands of evil Ganondorf
Midna commands me, makes me attack a creature
Some creepy thing called Zant from her dark world
Later I’m turned back to human, somewhat wounded
Ample tools, arrays of gadgets can be found around the land
For destruction and for sport to vanquish evil on the spot
Rupees too and health are everywhere in treasure boxes
I have blisters on my hands and fingers from vanquishing beasties for the girls
Zelda, The Twilight Princess, happy with my accomplishments
Says; “Thank you Link!” “I wish you well.” Then puts me on her Christmas list
After all this fighting I’m getting twisted. I don’t even get a good-bye kiss
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : XV & XVI
XV
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Treasury Secretary
I'd outlaw all big-time " companies " who beg for money
Especially those who beg in the name of the Almighty
I'd write virulent circulars on how to cajole Him through litany
To wheedle trillions of dollars euros yuans rupees throughout Eternity
That is, if ever I were the Treasury Secretary
And even if I never ever had no country
XVI
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Minister of Finance
I'd make every charitable organization head dance
On a tight rope stretched from here to comeuppance
For wasting nearly all what we give them on bribes penthouse mags and stamps
And take them on a tour of the streets and hovels littered with hungry children and tramps
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Finance
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 5, 2018