To dedicate a poem to you I am committed,
Though it might have to be admitted,
That with your footprints hidden under a layer of snow,
I find it hard to know,
How to write anything about you,
to make you glow,
Enough to compare with other seasons on show.
It does not help that you drop in to say hullo,
When I am least prepared,
with my stock of firewood, very low.
Don't you know it is rude to call around,
When we are are all tucked up in bed.
Can we take a rain check on your visit,
this time around,
So, the right words can be found,
To give reasons,
as to why you keep hanging around.
Must be a squirrel convention —
bushy tales along the way.
The road was nutty-gray.
Seven of them held signs:
Parking this way.
Hold on...I hear a knock
at the door.
It’s an acorn salesman.
I tell the little rascal,
“I’m not interested.”
But the impolite salesman
throws nuts on the floor,
scurries in,
followed by his cohorts.
It’s like The Hobbit.
These creatures are not invited.
They toss and roast these nuts,
on a warm Spring day,
in my hearth.
Who was it that invented fire,
imagination and critters?
They leave ashes and fur
as I chase them with my broom.
“Get out!” They do;
a woodpecker flies in,
“Hullo! How do you do?”
My husband comes home.
I shrug my shoulders,
as he spies a woodpecker in his recliner.
The birdy’s tired after drilling holes in our walls.
The rascal gets the boot. Better than getting shot.
My man pulls out of his bag, a stole —
fox fur.
You guessed it —
alive and well.
Well, that’s a wrap folks...
4/29/2021
Hiya! Hullo! How do you do?
Where's your husband today?
Oh, he's down with the flu
And yours? Oh, he's here
he's just gone to the loo
Nice weather we're having
and doodle-dee-doo...
(If we can't say what matters
why am I talking to you?)
My husband has cancer
my mother broke a hip
and I have mad cow-
but I can't let that slip!
Your husband is cheating
you're in quite a mess
your daughter's a truant
your boss is a pest
I just lost my job
and I needed the money
if things weren't so tragic
they might be quite funny-
For my pipes burst this morning
and my closet collapsed
and my sister just dumped
her three kids in my lap
And you've gotten hives and
your hair's falling out
and I don't even know
what we're talking about-
Oh yes, that new show
it's on channel two...
(If we can't say what matters
why am I talking to you?)
Hullo, folks!
Do you hear me?
You didn’t hear me when I was dying.
At least hear me now, when I’m dead and buried.
I am, as you know, Jinesh,
Buried here—in this churchyard at Poonthura,
Buried on Sunday—
Like Solomon Grundy!
I did hear you when you were crying—
During the recent floods,
Rushed to your help,
Saved more than a hundred of you.
You all praised me, called me a hero,
Lined the street I lived in
With posters, flex boards, banners and whatnot.
Now you all know that I, as a pillion rider,
Was hit by a passing truck,
Which further ran over my helping hands,
Crushing them—
Thus, adding grievous injury to injury!
I lay there on the roadside,
Crying aloud for help,
Which fell on your deaf years:
You were all busy, all in a nervous hurry—
Off to Timbuktu!
I wept and cried for help, by turns.
But I was left there to die unwept and unsung,
Though I had been honoured.
Now you all may say: RIP
But, you see, I remain restless!
***
I dreamt I said, ‘Hullo, Fellow’ on her pink plumage pillow
When from my blue sky grew and flew a sentimental swallow
That told me to fold my arms and grow calm because it didn’t matter anymore
As the etiquette of entire episode chose to metamorphose into a sappy snore.
I dreamt life no longer brought, caught or taught strident strife
When for the umpteenth time a series of memories drew me to my lost life
Taken away from my puny pay on a gray Wintry Wednesday
Leaving my heart bleeding, begging and weeping every day.
I dreamt I lost my post as teacher to become a preacher
When a sermon I delivered reminded me I wasn’t a true blue bleacher
Who in the twinkling of an eye could turn ebony black into snow white
Praying hard for God to restore a sinner’s succor and salvation right.
I dreamt sanity and vanity from my mind vowed to quit
When by force of booze I succeeded in losing my wit
Indulging instead the bedstead of lampoon language
That infiltrated and integrated every fabric of my every message.
Hullo, Mr. Reaper!
or should I call you Grim?
Let's be best friends, Mr. Reaper
My pals call me Tim.
Take me to Heaven, Mr. Reaper!
Where I'll eat my cereals with silver spoons.
Bring me to Hell, Mr. Reaper!
Where I'll slay demons like heroes in cartoons.
Take me away, Mr. Reaper!
So that mommy wouldn't have to beg no more ;
So that daddy wouldn't get beaten up no more ;
just to pay the greedy doctors in nasty suits.
Tell me a story, Mr. Reaper !
A story that will never end.
Fix me a good night's sleep,
and wake me in Wonderland.
Grant me a wish, Grim !
A wish of a thousand pennies worth.
When mom asks about me in her dreams,
just tell her that it didn't hurt.
the call doesn’t come
waiting……waiting……pace……. It rings,
heart pounding….hullo!
how much has been burnt
the lips of the aalpanaa
by the heat of the blue letters
the absentmindedness
that can penetrate this flavour
gets hullo-cut
coming to the wedding-relation
do fly oh bird
yet you flow with faster steps
in the deep of the wave
with a long hanging bag on your shoulder
let more horse-carts be composed
for the clouds
let the gate adorned with a figure of lion
be immersed for some time more
in deep-meditation
he who is fallen from the wings of the deer
has a chest of 42 and a half inch
you should look it
coming how much nearer to the talisman
that serpentine lane and that tasty loose-hair
becomes totally blank
you should also see
reaching to what kissing-point
the glacier of the versification
can vanish
without leaving any trace
Early in the morning
before the sun rise.
You wake up very fast,
and start your way
going to work.
Before you reach at work,
they call you very fast.
Hullo sweet daddy,
the child is sick.
Run as you can
to save his life.
When you reach at home,
they start to demand you food,
sugar and soap
without mind at all,
the weight of your pocket.
Oh! Adult life is hard,
full of pain, chaos
and cry sometimes in the year.
One funny man
who wanted to dodge tax,
he closed his eyes as a blind man
to escape the road block.
But when they saw him,
moving alone on the way,
they prepared him a trick
to verify the truth.
They shout only once,
hullo young man,
you're about to fall in the hole.
The funny sturbon guy,
opened his eyes to escape death,
but ended up in jail,
and cry the whole night.
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