Long Quarrelling Poems
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Watching Birds In The Garden
Watching birds in the garden
amidst of mundane
chores
to bore
is my simple pleasure !
That trove of treasure-
I enjoy in my garden and lawn
at every early dawn.
Group of sterlings
quarrelling and chirping !
Flocks of sparrows to hop and chirrup:
Taking morning tea as I burp.
I observe,
cooing doves
and little birdies with sweet tweets
fed by parent bird bit by bit
through beak to mouth agape !
That makes me laugh.
Parrot or parakeet
sometimes visit
Even hoopoe, though rare
really cares
to whelm me:
Tough enemy
of small Insects,
they detect
from ground
all around.
Off and on a kite
on its flight
takes rest on tree top.
Ambient is disturbed.
Flocks of crows get perturbed
with shrill caws non stop.
Simple fun has turned my addiction:
Free entertainment ! No restriction.
02/ 09/ 23
A Simple Pleasure
Contest by Julia Ward.
The mental instability of a liar
when they hear the truth cursing begins ugly
you are judging me seems to be their next move
cornered crying the victim, pity feel sorry for me me me
I am a good person the first sin tells its tale
those under the veil of sight replying violently in nature
Which corner alters your ego to put up such a fight
what rules apply to the under dog quarrelling
There is only one circle drawn in the sand
we are all sinners needing forgiveness every day
pride you will not let go through sheer stubborn behaviour
chained to the fragments of a soul's spirit
trust has been betrayed never will it say sorry
even when proven wrong it quarrels about position
the highest value holds the light separating darkness
From Sunday to Sunday,
We work hard like the donkeys in sironko;
Moving to and fro like roadside vendors and hawkers.
Like the holy spirit has descended upon as,
The way it was on pentecost,we move up and down all day.
We go to the laboratory from the ward,
From the theater to the morgue,
To the store from the supervisor's office.
Thinking hard and keeping our brains in check,
We go to work everyday to save the dear lives of mothers and babies.
A blow of sadness hits our faces,
Whenever we lose one of them to death.
Regret fills our hearts for where we were negligent;
And we live never to forget that moment,
When,we relaxed on duty and messed things up.
Sometimes,a feeling of giving up kisses our lips;
And soon,when we are yet to verbalize it,
That we have given up and cannot try anymore,
Or that we are tired and clients should leave us alone, give us a break;
Sense overrules, and we return to our ethical boundaries.
We work,work,work;- like Rihanna sings.
We work and work and work till the work itself is tired of us;
But still,we work to save their lives; mother's and babies.
Pushing and screaming; crying and fighting,
Quarrelling and abusing us;
We urge her to breathe in,and breathe out;
To relax and calm down,and think not about anything other than her baby;
Whom,she has carried for nine months,
Persevering through the sleepless nights and pregnancy complications
Just to see her child become someone who will breathe and live on its own.
On the other hand,we desist from the temptation to slap her;
She can mean to be disappointing sometimes; you know??
A smile tickles our lips,and our teeth,we hide no more.
Sweat runs down our faces,but we forget to wipe it away, overwhelmed with joy!
The crying of the baby,is the joyful laughter of the mother.
It is the peaceful relief of the midwife.
Allover the world,that is what we do. That's our daily routine.
4
there is no ending of words
is there anything that may be called
the end-word
let the words make questions
let the words give replies
let the words shout
let them battle among themselves
i can’t understand
why is there so much endeavour
to take me into that chaos
a plant of small white flower
is enough to make a garden itself
even-then
an assembly of
the rose the jasmine the tuberose is made
to increase the rule of the garden
after picking flowers from those plants
my wife puts them to the feet of the god
to worship him
she has a drinking-glass a plate
a hand-fan a throne
for her god
all are like tiny-toys
among them
the throne
is very important
till today
in many of our houses
there is a throne
but it is neither for accession of men
nor for making themselves king
i’ve already said
the throne is for our god
that means for our lying on
there may or may not be
even a broken cot
but for our family-god
to provide a throne
is a must
5
on that day
when once i had gone into the
myself-man
i saw
that the government and the opposition
both sides were gheraoing one another
in the same pace
they were reciprocally
quarrelling threatening rebuffing abusing
thus there was running
a fine piece of democracy there
it gave me enough pleasure
then i again came out
of that myself-man
in the outer-world
i saw
bypassing the stones and the hard
the roots of the trees
going deep down in the dark
in search of soft soil
and their branches are taking bent
towards the sun-light
6
of late
my intelligence seems somehow
to become slippery
there is so much pollution
in the myself-ism
it seems
even in collision with my shadow
some dragon-flies are killed every day
why do my eyes see so little
why do my tongue speaks so harsh words
to whose custody has gone
those rain-drops
those lemon-blossoms
there is the glittering of dew-drops
on the cob-web
the evening-worship
is sinking into the barking of dogs
as if the wings of the parrots
become van-rickshaw
as if the moon-light were
gradually retreating
in the enlightened city-life
#Mothers_ache
She said; I can't be angry with her because something bad might happen to her, deep in her voice, I could sense motherly love and disappointment quarrelling, see the raging dust brewing in her eyes, preventing her tears from coming out, the banging in her heart, the pain in her voices, cutting her sentences into half, distorting her message.
Could see her face bloating, her body starting to fail to contain the brewing pain, inside her, if she don't speak, I fear she might blow, collapse and break and be there no one to pick her pieces, for this world has robbed her so much and now her daughter, and who shall she lean on, for this was her only strength
She wanna shout, wanna cry, wanna just sitdown but the pain, denies her ears to listen, tears to shed, and sitting down still won't change her predicament nor neither take away her pain, if something not done quicker, this pain will take her but she can't sink into it , for life just won't allow her, for her responsibilities are way bigger than her shoulders can carry but she's obligated to force herself to be strong
Stronger than her body strength was measured to last for, stronger than her heart can bear, stronger than her mind can control, nothing is ever fair in this world, like has ever been enough but I can tell, she has had more than enough
Hope God, return her daughter to her before it's late, before there be nothing left of this mother to give, to listen to, to apologise for, hope God doesn't blue tick this mother's fading plea, not her sinking self, not her crumpling self, not her dissipating strength and not her daughter, this mother aches and hope her ache doesn't rob us her like it has robbed her everything and everyone, hope this mother's ache, wakes up not with her and the night takes the ache with it and the morning returns this mother to us and so is her daughter to her, this mother's aches
#Poetic_Ink
PRELUDE
The song expresses the feelings of an Indian village girl. Her parents have fixed her
marriage (It generally happens in the rural areas of India, even to-day). She is about to
leave for the first time for her in-law’s place. She do not want to go to her father in
law’s place leaving her parents, her soul mates friends the animals and birds. The song
sketches the tender feelings of her heart for her Mother, Father and Brother & for the
animals and birds, whom she used to look after until now as her most precious friends and
who taught her how to sing a sweet song.
Song of a Teenage Girl 1/2
Why you are sending me to an alien place, the place of my in laws, O Mother dear and Father,
I played and enjoyed my child hood and youth, in your courtyard O dear Mother & Father,
You always kept me on your eyelids like a pearl of tears,
O Mother, you always kept me close to your bosom, like the beatings of heart, where I laughed and bloomed.
O Father, after quarrelling with my brother, I used to weep for hours,
Whenever you call my name, I used to be so proud of you, O my dear Father.
O Father, by seeing a smile on your face, we used to bloom like a flower.
Then, why you are sending me to an alien place* O My Mother and Father *,
Please listen to me, O dear Father & Mother, if you have already decided to send me to my in-laws,
-Now you have to give food and water to the Parrots on the Tree.
-O, Mother you have to give now fodder and water to our Cow in our courtyard.
-And do not forget to give grains to our oxen Chun Mun, whom I look after in our fields.
-My melody singing Koyal* would be sitting and waiting for me on the Mango tree.
O Mother, it is Koyal, who taught me how to sing a sweet song,
Please do not forget to look after that lovely singing bird.
Listen to me, O My dear Father & Mother, if you have already decided to send me to my in laws,
All my birds, animals and my childhood friends would be waiting for me with tearful eyes, O Mother,
Please tell them your daughter has left this place forever and has gone,
To her in laws, a place so alien to her. .... concluded in part 2
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 17th October 2010
Let's not 'do' Paris anymore
it has become a painted blemish,
yes, I know it's for lovers, but
so is Nashville and it breaks
your heart just as quickly.
London has got tired,
the old and the new are quarrelling
under the same umbrella.
Sweethearts are at odds,
the lonely walk
through the garish nights
slowly fading away
from their own sight.
Let's watch an old movie,
a movie we have seen many times,
that one about time travel...
we will keep moving on
from place to place
falling in love with the same face,
that love story never gets old -
not even in New York
where lovers drift through each other,
dreaming all the while
of that next perfect romance.
Nature does us good, my dear Vaughan,
It soothes our soul with a solemn and slow song,
She doesn’t choose the blue but all the colors,
A deserted field is deeper than our eyes.
Nature does us good, my dear Vaughan,
She soothes our hearts with a sovereign and calm song,
Thousand giants fight against the impetuous skies,
What is the use of quarrelling? The world is boring,
Nature does us good, my dear Vaughan,
In Utah, all the silences are slow music,
The prelude of the 49th parallel, lifts our heavy souls
Listening to it, I find the taste of living and praying.
PS I give a small tribute to Vaughan williams, 20th century classical composer,