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Best Poems Written by Madan Mohan

Below are the all-time best Madan Mohan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Madan Mohan Poem

Bazaar

BAZAAR

Can you call it a bazaar
Where only one vendor
Her face strained
'Looks' pale, apprehensive
As if caught in a snakes' chamber
Yet searching for a potential customer
Desperate to sell products unheard of
Of human species, bizarre more bizarre

The seller in her early thirties
Skinny as an empty nylon bag
Frail as a TB patient
Seemingly double her age and malnourished
Sat at the small town's big square
Shrilling in the loudest of her voice
'On sale' 'on sale'
One is my son another daughter

The female child is only three sirs
Please don't turn your faces I request
Don't think that she's worth not sale
Within two years she can show her conquest

I guarantee at five
She can lay your table
At seven wash dishes
Two years later can take your kids to school

Then with a jolt in her throat
In one hand raising the three years' face
The other pointed towards the sky
The seller laboured to utter some words

I swear you can run a brothel 
Oh! profit-loss Madams and Sirs 
With lot much profit and market demand 
Can't you see how glamorous her face!

Two drops of tear evaporated
In the scorching and cruel sun
Just after they inadvertently fell
In spite of emotion being tried to shun

Like her alcoholic and savage husband
Her hopes were torn into pieces of waste 
Dreams shattered trusts broken
Rifts not repairable by a paste

It made the seller again cautious
She thought the tear might act as mace
Thinking to sell and engaging her saree's pallu
Furtively wiped the wet eyes and face

What it takes for a living
Mobile phones internet 
Or just face book likes
Surely not for me
Because I don't have food, clothes
And a house as basic needs

Take this boy
I don't expect from you
Any exemplary parenthood
By your kindness sirs
At least we can get some food

We may not call this square a bazaar
As a hawker, there's only a single seller
But what if we combine altogether 
The squares of poverty, immiseration
Deprivation destitution and major calamities
The brunt who bear.

Details | Madan Mohan Poem

Farmer's Son

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.

Details | Madan Mohan Poem

Portait Fantasy

PORTRAIT FANTASY

Some say 
You are nothing
To their searching eyes
You're just another painting

Others more logical
Go on commenting
Oh, you can decorate, 
What a nice wall hanging!

But for me, oh dear
You're larger than living
Believe me, My auricles take the strain
Of your continuous dangling

That's why my love
I succumb to guarding
Your svelte yet curvy vitals
Sitting and watching

Details | Madan Mohan Poem

A Selfie With Me

A SELFIE WITH ME

Good looks 
I swear
I don't possess,
With a flower pot face I think
The creator had forgotten
To trim my zygomatic process.

Still I wonder why
Inside deep inside me
Like a young lover
A queasiness brews, 
With some clicks
And self's mirror image
To be the cynosure
In social media news.

Is it only the game of gizmos
Like mobile phones
Front cameras and selfie sticks, 
Or else self-love
Great admiration for oneself
Where narcissism licks.

Some even say Modi
The charismatic extrovert
Indian prime minister, 
Narcissist because
A suit worth ten lakhs
Name engraved in gold he wore.

Tell me who is
Not a narcissist
In human species, 
The latent exposed
With the advent of
Front cameras and selfie sticks.

Details | Madan Mohan Poem

My Grandparents

MY GRANDPARENTS

I'm lucky
That with God's grace, 
I enjoy the privilege
To have with me
My loving grandparents.

At forty three
Sixteen my son
When I suffer from deep nostalgia, 
Long long back
I could memorise
A pair of benevolent faces
With smiling panacea.

With their affectionate hands
They fed, groomed
And brought me up, 
Spent nights sleepless
Caring watchful and
Comforting me in their lap.

Ate exactly spent frugally
And minimum they wore, 
But bought me tasty food
Nice clothes with happiness from the core.

Intensity of wrinkles
Growing deep with time
On their faces fine, 
Can speak volumes about
Sacrificing their youth
For betterment of mine.

Owing a great deal
With honour I bow, 
My dear grandparents
Very old you're though.

Details | Madan Mohan Poem

You'Re Destined For Me

YOU’RE DESTINED FOR ME
When I see your frail body
Poetic similes come to my mind 
Which I read long years back 
Like summer sun dried the lawn grass
Winter dryness makes the street dusty
Looks not cheerful, freshness you lack

What had gone over you I wonder!
A violent storm nature’s fury
Or a disease so dreaded may be
With its might took the vigour
Left you abandoned
Like a squeezed lemon peel

When I touched your bony fingers
As if sliding my hand with trembling nerves
Over some velvet veiled thorns
Tear dropped down over my fingers
Inadvertently I counted, believe me
There were more than two drops

Leave me! You said 
With a pounding heart and choked voice
I nodded my head
For making you to take some solace

Was it your body, the mundane pleasure
That attracted me 
To be more closer
Like a honey bee I moved in a circle 
Escorted you followed you
And then converted into a co-walker
Do you think my dear
That was only for mundane pleasure

To conceal your bony structure
That had taken failed attempt
It’s your skin, no muscles no fat
I plant a kiss there you see
You might have lost your beauty
But you’re destined for me