Fledglings of Falcon

The wailing walls of Sirhind,
stand in sombre solitude.
The howling chilling winds,
the numbing weeping waters of Sarsa,
bemoan and grieve.
Eternally condemned
and permanently blotted,
these coffers
rocked Thy tender kids
to quietus.
The supple souls,
seasoned spirits,
and their ominous farewell,
Soil of Sirhind,
(fortunate enough
that such pious feet
walked on it
and regrettably unfortunate
to have become their deathbed) ,
witnessed
what we dare not dream.
Unwavering, unflinching,
unswerving and unyielding,
subtle yet strong,
the fledglings of falcon.
embraced their pallbearers
with smiles on their faces.
And this is their legacy.
They were bricked alive.
But they never died.
And never can they.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Rakshabandhan special

A twisted affair,
such knotted, entangled bonds,
love and spats criss-crossed.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly#Haiku #poetry prompt#Challenge 

Cousin connection

Casual outings,
unplanned dinners on the go,
the cousins connect.

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Farewell

You were born.
And your birth made him so happy
that he cried.
He held you in his hands
with reverence.
And he spent every second
of his short break
looking after you with love.
But you were too small, too infantile,
to register the word father.
Then he left. For his duty.
Service to family over,
it was time to serve the nation.
He had served his family with love.
He served his nation with sacrifice.
When they brought him home,
wrapped in tricolour,
the sad commotion surprised
the wide eyed toddler in you.
When they laid him in lobby,
you crawled up to his motionless body,
gently shaking his shoulder,
as if he would wake up from his eternal slumber.
When they laid him in coffin with state honours,
you patted the wooden box, repeatedly,
to hear the dull thud
your small hands made against rough wood.
Recognition, zero. Outright organic innocence.
That stirred the souls of the entire nation.
You may not recall this when you grow up,
but we do hope that you become his shadow.
Conscientiously dutiful

Homecoming

Every sundown,
he anxiously watches the dusty lane.
As her rickshaw halts,
he calls out to her, sonorously.
The intervening four flight of stairs,
notwithstanding,
she answers him back,
her exhilaration matching his excitement.
As she ascends,
he gives joyous halloos.
Thoroughly tempted,
he descends the last unlit stairway,
and engulfs her in tight crushing embrace.
The grouchiness of day dissolves
in the warmth of that
tender, lovesome rendezvous.
He literally drags her,
venting himself
until the mother and child
are lost to the privacy of their nest.
Today, I left the staircase well-lit,
lest the nipper trips in dark.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 Words: Grouch

The scent of yesterdays

Hey mason!

When you renovate my house,

make sure you leave intact

the imprints of tiny little feet

running in these corridors

Hey painter!

When you paint these walls,

make sure you don't rub out

the doodling stains

scrawled by tiny hands.

Hey carpenter!

When you mold the wood

and carve me doors and windows,

make sure you seal inside

the ringing unripened laughters.

For when I walk pass these,

these corridors,

these doors and windows,

these caricatures,

I can inhale the scents of

yesterdays

of my children

(now working in the valleys yonder),

and their childhood,

fresh and incorrupted.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Yesterdays that swayed

By the empty swing,
I come searching my childhood,
Foretimes that swayed free.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Swing

Spring showers

Sousing spring showers

Muddied with colored wildness

Vivid tinge of play

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly # Haiku # Poetry Prompt # Challenge #89 Shower&Play

Lilting taste of childhood

Lilting taste of childhood on my tongue,
delicacies doled out by your hearth,
wounded knees running down the streets,
unburdened shoulders practicing at chin-up bars,
careless giggles at petty nothings,
unfinished home works and unlearnt chapters,
splashing in puddles and running after kites,
catching fireflies and winning paperboat races,
having you pick up after me,
my knee high socks, belts, ties and toys,
strewn all over the carpeted floors,
bedside stories ringing with love,
melodic harmonies lulling me to sleep,
words of wisdom leading me to light,
your hurrying me to reach school on time,
scolding me for my errant ways,
smothering me with loving embraces.
Lilting taste of childhood in everything
and though I had my fair share,
yet it seems like
I have not had enough of it.

The Blue Moon

They were breathless by the time they reached the hilltop. A humid 31st night of July was definitely not an ideal time to run and hike. But it was "the Blue Moon" night. The legend held that the couples who watched the Blue moon's light bath the tombstones with love were blessed with a "happy everafter" for seven lifetimes. Barely in kindergarten, they did not know how long a lifetime was. What excited them was the prospect of a very long time together. So, they waited while the moon left the tombstones awash with the promise of an endless love. Sempiternal love resting in background, he sealed his date with a little peck on her cheek and whispers of 31st January, 2018 in her ears. She giggled her yes. Hand in hand, they retraced their steps on grassy mound while the Blue moon smiled at them.

This week's photo prompt is provided by Louise with “The Storyteller's Abode.” 

Linking with Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers

K is for ... Kites

Rhombic paper-mache of dreams
Dancing aloft in wind currents.
Undulating in the infinity.
Conquering the crested iris.
A distant silhouette
Tasting the skies,
Inspiring to look
Further and higher.
Tangled reins
Locked in trance.
Behold! Their rhythm,
Ceaselessly goading.
The unruly stringless wanderer
Scaling the silver skylines.
Skilled hands mastering
The string, now loose, now taut,
Willing it in to a smooth glide,
Urging and encouraging the flight.
Wide-eyed innocence
Mesmerized,
Their young beating heart,
Reaching for stars,
Untiringly, chasing the kites.

Linking with :Alphabet Salad

J is for ... Jokes

Cackling chaos. Jokes

Rattling in tiny footfalls.

Withered souls, blooming.

Melting at innocence

My last tele-conversation with Laddu*** happened in May.
The five year old nuisance has been pretending to be too busy running in the unpaved alleys between his house and ours, ferrying his Hotwheels collection alongside.
So today was a definite surprise.
An innocent hello of fresh-from-sleep chirpy nephew was last thing I expected to hear when I called mom.
"We have come over to stay for a few days.
Am sleeping in your room".
Is Noddy there, too? I ask.
"Yes, and ..."
"And who else"?
"Your Laddu!" pat came the reply.
I melted.
He kept up his naive yabber.


***Laddu is an Indian sweet and because my nephew loves eating Laddus, he is our Laddu, fondly.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

C is for ... Children

The older one
Complaining
About
Broken nibs
And empty cartridges
While gaining millimeters daily
And loosing milk teeth
Now and then.
The younger one
Scuttling behind
His not-so-old
Mentor in all nuances,
Eager to grow up
And match strides with him.
Wobbling
And finding stances together
They create a beautiful,
Perfectly ordered chaos.
And while I am undecided
If I would prefer
Yet another round of UNO
(Which I keep losing
Because
This boy is really good at it)
Or
Catch me if you can
(Which I will have to lose now
Because I won the last round
With my nestling),
I know, I know I will have to
Make a choice soon,
One thing I am sure of
Is that
This is my heaven here,
In their blessed company.
It is really glorious,
This growing up with them again.
Thank you Lord!
Thank you.



And
Sometimes you just have to leave it there.