Kavyanjali

                  I don't know if I stand tall but my feet surely feel buried in the muck; in the puddle spreading deep down into the earth, to its middle. I see the days pass, the seasons change and years go by But I stay still, the way I have always been- grounded and inert, yet so keen.   But I can sense my strength branching out into the embracing skies. Still my legs stay rooted as they watch me grow- tall as ever but laying so low.

 Oh sweet little moon  Shining up so bright Dont you see the little mind Tryin' to sleep tight? But all you do is send down A million dreams Of your twinkling stars And of colourful streams.  There are horses in the meadows Wagging their tails And wee fishes in the pond Hiding from big whales. The hippos are all snoozing In the moonlit pool Hearing them snore, The cows cant keep their cool. The dog in the house Is chasing down big bugs And the bear on the bed Keeps asking for hugs The wolf at the window Humming lovely notes For the sheeps all cozed up In their furry coats. Now, Hush little stars Be gentle and quiet And wish this litlle mind A peaceful nighty night.

    Dear Words,  It’s been long… so long since we last sat down for a cup of tea and discussed our rhyming schemes and story lines; named our characters and sketched their quirks; munched on our biscuits pondering over what title we should  bestow on our latest poem.  Remember our late night musings and secret whispers about some new idea to elaborate and  write upon? You used to make a chain out of my thoughts and urge me to jump out of my bed and pen it all down at midnight. Although my sleep was all broken, there were neither complaints nor  regrets. Since the day I can remeber, we had shared this special kind of bond between us; with unrealistic ideals and eccentric behaviour.  When people went out and had the time of their lives, we stayed back and  had our own parties in the cozy corner of my house along with our pals ; the pen which was always high and a stack of paper which always felt this emptiness deep inside. That was our kind of party and it used to be so much fun.  No mat

I think I've forgotten my pen And its mighty strokes; The curves of my letters And how the words interlocked! The lined papers on my desk, No more line up for my hand, Spotless and stainless they lie Like untrodden white sand.  No more do I know my words Or to weave them with beautiful meanings. I've forgotten how my thoughts flow  Or the pace with which my mind swings. Without my words and my weapons Life has lost its lovely charm; Unbeknownst to myself I have forgotten who I am.