Someone Smiled at me Today!

 

On a wintery cold afternoon,

I was just driving in my lane,

When I witnessed a little boy,

Knocking the window pane.

I scrolled down my window,

To see the little boy,

Dressed in a shabby manner,

Just like an old toy.

The dirt on his face,

And cloths muddled up with dust,

Showcasing his worse conditions,

And dreams filled with rust.

The hands full of dirt,

Were selling the tissues to clean,

The irony that persists,

And is continued to be seen.

The tangled hair that falls,

Like a mess on his head,

Only for twenty rupees madam,

In an alarming voice he said.

With actually like every other day,

I was about to turn around,

Focus on my way to office,

Till our eyes met in a stound.

His eyes had lost hope,

To rise up from his plight,

The stomach that slept with hunger,

Poverty has not treated him right.

There was something illumining I felt,

In the way of this lad,

I was compelled to give him a reaction,

That is not cruel or either bad.

I purchased the packet of tissue,

And paid him the number,

With a smile I pated him,

And shown him a gesture so tender.

A poor soul was happy,

For the emotions he felt by,

The lost hope has revived,

He took a peaceful sigh.

I was confused about his happiness,

After all, I had just bought a packet from his pile,

There was no reason to be so happy,

Thus, I enquired the reason for his wide smile.

The innocence that surrounds,

Made him smile and say,

‘It’s not about the money miss,

But someone smiled at me today!’

 

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She Is Beautiful In Her Own Way!

It’s been several days,

That she has gone out to see,

The blooming gardens,

And to nurture the old memories.

The pretty brown eyes

With beautiful locks unfurled,

With carefree nature she possessed,

Earlier she was too a bold girl.

That day on her way to college,

She was just passing away,

When those devil at the bus stand,

Touched her in an inappropriate way.

Without a miss out on second,

She turned away and slapped,

The guy right on his face,

For the shameful mishap.

With eyes stuck on ground,

The devils could not say a word,

But it hurt their male ego,

And they decided to cage this bird.

The next day when she came out,

To have an evening snack,

It was a complete shock for her,

To face an acid attack.

She was floundering with pain,

Crying at pitch so high,

Still no one dared to catch those devils,

And left the poor soul to die.

She was screaming for the burns,

That caused her body to melt,

Her face was distorted to the extent,

That she could not even express what she felt.

The bubbly girl who was,

So keen to explore the world,

Has now been caged in the room,

Wrecked, hopeless and unheard.

Still the memories of the past,

Haunts her through the night,

The family supports her at all times,

But the society never treats her right.

Many people come to visit her,

Feel sorry and sympathize,

There are still very few people left,

Who would heartedly empathize.

But for the plight of the girl,

This question needs to be raised,

Was it her fault that she protested?

Against the brutal societal phase.

Deep inside, she still knows

She has a strong role to play,

For the loved one that adores her,

She is beautiful in her own way!

 

!!Men are Allowed to Cry!!

One fine day a little boy,

Got a nightmare in his sleep,

He woke with a face so red,

And fiercely began to weep.

Only then the mother told him,

Men are not supposed to cry (pun intended),

The little boy was wondering,

Do their tears dry?

Even when they get hurt,

They should be quiet at times,

Never show their pain and sorrow,

Only pretend they are pretty fine.

After all they are called a stronger gender,

The mother concluded with sarcasm,

The little boy was still confused,

But mother could sense his enthusiasm.

Am I allowed crying or not?

And what is the reason behind?

He wanted to know the answers,

To the questions knocking his mind.

Thinking on a tensed note,

He went to his father for clarifying,

Asked him very furiously,

Does my gender devoid me of crying?

Yes men do cry,

The father confessed to the son,

When they are hurt or frustrated,

Or when someone makes their fun.

When someone hurts them emotionally,

And breaks the promises made,

Or for the behavior that’s bad,

Which makes them feel betrayed.

There may be times when they miss,

Their family and the loving dears,

They are not always tough,

And struggle with bit of fears.

The look that’s bold and handsome,

Rough and tough to portray,

They are too humans my son,

Not a wax model to display.

They do hide their feelings,

Treat their tears like pearls,

Never shed them away like that,

Because society says – ‘men don’t cry like girls’.

But don’t worry my son,

You are free to express and fly,

Convey whatever you feel like inside,

Because “Men are Allowed to Cry”.

 

 

 

Wearing this Proud Uniform!!

With extreme heat over head,

Still withstanding the temperature,

Effortlessly day and night,

They are working ultimately better.

Guarding from wakeful nights,

Till the next sun to rise,

They are always on duty,

And sleep with open eyes.

They do not have any super power,

They’re just humans like us,

But their will power and focus,

Manages all the fuss.

With postings on the borders,

And across the adjoining nations,

They stand as tall as the barrier,

To protect the sprawling generations.

Living in deep trenches

Or on chilled icy mountains

With determination in their minds

They’re ready to challenge all the pains

Sacrificing is the language

Of their body and soul

Hardly meeting their family

Still so firm in their role

Yes, they do love,

And remember their family and mains,

But they swear to protect their country,

And this flows in their veins.

When we’re fast asleep,

They are like our second mother,

Who is awake to protect the child,

And watch over the actions of others.

They do not have festivals,

Nor the weekends off,

They are happy holding their weapons,

Giving a tough knock-off.

Living a life of a soldier,

With all the stringent norms,

Everybody cannot manage to, 

Wear this proud uniform!

 

 

 

“He is called Mr.Joker!”

With colorful pompoms all around,

And children sitting in the front row,

The circus had a houseful,

Waiting for the bubbly joker’s show.

The blue cap that stands,

Tall over his round head,

White base and rosy cheeks,

His attire is portraying red.

The curvy cherry like nose,

And satin that he bears,

Is complementing his looks,

And justifying what he wears.

As the show begins,

He starts with a jolly mind,

Everything looked just perfect,

No one knew what’s behind.

Colorful juggling balls,

Showcases the destiny play,

With the entire burden he carries,

Life juggles him away.

The cheerful acts to enjoy,

From bicycles to wheels,

Making him run throughout the show,

Exactly relates to what he feels.

With each smile he gets,

And every laugh that sings,

For joker to spread happiness,

Has something new to ring.

The On-stage performances,

In innovative different ways,

Upraising his level of work,

Struggles of life is what he displays.

Despite being a very poor,

Poverty stricken soul,

Still underpaid at circus,

Transcending different roles.

The smiles that he shares,

Makes him feel his worth,

Forgetting his sorrows and pains,

Fulfilling his life’s dearth.

From backstage to the front,

His life completely goes around,

By interchanging the two characters,

And coming back to reality grounds.

Dealing with all the life battles,

With a lit up face of hard worker,

No one knows about his real self,

Instead “He is called Mr. Joker!”

 

A Place for Differently Abled

Beginning of the new session,

Everyone sat upright,

Teenagers full of energy,

Faces lit up so bright.

Chit-chat of the children,

Surrounding noise that was loud,

Still there was a little boy,

Who felt alone in the crowd.

The naughty kids in the class,

Targeted the little boy,

His unnatural behavior,

Made him portray as a class toy.

The gang used to tease him,

For a distinctive nature he posses,

Making a mockery by imitating, 

That made him feel depress.

Little did anyone care to reach out,

And ask him about his plight,

Making him feel comfortable,

And tell him everything’s right.

He was unable to communicate,

And feared following social orders,

Never did anyone knew about,

He was suffering from Autism disorder.

He never desired sympathy,

Nor did he hurt or mistreated,

Only a little bit of care would do,

And empathy was all he needed.

In the world full of competition,

Modern and civilized,

Still there is no patience in the people,

Which made him feel agonized.

Being disabled is considered,

As a joke for the society,

To enjoy someone’s problems,

And making fun of their anxiety.

Still with hopes so high,

I aspire for a community that’s stable,

When disabled will no more exist, and

There will be ‘A place for differently abled’.

 

 

!!Where Happiness sighs!!

One fine night the cell vibrates with a -‘hey!’

Just the beginning of this pop up.. What’s more to say?

Texting became the language of body and soul,

Who knew that the stranger would play no different role?

Long deep texts and open heart conversation,

No one ever knew about this secret association.

The typical talking and the parody of freshness that sings,

Just the excitement and pleasure, there was nothing new to ring.

Was she depressed, exhausted or suffered problems that seeps and crawls,

Like a jolly kid he wanted to know them all.

Late night talking and the courage that he imparted,

Made her believe that she was no less and they’ll never be departed.

She could not believe that someone was able to hear her loudest cry,

Wearing a pretty smile and she hide it the best she can try.

Today when silence has much more to explain,

She was dipped in the illusions of sorrow and pain.

The pain and sorrow that surrounds her with a noise,

Little did she knew would depress her own voice.

The truth who knows wherever it lies,

She never thought of the ending with teary eyes.

Now the realities of life has made her hard,

This uncontrollable feeling makes everyone a retard.

Facing different phases made her so strong,

Somewhere deep down she knew she was wrong.

Is it her fault she was always left loner and shallow,

Weeping desperately that night… Much knew her pillow.

It has been ages that she has taken a flight so high.

Underneath the talk that comforts… Where Happiness sighs!!

 

Was School much more Kind?

After the battle of 12 years,

The legends have qualified with score,

The transcending time that follows,

Have made them understand for sure.

Rush in the long lanes,

Where pupils stood by the gate,

Dreaming for a new start,

Everyone tested their fate.

With lists for admission,

Showcased on the notice board,

Many were happy for the selections,

And some took another road.

The cry babies of the school,

Are now the teenagers of time,

With much more responsibility,

And fashionable trends to rhyme.

A completely new place,

To explore the world outside,

Meeting different people around,

And getting ready for a college ride.

There was no more a compulsion,

For wearing the same school uniform,

Neither for carrying heavy bags,

Nor following the school norms.

The lunch break and the canteen,

Were like rituals for a student,

Going for outings with gang of friends,

Were our only decent trends.

The pressure of studying harder,

Seems like daily struggle for us,

Still to escape the assembly,

There was a trick to miss out on bus.

The punishments for not doing homework,

Or not being properly dressed,

The caring nature of the teachers,

Always made us learn the best.

The restrictions of the school,

Are now cherished as beautiful memories,

Everyone is so excited to,

Experience the college treasuries.

Still the glorious years of school,

Will always be my best friend,

Who taught me to be confident,

And never made me feel unkenned.

But a thought that is always,

Wondering in my mind,

Will college be more fun or,

Was school much more kind?

 

 

Punishment for being a Loving Wife!

White all around,

The colors of life have blown away,

The dilemma she was dealing with,

Had something more to convey.

The pain of the loss,

That she carried on her own,

Was strangling her inner desires,

As she was left all alone.

This was a sudden happening,

For the young aged skin,

The demise of the husband,

Broke her from within.

The loving couple had nurtured

Some beautiful memories together

The husband had always encouraged

His wife to be an independent feather

But the family has decided,

The customs to be followed,

The old patriarchal practices,

Had made their thinking hollow,

Rituals stated to burn the wife,

Along with the body of husband,

The murderers of the village headed,

The sati system that was still in trend.

Challenges of life,

Was testing the patience of gender,

The pressure of the society,

Made her quietly surrender.

Along with the dead soul

A living heart was burned

Everyone heard the painful cry

Still no one wanted to turn

Never did anyone wondered about,

The female’s decent choice,

As she desired to live,

And revamp her on voice.

Is it really fair?

To burn a living life

Was this the punishment?

For being a loving wife

 

The Cry of the New Born

Deep within the darkness,

Of the winters chilly night,

A gang of adults surrounding,

Sensing something was not right.

 

The news of the new born,

Escalated all around,

The orthodox oldies in the village,

Muttered in a single sound.

 

The beautiful gift of god,

Had pretty blue eyes,

Full of innocence and love,

Still no one was so wise.

 

The little baby born,

Was given a reaction so pale,

Everybody blamed the mother,

For giving birth to a female.

What was her fault?

That she was not allowed to live,

The gender decided her destiny,

Society had nothing more to give.

  

Unlike the other nights,

Today the house was filled with hate,

To reduce the burden on family,

The decision to kill her was made.

 

She was made to drown in the tub,

Full of chilled water,

There was not even single person,

Who would save the little daughter?

 

The rituals of the society,

That killed the female child,

The murderers in this village,

fearlessly practiced female infanticide.

 

The weak mother sobbing quietly,

Did not dare to utter,

A single word for justice,

For her new born daughter.

 

After the inhumane act,

Everyone silently mourned,

Still no one wanted to hear,

The cry of the newborn.

 

The Anniversary of an Old Age Shelter!

A fresh September day,

With frills and petals decorated around,

Celebrating the birthday of the shelter,

Where all the happiness surrounds.

A pretty cake with candles,

Highlighting the glorious years of success,

Of recollecting the life of those parents,

Who were targeted for their old age mess.

Few had Brown framed eyeglasses for vision,

And some used wooden sticks to walk,

Hardly coping with the age problems,

But everyone felt excited to talk.

It was the anniversary of the home,

That is filled with so much of care,

For all those loving hearts,

Who are not respected and treated fair.

Living the last stage of their journey,

Nothing much these aged toddlers demand,

Just a bit of love and affection,

And their proud sons to run their errands.

But here wanders a specific question,

To all those pretending civilized,

Is it really a burden to take care of,

The one who has pampered you all their life.

The mother who gathered so much of strength,

Just to have the young ones in her arms,

The father who had cut down on his needs,

And protected the child from society harms.

Is this the boom of modernization,

That teaches us the improper code,

To behave brutally with the parents,

And shoo them out to live on road.

 

But, fortunately the shelter has given,

These oldies a new family and house,

To enjoy their relaxing stages,

And live lasting memories with their spouse.

Every corner of this place,

Entails a story deep within,

Hiding some deep scars and tears,

And nurturing memories of loose old skin.

Congratulating this beautiful house,

To adore these kiddish souls so right,

Binding the years of struggle together,

And playing a supportive role in every plight.

Uplifting the hopes of those elderly,

And giving a path to live better,

Everyone was so proud to celebrate,

The anniversary of this old age shelter!

 

 

!!The Bitter Truth of Pretty Marriage!!

A sunny Sunday afternoon,

With blue curtains on,

Twirling loud music,

And uncle aunties talking in the lawn.

A hustle bustle of relatives,

With excited air surrounds,

The happiness of her parents,

Literally knew no bounds.

It seemed to be the day,

For the little daughter in the house,

To start a new life and

Live with her spouse.

And the shine of the new car,

The greed of groom flaunts,

All the luxury parents gave,

Just to avoid societal taunts.

The house was decorated,

Like a golden beautiful fare.

But the cry of the daughter,

No one wanted to hear.

Marriage looked more like an exhibition,

To maintain the standard of in-laws.

The gold that entails the bride,

Ready to be snatched by sneaky paws.

No one did wonder,

To talk to the pretty bride,

Take her suggestions,

For her life long ride.

With all the expensive show off,

The dowry was made to look like a token,

In order to take a human showpiece home

And leave her wrecked and broken.

Little did anyone care about,

The pain of the nineteen year old.

Was this a marriage or unfortunately

The gender was again being ‘Sold’?

The norms of the society,

Full of despair and money.

The status bounded bond of two families,

Tasted as sweet as honey!

It looked like a complete family,

When captured in a picture from far.

Looking deep down inside the reality,

It will become shallow and taste sour!

She was too a human,

Having rights to look up and dream.

But was made to tuck in bondage,

For so called self respect Screen.

This ritual of the society,

Continues to be encouraged,                

But no one dares to question?

The bitter truth of pretty marriage!!

Poem: The Make-Up Girl is in Trend!!

Oh! Just look at her.

The beauty that stands tall to embrace.

Heavy loads of work pressure,

Wearing a make-up face.

Curly brown locks she carries,

Intensified ravishing looks.

Little did anyone know about,

Her childhood spent in books.

The kohl made her eyes,

Give an outshine to the world.

Dark circles on the sober face,

Reflects the life battles unfurled.

The beauty she posses,

Is just an artificial power.

There was no one who knew about,

Her inner deep scar.

Pressures of the dominance,

Made her straight upright.

Efforts she had put in

Makes her shine so bright.

Dependent to Independent,

Her story showcases at best.

She was a woman with brains,

Which society could not digest?

Besides all she has achieved,

And her looks that perfectly defines,

Shoulders full of responsibility,

Tone of house and work always rhymes.

Yet there were people

Who would question her success?

But she always dares to manage,

And control the societal mess.

Staring passengers and the authority,

Who thought she was easy and tender.

She has always fought and proved everyone,

There was nothing called a ‘weak gender’.

Deep inside this character,

Resides a very sensitive soul,

Who wished to be adored,

Playing many the different roles.

A mother, sister or a daughter,

A wife, colleague or a friend,

Coping with all the challenges

The Make-Up Girl is in Trend!!