My moon that night!

Well past midnight in March

A large orange moon hung

Precariously near the swishing

Tree that could have it stung.

A lone sheet on the clothesline,

I fluttered in the large balcony;

Left over to be dried, I saw

The moon, try some alchemy.

It glowed in pride.

The big circle with the marks;

It charmed me next

With such sparkling sparks

Full in shape that night,

Although I’d earlier romanced,

Hanging in forlorn nights,

Some slender crescents that’d advanced.

Reaching my hand out

I shouted and called it in,

“Careful! The frenzied twigs”

I’d seen in it some of my kin.

Gloomy I sulked back.

They gave no mouths to textile!

Feared a scratch on the delicate face,

But my screech was just futile.

The rope shivered and I

Called out the cheeks of heaven,

“Stop the ugly play of Wind or

Haul my darling away but in safe haven.”

Peeped she out, unveiling

From the ashen Cloud;

Painting a pale hapless smile,

Just to slip back in her shroud.

Wind halted to grin at me,

Towing in along heavy grey fate;

Her veil swelled up!

And started shedding weight.

I scoffed back at him

For his self goal that night;

Scary twigs quit their game, and,

I was drenched again for her delight. 

Again!

It’s pretty,

Pretty again

And I hear it again,

The violin hum;

I shake up to realize

I haven’t had any rum.

But I see it again

I see it happening now

I think

Think again

And I look forward

To live the moments

I wake up to remember

And realize their torments.

But I see it again

A half of I want it now

Not my fault

Not my fault again

It treats me such and

I forget all – now and old

I slap my head to stop

Even ere, I couldn’t be bold.

I see it again

I think of the right wrong now

It’s fervent,

Fervent again;

I remember the last

I compare the reasons and all.

And sigh as I have always done;

A faint smile and I take the call.

I’m falling again.

Falling in love again now;

If not sincere as last

’m learning to love again, now…

Summer Possum

Time has gone by

And they’d moved on

Yet on a murky night

She remembered that dawn

On a lurid march day

He kissed her brow

Gifted a tiny possum

With a red ribbon bow

She loved him much

And loved the possum

It hopped and played

And danced to her drum

It liked her much

Cuddling on the shoulder

Ran across her chest

Behind her neck, felt bolder

Seasons changed and

Months passed to summer

Possum she called hers

Made her eyes shimmer

That sunny afternoon

It ran into the wood

Her pulse paced n pounded

Shivered and wept in the hood

She looked and looked on

And remembered the kiss

Road was lonely ahead

Possum hers, she’d miss

Skies turned dark

And the rain hit her hard

She wondered of her phalange

And sang as a bard

Season’s first flakes fell

And snow made her white

Where would it be and

Wished for just a sight

The maid ran in and

Grinned and screamed

“My man saw the possum

With many others it teamed”

Sprang she with glee

And sent for her husband

Then realized clay

Had to return to sand

She’d calmed down

And verified the red bow

The little beast last wore

Smiled she, tears fell in a row

Its summer today

And she tenders little Furs

Remembers hers first, sighs

Smiles and continues to nurse

As his possum

Was he and his love

And so was hers

Painted a smile and dove

Time has gone by

And they’ve moved on

Yet on a murky night

She remembers that dawn

Jan support but not Jasmine!

An interesting balance sets on the stats when one juxtaposes the figures 1.67 lakh crores and 1.21 billion! One, an estimate of an instance of loss and the other, well our strength. That’s what our worrisome population is known as when a Gandhi sits on a Satyagrah. Within hours of Anna starting his fast unto death, for bringing accountability in the governance, an unprecedented response mushroomed across the country. Saffron scarves and in skull caps, cotton sari clad and in candid denims, silver haired and the seventeen year old, all turned out from the multi strata complex society. Oh! Well that makes us 1.2 billion.

A historic revolution and naming it the second freedom struggle, the internet beings have added quite admirable fuel to the fire, fanned by the media. A rotten country, ranking 87^th on the corruption list could merely dream of flying. Only a fire in the house could have broken our slumber. The overwhelming response on the call of Hazare, roaring Anna nahi yeh aandhi hai,Desh ka doosra Gandhi hai, would bring down the lumbering government to finally pass the much coveted, 42 year grand old bill, a precaution then, but surely a cure now.

Street plays, speeches and slogans, all have been screaming of corruption and decay. Perhaps taking cue of the global trends, we’ve started smelling Jasmine in India. But, here lies a sad note. India, however mucky it may be, is a thriving and well so, democracy. Rechristening Jantar Mantar, Tahrir Square, would be disrespecting ourselves, our faith and that of Anna Hazare’s campaign. Let’s leave it to Egypt and the ilk to liberate from their non democratic regimes at Tahrir.

Although a section of the society suspects Anna’s version of the bill, and quite reasons it. Establishing an institution as super cop – super judge, might in some stray possibilities give birth to a monstrous head with no counter. Yet, it’s quite desirable to have such a Lokpal even if it questions every move of the government. Its time we get it done.

As crores gather in the width and span of the country in support of Anna, many are oblivious to the motive of their congregating, even if they do shout for the Jan Lokpal Bill, plenty don’t understand its intricacies. But what they do know is that they have assembled to question the political class of the callous corrupt governance they have been inflicted upon. And that is reason enough to join the ‘historic’ movement.

True liberation though, would only be achieved if this mass support translates into a mass will of acting against basic corruption, the aam aadmi corruption. It doesn’t lie with the government alone; it breeds in every child here. We can’t sing songs that are crooned in Arabia. Along with the check on politicos, we need to keep a tab on selves. A no to the next cop on the road for the ghoos, stands must for a Lokpal Law to be implemented well.

I look on...

I looked at the mirror

I looked at the mirror again tonight.

I looked at myself after pretty long,

I looked at how I look now.

I looked if anything had to be fixed,

I looked interested in myself, and how!

I’d never really been a Narcissist, but

I brushed with the sense after pretty long.

I used to gaze at the reflection for hours,

I used to look on until my look was fine.

I used to ask the mirror if I’d be looked at

I used to smile for the gentry that would dine.

And then, my muse was gone.

Along; had gone plenty.

I lost much, and in that was my mirror.

I was brought a new one, framed, and well lit.

I looked at it and wondered, for whom?

I was told to move on, but I rarely looked at it.

Today, was it?

Or has it been for a while?

I spoke interestedly and listened to the replies,

I smiled and kept it, till I walked home.

I looked at the mirrored face and yes, time flies.

I hooked the mirror on a wall,

I look at the mirror today and

I remember the bygone fall.

I look hesitant, I sigh for the dawn,

I look at the mirror to see a missing scar,

I look, and there’s still in me that fawn.

I look at new grey in the hair, but that wouldn’t mar.

I look on;

I’ll love the old look for on, but

I would look on for my look from now on.