POEMS: Let it rain, It rained, The Spouse of Sentiments, Walls of China, Weird Feet, Elegy of this Mummy’s & Monarch


Clear as skies have ever been,
Then stirred a slight breeze.
Gently woke a dusty scene,
Helpless pedestrians sneeze.

A clouds’ parade is called;
Smoky pawns first appear.
From the horizon they strolled
With a breeze winded in despair.

Officers’ darker mien show,
As an angry thicken sky spread.
The world’s mood goes slow,
For a brief moment, in dread.

Suddenly the tempo is upped,
Like an adrenaline spiked heart.
The living world all robbed
Of all its plans as droplets pat.

The tar-less streets go empty,
As commerce pauses in pain.
Hawkers shelter all so hasty
As the clouds cry, let it rain.


Sleep is death everyday
And dreams, the after life.
Morning wakes Lazarus
Into a very moist terminus.

The birds call out stops,
Jetting in over roof tops.
The sun arrives from the east,
In its twelve hourly haste.

Wingless termites each pair,
From glassy littered floors appear.
Lizards leave damp cracks
Amidst frogs’ conducted croaks.

Each awakes as another
To catch the day younger.
The wet early mood hurried;
For surely last night it rained.


Daddy smiled and coughed light,
Understanding my explained plight.
Men are lonely and they know,
Yet they conspire not to let show.

These women are assisted all through
By their very own sex, unlike you.
Firstly by mothers or sisters, then peers.
All thrust, show or coax their shares.

Ladies understand the bodies’ world well
As they grow so guided, you can tell.
The boy discovers on his very own.
And thus, what he finds is his fun.


The old London Bridge is falling down
Yet everyone still swims back into town.

When the new walls of China do crumble
They won’t stay back there to just cuddle.


Imagine if your feet points inwards
And your heels are aligned outwards.

Your legs do not end with any toes
And look like thin straight fleshy poles.

You walk like a tall naked chicken
And take only small steps for no reason.


The produce of your womb is true,
For this only a mummy are you.
You swell and pine till cords’re cut,
This much dear credit is stolen not.

In the start of it all you were
Willing that all elements be there.
You mothered it all from scratch
To be as no other would match.

The availability of all that’s good
Is so limitless and has no mood.
You were to be of such a mould;
An embodiment of this idea so old.

You saw with your own blind eyes
And discarded others and their lies.
As all came and as all so went,
You blur the real and just dreamt.

Indifference is that able chance
Not just affordable to all hands.
This you grew to learn as all do;
And seek to murder your dead anew.

Compassion has love in its nature,
It lacked in past, present and future.
You are history as an origin is;
History as any Tomb-Mummy’s kiss.

Dead as dreams bubbles in a diamond,
Your aged love will never find them.
Till you died, to these lives you’re death
That came back down to this earth.


From the high trees in Mexico;
On the way back to this Mexico,
The great-grand Monarch will stir
As she, this same time and there
Starts a migration of off-springs
At times winters meets springs.

In flight onto the vastness of Texas,
They will briefly settle in Texas;
As did cows, boys and their wives,
Like an established glow of life’s.
Waving cloud of flickering beauty,
Floating yellow specks, so mighty.

The first generation will here pupa,
Here crops feed and protect proper.
Well fed, they cover up and mutate.
These Milk-weeds they do cultivate
Dictates their site, flight and path;
After it, the caterpillars had sought.

Another generation is alone and going,
Together following meals and dieing.
Onward northeast with their destiny,
Eighty kilometers a day their mystery.
Their next route only goes on forth;
The generation that returns is fourth.

They had congregated in far Canada,
This generation is journey harder.
Their numbers much as to boast,
As they wait out storms at the coast.
At last in the Augusts’ clear season,
They sprint four thousand miles of ocean.

If Human restlessness keeps its place,
Together like they left this place;
With earth where it was again in orbit
And nature its only possible culprit,
Southwest this living cloud always returns,
To the same trees the Monarch returns.