A Bird Leaving Nest

Published in: The Hislopian Journal, Hislop College, Nagpur

Srishti Mudaliar

On my way home,
Saw a bird leaving its nest.
And thought how it does feel!

Thought of the hardships,
It might have gone through.
Collecting for its nest hundreds of
Small twigs,
Old reeds,
And cotton balls to soften.
The gentle care,
It offered to its offspring,
Feeding it the softest worm,
Grew it up,
Coaxed it to fly,
Taught it to try,
And learn.
On God’s behest,
Did its best.

On my way home,
Saw a bird leaving its nest.
And thought how it does feel!

Thought then of the day when,
I made my little house.
After piling for years hundreds of
Stones,
Concrete,
And bricks.
Nurtured my son
Offered him education,
Grew him up,
Coaxed him to live,
Taught him to believe,
And learn.
On God’s behest,
Did my best.

On my way off home,
When I see the little gate,
Thought what I would feel or do!

Cry, holding the memories that I don’t wish to have
Or linger in a complete oblivion that I don’t wish to have?
Receive a melancholic sadness that I don’t wish to have
Or the happiness and content that I don’t wish to have?

A Woman

A Woman : As pblished in
Insight, The Hitavada

Srishti Mudaliar

Lives like a penny clenched,
By the insular fetters flinched,
Enjoys the prerogative of gestating,
Virgin or a harlot, she keeps begetting.
Preceded by none of her kind,
She is unique and her state of mind.
Mother, sister, daughter, granny
Relationships she lives many.
Tad tacky commands she obeys and follows,
Surrenders, toils and blows her bellows.
Sweeps, washes and clears the ashes,
Fighting vermin, in the house she lashes.
Entireties she makes on behalf of others,
Nuances of emotions silently she utters.
Prudence she lacks or it’s her endurance?
A woman survives with great perseverance.
Symbol of beauty she is, grace is her dance,
Blue oceans are her gestures of romance.
Humility is the garment she wears,
Festooned by the pearls of tears.
Her lashes, the colored nails and lips she flaunts,
The bootylicious babe that every man wants.
Smart and clever, she stands blur behind the mist,
Struggles to maintain her identity and grit.
Sometimes totally messed up she seems,
In her shell retreats, when intense are the beams.
Vexed by the unwanted cantonments in her terrain,
Stubborn and egoistic appears the siren.
Deception of fame she bears sometimes,
Taciturn appears, but actually mimes.
Falls prey to the constant pursuits of flattery,
Diagnose she cannot a plot of treachery.
Elfin she is, to her beaux addicted,
Gluttony she forgives and is always convicted.
Frail, fragile, the ultimate the seductress,
Deceitful, spiteful, jealous or a lurid traitress.
Delegate in the annals of valiance and bravery,
Won has she and brought the world under slavery.
Upon the celebrations and feats her feet soften,
The vermouth of obsequies she enjoys often.
Testatrix of the values, she is well equipped,
Benefactress she dies and she is worshipped.
Mistress or ruler with an approach inflexible,
Like a colossal gust of wind sometimes intolerable.
Sheaf of livid and pestered souls a hundred,
Testament to myths, she is immortal or undead.
And the form her which’s the most ubiquitous,
A dreamer, with a hope, uncertain and ambiguous,
That all her dreams would one day come true,
That leaves her either glorified or all alone to rue.

A Jiffy

Srishti Mudaliar
What tasks could
Be accomplished
In a “jiffy”?

A pair of eyes could blink,
A bird on its wings could swing,
A honeybee could suck a drop of nectar,
Or a trivial tear could be dropped.

In a jiffy,
A clock makes a movement,
A walk gets its step.
A wish is made,
In a jiffy.

In a jiffy,
A star appears,
Or it disappears into a ‘blackhole’.
Thousands of flowers bloom,
In a jiffy.

A life is born,
In a jiffy.
A life is lost,
In a jiffy.
Victory happens,
In a jiffy.
Failure takes,
Only a jiffy.

In a jiffy,
Everything could be lost.
In a jiffy could appear,
A new “cosmos”!!

A Keepsake

Srishti Mudaliar

The force of the air is sweeping me away,
From my land, it’s environs, under siege of these fences,
Then why the same air does bring to sway,
The sweet smell of the soil, over my senses?

The memories are all that would be accompanying me,
As I move, though much more was that I hoarded,
Of the same land that supported me, while I ran upon the monsoon spree,
And a blur memo that the same gave my survival all that it needed.

My land is not so arid, but is trying to conceal the pain,
The pain, similar to that in my heart,
It needs me, but makes no effort vain,
To stop me, as I proceed to part.

This mighty land has got my words and acts,
The stupendous figures that I carved on the rocks of it,
That would kindle into its heart, the percept of those beautiful feuds and pacts,
That’s why it smartly scuttles begging for time, more a bit.

The “memories” I carry would vanish as soon,
As I get lost into another element,
But, this coarse land doesn’t whither to place, upon me its dusty boon,
Nor does this air agree to get stacked into my perpetual garment.

A delicate urge I play on my fiddle,
Le’mme scrape a bit out of this hardened landscape,
Gi’mme a club or a dagger li’l,
Let me dig out an eternal lump, a “keepsake”.

A Promise

Srishti Mudaliar
A promise is like an answer to a prayer,
It’s just another form of Hope,
A word given to us from someone with care,
Next to the god, to whom, we give the scope.

A promise is a symbol of faith,
That we have upon someone, who made it,
And again upon us the same faith,
Of someone, to whom we made it.

I’ve known people, each of them known as pal,
The people, whose promises I failed to keep,
Yet by them, ‘was forgiven for time and all,
For the mutual understanding was so deep.

A promise to you, my friends I make today,
The only one that could bring a smile to thee,
That I’d try to be some one better each day
For all you want is a perfect me!!