Mother’s Day Poem

A very happy mother’s day to you
May all your wishes come true
Except the one where you wish to be an opera singer

It was New Year’s Eve
Our whole clan had gathered
For a massive celebration
You had cooked the most delicious
Finger-licking food
One could ever imagine
You had plenty of compliments coming your way
And you beamed from ear to ear

We were a few minutes away from midnight
Everyone was in high spirits
Narrating funny tales
Cracking old jokes
Playing cards
Dancing

That’s when you decided
To showcase your singing talent
Which, forgive me for saying so, you have none

You picked up the mic
You silenced your audience
You declared your intention to sing
In hindsight, that was a declaration of war
You cleared your throat
You closed your eyes
You began

It was madness
It was chaos
All hell broke loose
People rushed helter-skelter
People bumped into each othet
Trying to escape from the waves
After waves of deafining sound
Aunt tried to stop you
She even screamed at you
But you didn’t bother with her
You were in your zone
Grandpa was a minute away
From the ambulance
He fell unconscious immediately
Don’t think anyone saw him but me
I would have helped him
But I had grabbed two large pillows
To cover my ears
I had not a third hand

Believe me, Mom
My ears are still ringing
I still have nightmares about that
I don’t remember when the clock struck twelve that night
Nobody does
We were preoccupied with saving our lives
We did everything we could to save ourselves
To stop you from committing homicide
But you only stopped
After you were done with that song
Oh boy, I never want to hear that song again
Not even on the radio

That’s not why I am writing this though
I wrote this to tell you
That you are a brilliant cook
An excellent mother and
The only person Dad fears
If you stick to your strenghts
I am certain that no life would be harmed
Take care and keep smiling
A very happy mother’s day to you again 🙂

Facing A Hattrick Ball

Manoj was the first to go
Venkatesh was second
Naturally I’m the next one in
The last man now is beckoned

Helmet hides my sweaty brow
And offers me protection
From the ball about to be swung
In my face’s direction

The fiery paceman runs at me
Fire raging in his sight
My legs tremble at the prospect
Of my horrible plight

All my plans have gone blank
I close my eyes and swing
Hoping I won’t be the one
To make him a hattrick king

I edge the ball into the skies
It sails up, up and over
On the roof of the stadium
The birds are seeking cover

My captain on the other end
Comes and pats my back
“You’re the first to smash him
He’d want his ego back”

When You Return Home Late From Work #2

Open the door, darling
Open the door please
The neighbours are watching

When You Return Home Late From Work #1



When did I first call you?
Five
What did you tell me then?
I’ll be home in an hour

When did I call you next?
Six
Where were you then?
In office
What did you tell me then?
I’ll be home in an hour

When did I call you next?
Seven
Where were you then?
In office
What did you tell me then?
I’m just closing for the day

When did I call you next?
Nine
What did you do?
I didn’t pick up
Where were you then?
In office

What time is it now?
(You gulp and a drop of sweat trickles down your forehead)

not-poetry #7

not-poetry #6

not-poetry #5

a not-poem cares little
about enjambment
metre/speling
& worse = punctuality
                ~ rule #75673

not-poetry #4

not-poetry #2

not-poetry

as relatable as an ‘i do’
as short as a haiku
as deceitful as a magic trick
as shallow as a limerick
as stupefying as the universe
as ill-structured as a free verse
as convenient as an abbreviation
as useless as a quotation
~ a not-poem