DEPRIVED OF BODY’S FITNESS

Photo Credit: Hyde Park Poetry, Thursday Poets Rally week 86

I am waiting for her, a lady-beauty, to meet first,

When evening is emblazoned with flood lights,

The street is busy, cars, taxies, AC, non-AC buses,

Pedestrians make way through running vehicles,

And at the time of meeting in this road-crossing,

One young lady just appears before me, from crowd,

And says, “Madam will not meet you, Sir,

She is frightened; you have such a big tummy,

Odd looking against odd looking, so sorry she is.”

I return home, look at my body in the mirror,

Geometrical figure is not shaped, curved like the very

Alphabet ‘a’ with short legs, not attractive, disgusting,

I cannot control the pant, fitted with belt, not to slip out,

I go to doctor for working out how to shape, to build

A figure with manly curves, muscles, no pot belly,

It is to be a painting work on canvas by an artist.

Doctor just advices,

“You have to take small quantity of meals, two times,

A little tiffin, snacks, all to be nutritious, balanced food,

A cup of rice, veg curry, a lot of fish, salads, one apple,

One pomegranate, to be included in menu, and a little exercise.” 

Most food to be prepared at home, no restaurant food,

Not to eat from foot-path eateries, not to take much

Carbohydrates, only living protein to be eaten in home,

It is not easy to shape body like painting work of artist

Such body I do have immerges into breathing problem,

And it is like calling death before time that bears natural.

I am at a crucial point to break my body’s drowned fitness.

BRAVE CHILDREN

Picture Credit: Blue bell books.blogspot.short-story-slam-week-86

Kids are gentle in the morning light,

Being innocent, they enjoy every moment,

While playing, keeping mind pure as light,

In their endless searching and learning with

Elders who help them to train nascent minds

To know the truth to find plucking of apples

In the orchard is like gathering knowledge

About life and nature and bees, altogether,

Those hold history, story, poetry and

Thus they move into speeches of God’s men,

And know good persons, who say about truth,

About light, day and night thus created for

Distinguishing what it is good or evil

And they learn talking about good things.

They will sacrifice for others who love them.

THE PLAY

                                                Photo Credit: Blue Bell Books Twitter Club

There are two little children - one boy and one girl - both are of six years’ old, playing in a children’s park in a spring afternoon, some conversation is there between them from innocent talks, to know each other’s pretty minds:

“Where do you live?” says she, “Far away in that direction.  We go by auto-rickshaw.”

He points out little fingers towards east.

- “Who takes you here? My mother is there.” she points out to one beautiful lady sitting on a lawn- chair a little far away.

- “My grandpa comes with me.” says the little boy.

The little girl takes a glance at the old aged man with silvered hair, standing nearby.

- “Where is your mother?” She said,

- “My mother goes on a long duty, she cannot come. She will return home next day after four mornings.” He says.

By this time, mother of the girl calls her daughter and takes her away from the children’s park. The boy stands stoned with a glance on the way they have gone away from the park.

Every playing is sweet,

And everyone plays a part in it.

Parting away isn’t pardonable,

Flower shreds something

We have touched,

Perfume in deep sensation

Left behind by flower’s kindness,

A gift we receive with warmth of heart.

It reminds us a paradise

Where we feel warmth and kindness

And leave it with some

Sweet memory, the little boy perceives.