Balloons

There was a time when we were fascinated by colorful balloons, those were days of our innocence and purity. Going down the memory lane....

A frail hand,
a smooth string, and
the colourful worlds,
they scintillate my screen,
when I rewind.
Events flash,
when he would come selling,
he colourful, the hued bubbles,
uneasy, colliding, waiting,
to be free.
His dusty skin, expectant eyes,
shone when we appeared,
ours too, on seeing him.
The desperation, to get one
of those worlds,
to run along with them,
to fly with them,
to the worlds they go alone.
No such desperation, no such wait,
no such merry times,
what's it now ??
Heaven was there,
hell's here.

Mother

I can confirm the existence of God in the form of a single word called 'mother'. This poem describes how a boy living in some slum watches his mother working hard to make their both ends meet and has some wishes to make. Ode to Mom :)

Quietly, she runs the house,
she bears the smoke from the burning wood,
that sickens her lungs,
but asks us to stay away from
the smoke.
She tries to ignite the dying fire,
to cook what all we've got,
the scarcity, the poverty prevails.
She bears the heat, but all smiles for
me.
She feeds me well, bite by bite,
and sets my shabby hair right.
This affection, this care,
and she's the angel.
So much, you know, as big as this room,
she does for me,
that I shall do something great one day,
for her,
to care for,
all the care I've been blessed with.
She'll face no problem no more,
a big house, we'll get
and a big car to take her to
the places she wishes for.
There shall be no smoke no more,
and my mother will cook,
with hopes and smiles, that
she has today, right now.