Mighty small man

Mighty pride of a mighty man,
Fearless and standing tall,
Was he a king or perhaps a dictator?
Could he have been a well-decorated General?
Or a powerful statesman of his time,
Surely he must be greater than all!

His gaze transfixed on passers-by,
Unmoved, but wonderfully poised,
With his stony presence felt,
He stood at the parks center,
A daring crow, defied his authority,
Sitting stubbornly on him,

Creeping weeds, entwining marble legs,
Almost restraining him from complaining,
About the neglect he silently suffers,
What’s that engraved on that pedestal?
Perhaps a name, a title or a citation,
Now illegible and faint!

- Ajay Dass

The Ochre Rose

The rose bud in my garden,
was of a beautiful Ochre.
It was singular and laden,
a cauldron of joy,
A shimmering light of hope.

My eye, observant and admiring,
kept note of it, as each day,
slowly passed by.
I nurtured it, and the mire that lay,
to see it smile.

One morn, I saw the bud,
had bloomed to its full display,
a youthful vigour and exuberance.

I thought let me pluck and
place it in a vase,
lest it dries and withers away.

As i pinched the stem,
my hand, I withdrew crying in pain,
and remorse, looking at
the thorn that had pierced the flesh,
and the exotic Ochre rose.

- Tony Dass

The Old Woman

She sits on a chair,

By the flickering light from a tallowy candle,

Her eyes darting- to the grand old clock,

And then back again to the oaken door.

The moments freeze in a silent prayer,
Shattered by a chirruping cricket.
Far away sounds a plaintive howl,
And then all is calm and quiet again.
Her eyes pressed close in wrinkled folds,
She leans forward on the creaking chair,
And almost...hears the distant sound,
Of a phantom footfall on a forlorn path.

The frail frame has waited thus,

For days that passed and those to come,

Beside the flame of the guttering candle,

Which waits to be snuffed,by the gentle breath of time.

Mary Nandini Beschi
Copyright ©2007 Mary Nandini Beschi

THE ORPHAN

A single touch was all her need,
Hungry for love ready to heed,
Dirty and neglected was she,
Tightly clinging on to me,
Running to me with abundant gay,
She hugged me, having nothing to say,
Gentle as a breeze, gurgling like a brook,
Impassioned my being shook.
The warmth of her gaze thawed my heart,
As I silently admired Gods perfected art,
Great is the pride in foolish man,
That he would challenge his creator if he can,
I wish that he were fully stripped,
And his might torn and ripped,
Then, like this tiny orphaned child,
His love would be humble, pure, meek and mild!

- Ajay Dass

Poets little corner ...

This is based on one of my experiences at Nirmala Shishu Bhavan. On one of my visits, I came across this tiny little girl who made me understand the heart of the creator! This girl was so in need of love and attention that she didn't really care if the donor was a saint or a sinner. She freely hugged me and played with me as if I were her own. Completely devoid of all pride, love was all over her beautiful face.