We Travelled Time

I am visiting my home town, Guwahati, in India for Durga Puja. The nine day celebration (Navaratri) of worshipping Goddess Durga ends on the tenth day with the immersion of her idol on Vijaya Dashami (October 19th this year. Last I was in Guwahati for Durga Puja was in 1984.

On my way to Guwahati, I stayed in Kolkata for two days meeting my college class mates whom I had not seen for more than four decades. The poem below is an expression of how I felt meeting my friends, with whom I had spent five years of my life, after such a long time.

We Travelled Time

For a moment time stood still,
And then we rolled it back.
As decades collapsed to years,
And years squeezed to
Months and days,
For a few hours there
We found our fountain of youth.
Years fell of like
Leaves falling off a tree in fall.
Behold the miracle!
As Yayati sheding his old age
Embracing youth,
In the dying rays of an autumn sun
We took a dip in the fountain
And emerged as teens.
Bewildered eyes of our sweethearts
Questioning what madness engulfed us,
We travelled time.
Drank from our cup of memories.
Rejuvenated,
We parted, not with a heavy heart
But promises to meet again.
©Pranab Sarma, 2018


Yayati – mythological king who was cursed with old age at the prime of his youth. He regained his youth as his son Puru agreed to take his father’s curse and gave his youth to his father.

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Peak Unsummited

Excellence unattained,
Excuses, excuses,
Lower the bar,
Lower the bar again.
When finally jump over
The lowered bar,
Peak unsummited
Looks down.
Sunk in self pity,
Rising frustration,
Life miserable.
Better to fail trying
Then daily dose of death.
One can con the world,
But lying to self?
Need to live
In a world
Without mirrors.
Perfection mirage,
Pursuit praiseworthy.

Life Backward

whatsapp
Photo from Pixabay

A poem written in a lighter vein. No hidden messages.

Morning started with the aim to move forward,
Opened my cell phone and started whatsapp.
Floodgates opened with messages forwarded,
Everyone seems to be in a rush to share and educate,
What a treasure trove of repeats, must be weekend,
Decisions, decisions, to read or to be deleted.
Before I knew it hours passed reclining in bed,
Sore thumbs and nature’s call made me sad.
Oh, why did I open whatsapp, my bad.
Goal of moving forward, messages forwarded hijacked.

Marching Song of the Sloths

This poem started as a tongue in cheek comment to a post Turning by  Ritu Bhathal(butismileanyway) yesterday. She was kind enough to respond back with two smiling emojis (two of them, not one, just think of it), so I thought why not post the comment as a poem in my blog.  I decided to sleep on it and before I knew Thursday turned to Friday.  Before we go to the weekend, here it is.

A mountain far away,
Distant fire on a
Cold winter’s night,
Pursue at your own peril,
They recede as you approach,
So heed the wise,
Turn.
Why leave the comfort
Of a warm bed?
Nike is not going to pay you
To just do it😊