Fading Picture of an Unknown Beggar Girl

Memories of a train ride where some passengers taunted a little beggar girl.

Fading Picture of an Unknown Beggar Girl
Settling down on my seat,
For the long journey ahead to my college town,
With a book in my hand
To drown the hustle and bustle of passengers,
All along the platform, up and down.
Single dim light bulb trying it’s best to
Banish the creeping dark shadows of dusk.
Hawkers peddling their wares, shouting
To be heard over the din of multilingual sound.
Sudden commotion,
A rush to the window by few fellow travellers,
Distracted me from my book.
Turned my head
What’s their object of interest,
I wanted to look.

There, extending one of her shriveled hand,
Barely reaching the window,
Tiny, little beggar girl,
May be hardly in her teens,
Begging.

Tattered pieces of cloth over her distended belly,
Her malnourished body uncovered,
One hand clutching a bundle of rag to her chest,
A days old baby latched to her breast.

What demons had sacrificed
This little girl on their alter of lust?
Robbing her childhood,
Her innocence and  sanity lost.
Forcing her to beg.

Oblivious to the lustful gaze of the animals
At her exposed breasts,
Her sanity long gone,
From window to window she moved,
Pitiful eyes scanning the faces inside,
Silently begging for food.

Oh, the sense of shame and guilt,
My helplessness at the behavior
Of my fellow human beings,
Unable to stop their
Lustful glances and taunts.
 
As I tried to get her a packet of food,
Train whistled and picked up speed.
It delivered me from my torment,
That haunting pictured etched in my mind.

The face had faded long before
The picture is slowly fading.
Even the passing of several decades
Have not erased the shame and guilt.

Face

Face, instead of being mirror of the mind, hides the pain hidden deep inside.

Face

If
Face is the mirror
Of the mind,
That mirror has become
Opaque long ago.
It does not reflect anymore
Under layers of cosmetics.
Promises of eternal youth,
Botox,
Once expressive
Now does not show
Any emotions. 
Maybe it’s for the better
To hide the pain

Carried deep inside.
Pain of the extended hand,
Slapped away several time.
Face
Does not communicate
What’s in mind.
Deep beneath the layers
Of aged skin
And make up,
Hidden by a fixed smile,
Face has failed
Long ago
To mirror the
Pain in my mind.

Warriors of the Night

Bloggers battle to reach out and win hearts through their creations.

Warriors of the Night

Sun has gone down,
Dark shadows move across the sky,
The bugle calls.

Warriors of the night
Out in droves,
Alone in their foxholes,
Manning their battle stations,
Fingers flying across their weapons.

It’s not a fight to the death,
Nor to kill and conquer, but
To create,
To reach out,
To win hearts.

No boundaries,
Across continents,
Over land and water
They fly.
Differences excite exploration,
Diversity unites.

Fingers  tapping their keyboards,
Or gliding blithely across the screen,
Warriors of the night
Fighting their heroic battles.

Reaching out to unknown friends,
Bringing the world closer
One word at a time.

And as the shadows of night slowly recede,
Bugle plays Reveille,
Warriors of the night arise,
Battle weary but content
For a night’s job well done.

Life’s Trivial Questions

Life is to live or to live is life. Does it matter?

Life’s Trivial Questions 

Few thoughts:

Question is not “To be or not to be”

Life is to live or

To live is life,

I live to eat or

Eat to live,

Questions aplenty,

Answers do not matter.

Can’t go back,

Time travel is a myth.

Only option is to move forward,

Till it’s time to part.

Searching for those fleeting moments,

When sunshine brought some peace.

Is it too much to ask,

For a little of those moments,

Or do I just eat to live?

Imperfect Image

Are we created in the image of the creator or our imperfections had created an imperfect image of the creator

Imperfect Image

Born naked,
Pure and innocent.

Immediately without consent,
Wrapped and stamped,
As being created
In the image
Of an unknown,
As defined.

Mind’s virginity lost,
Before even realized
What it meant.

Childhood innocence sacrificed at the alter of
Societal conformist dogma.
Continuously indoctrinated, seduced to believe
Words and rituals.
Follow blindly or you are ostracized.
Difficult to fathom why one loving and most forgiving,
Will be breathing fire and brimstone,
Will punish if you falter, but
Won’t let you not falter.
Why  will the most compassionate one
Demand sacrifice of our fellow travelers
For spreading his glory?
Why promise vain earthly pleasures to followers
Creating deaths and mayhem in his name.
Why idols worshiped by multitudes,
Praying for their peace and prosperity,
Will not stop sacrificing
blood of animals that can not defend themselves
To satiate their thirst.

Justice and righteousness,
Truth and fairness,
Manipulated words, victims of fanatical minds.

Bruised and bettered,
Are we created in the
Image of the perfect one?

Or are we following blindly the
Imperfect Images

Created by  imperfect us?

 

SUNDAY MORNING IN DENTIST’S OFFICE

Sunday morning in Dentist’s Office

Winter morning
Sunday
Grey sky
Dark and cold
Inviting warm bed
Disheveled from a
Long night’s tossing and turning
I would rather be here
Then be in my
Dentist’s Office.

Long drive
Thoughts drifting to
The pot of brewed coffee
On the kitchen counter
Slowly dragged myself
To my dentist’s office

Warm, radiant smile
Welcoming hygienist
Stretched my body
On the inviting chair
Whirring  of the drill
Pinging of the water pick
The small talks
Napping
Drifting in and out
Mild growling in my tummy
Thoughts of a warm, spicy breakfast
Yummy
Not as bad as I thought
Sunday morning in my dentist’s office.

Holiday Parking Lot at the Mall

Holiday Parking Lot at the Mall

Time at a standstill
Life crawling at snail’s pace
Something boiling inside
Amidst it all
Tranquility.

Realization setting in slowly
Rising frustration
Helplessness
Can’t abandon my place
In this meandering centipede

Cacophony of sound and light
Elderly gentleman shuffling slowly
Bag in hand, glancing back and forth.

Expectant eyes following his every move
Moving ever so slowly
Not to miss the slot he vacates
Oh dear! What a letdown.
Unexpected uncertainties of life
Not the exit, but the entrance he turns.

A ripple of smile comes down the line
An undulating wave down the spine
Suddenly the head comes alive
And the crawling centipede starts to glide
Oh! how we enjoy disappointment of others.

Like a Zen Buddhist deep in meditation
Eyes focused in reaching exalted destination
We move slowly
Time is of no essence

Suddenly a ray of light ahead
Turn hard and squeeze in fast
Nirvana
Destination at last
I got a slot
On holiday
At the mall parking lot.