At fourteen, while skimming through my English exam paper, I paused, puckering my eyebrows. One of the questions read, “Write a paragraph on the story of a little lamb.” I remember thinking, why on earth do I have to write about a lamb? Another question asked me to write a diary entry on visiting a school for special children, a place I had never even been to. And there it was again, an essay on how to maintain a balanced diet.
And Yet He Smiles
half up in air, steps on stairs
he makes a life.
He babbles with a funny speech,
perhaps of his teeth,
chiselled by deep carmine
yet I see no scar upon his smile.
against the pane
Sitting in my classroom,
beside the window on my left,
I gaze outside
there is a Sheesham tree,
shadowing the sunlight in patches over me.
While strands of sunlit hazel
tickle my cheeks,
so, the breeze murmurs for me
to tuck them behind
as I gaze outside;
a bird perches on the lines,
chirrups to me in wistful eyes
then scampers to flight,
into a sky of blue
stroked with white.
The Spring in my Street
The beams of gold caressed
the Gulmohar trees,
like milestone lamps they gleamed,
yellowing my street.
Betrayed
The more you trust,
the more they betray.
The more you love,
they see you as prey
not to a quiet death,
rather, to tear; piece by piece
and breath by breath.