Happiness!

I look at my kid...the innocence seems to spill over. The ethereal beauty of his face, his yearning of coming close and playing with me (till eternity).......ohh my, when he sleeps, his embrace - the magical touch of his says so many things; the sense of protection that he feels - anything and everything, demons, witches, and even his mama that come his way - baba is the sentry, who will build an impregnable wall around him, redirecting everything away.....I pocket HAPPINESS.

The other day, I asked him -  what do you like in me? He didn't even bat his eyelids to generate the impromptu answer: baba, I love everything of you. I hugged him tight, tears moistening my eyes.....I pocket HAPPINESS

He overhears, and could only distill that baba wants to get into some school by the name IIM. Every night, before dozing off, he would say -  baba, mark my words, your dream will come true. I would pat him gently, laughing to myself - Innocence is bliss. When I received the final admit, overjoyed I took him in my lap and spilled the news. He didn't show much excitement, and matter of factly said he knew it would happen. A bit wary, does this kid even know what and how much it takes to get into IIM? Smiling, I asked him, how could you be so sure? He with his casual promptness showed so much of assertion in responding to this: "Everyday, I told god, who resides in my heart, give my baba the thing which he wants because my baba is too good, and god if you don't, I will break my friendship and won't allow you to reside in my heart". I hugged him tight, tears trickling down....I pocket HAPPINESS.

This post is written in response to Coca-Cola International Day of Happiness

Alone....

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Mom, I yen to utter

The deaf ear, the closed shutter

Papa, can you not hold 

The blind eye, the response in cold

Where did u all go

I sit, looking down the lane

Will you not come back

One two three....I count in vain

I didn't do any mischief

I wasn't at a fault

Why is God then so fumed

Why did he pick my vault?

Am I a slough, 

Which needs to be torn

Or, A case

That is just forlorn

Questions, trivial, spin round the morn

Why were I called the angel, when I was born?

My wails have lost its sound

The heavy grief, I have started to bear

A shadowy figure down the lane, 

The footsteps of mom, getting near....

I'm moved at the plight of the innocent bunch of tulips, the so-called orphans ( how can they ), at Liberia....

This poem is shared with : 
The Tuesday Platform
Mag 261

The Painted Lady....

Veins pierced, the blood is drained

Colourless I, the heart is grained

The painted lady- I, an anathema to all

Turned into a flesh pot, a risque ball

The ghostly night sneaks, stalking as an owl

The little lily deflowered, no one picks the howl

Stare at the bed, in a fluffy weightless state

The ruckles on the sheet, my only soul mate

Sit by the granite table, looking through the pane

Empty I, name-identity all lost down the lane

Sucked in the vicious circle, I yen for the dawn

The dim auroral glow, the fear of darkness gone

The hex will be broken, all will stop to leer

Women empowered, I hear the growing cheer!!!

This poem is shared with :
Poets United
Wordle 201
The Tuesday Platform