POETICbug

What’s in my name?

I was curious once,

I asked many,

Illiterate and learned ones,

They said,

It says all about you,

Your name is your religion,

Your caste too,

And sometimes the country,

You belong to,

Your name is your fate,

To live or die,

When they clash about,

A silly lie.

Your name decides,

Whom to love,

One mistaken chance,

And you are killed by the mob.

Your name states,

You’re from a different land,

While you befriend all,

You're still the sore they can’t stand.

That was all,

I thought to be,

When they said,

Your name also carries,

Your family legacy.

So when time falls,

Your name will be the key,

Even a gruesome sin,

But you will be let free.

I asked them,

“Stop”;

No more to know,

I erased all I heard

And returned to zero

What’s in my name?

I was curious again,

This time, I asked none,

It is but only my parents’ love for me,

And my onus to give it,

I turned around
You were out of sight
And I thought
Goodbye would be easy
Lest I knew
That last look of your eyes
Would clinch my soul forever.
So to breaking up I said,
"I shall see you never."

© Copyright Salvwi Prasad [POETICbug]

India, my land

From the land of the five rivers to the land where the three water bodies meet,

From the land of the Mahatma to the land where the seven sisters live,
Spreads a phenomena that you and me imbibe,
Not now but since ages she has been alive.

In the Hindus’ mantras and the Muslims’ azaan,
In the Sikhs’ gurubani and the Chirstians’ mass,
In all Parsis’ faith and the Buddhists’ believes,
She is Culture whom we seek.

In Bharatanatyam ,Lavni ,Kathak and Chhau nitraya,
In the Bhangra spirit and the Assami Sattriya,
With the Dandiya sticks and the Odissi grace,
She is Culture , we find her trace.

In the tangy sambar-idlis and the grilled tandooris,
In delicious Dhoklas and Rajasthani Kachooris,
In the Bhopali kabbas and the Odia rasagollas,
She is Culture , eyeing like a foodie lass.

In Navratri , Id , Pongal and Ganesh Chathurti,
In Rath Yatra, Ramzaan, Onam and Guru Nanak Jayanti,
In Dree,Independence Day,Christmas and Diwali,
She is Culture ,who celebrates happily.

In Kanjivaram ,Khadi ,Phulia and Sambalpuri,
In Mooga silk ,Banarasi ,Kota and Luncknow’s Chikankari,
In Kosa ,Balrampuram, Ilkal and Pathani,
She is Culture , who drapes divinely.

In Sanskrit ,Hindi ,Urdu and Marathi,
In Odia, Santhali ,Kannada and Gujarathi,
In English,Hariyanvi ,Tamil, Bengali and many,
She is Culture , who converses fluently.

In Yoga,Chess and Hockey,
In Kabbadi ,Kalarippayattu and Khusti,
In Kho-kho, Archery and Snake boat race,
She is Culture , winning with ace.

In Taj Mahal , Meenakshi Temple and Qutub Minar,
In Gol Gumbaj ,Sun Temple and Charminar,
In Red Fort,Khajurao and India Gate,
She is Culture , embracing our heritage.

In Bapu ,Netaji , Bhagat and Malviya,
In Tagore , Premchand , Ruskin and Surraiya,
In Tirkey , Bhaichung , Dravid and Mary Kom,
She is Culture , who they epitome.

An amalgamation of diversity,
The depiction of multiformity,
The identity to our past, present and future,
Standing elegantly , our formidable Indian Culture.

TRIVIA
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{ When I think of India, she amuses my thoughts with her diversity. This is a sincere, honest and respectful tribute to the Incredible India I belong to. }

The Beauty Blot

An untainted white paper,
Falls a drop of ink,
With motive or no;
Blots the sheet,
I think;
But comes the artist,
With a sunshine smile,
And an imaginary scene,
As his pencil jigs,
The ink blot moves,
Lines, straight and curves,
Criss-cross each other,
Surprised, I stand aloof,
In a minute and two,
The blot disappears,
Incarnates into,
A serene face of cheer.

Each day a kind deed.

Pages

What’s in my name?

Break up, Never !

India, my land

The Beauty Blot

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