This is a children's story I wrote when I was 15 years old.

NITIN'S KITE (part 1)


Nitin was returning from the village school . The sky looked as though it had just come from under a cart that had crossed muddy grey paths. It worried him not just because his home was faraway but because his home was faraway and he had a kite in his hand. His slate and slate pencil were pushed into a tiny bag stitched from various pieces of cloth by his mother. The kite was too large to fit in it and even if it did the cloth bag would not be able to protect it from rain.
Now for the kite. It had the depiction of a black lion with golden mane on it. He got it from an older boy in his school. Not that he gave it to Nitin out of generosity. Nitin had to give away his entire tiffin in exchange.
So Nitin was hungry. Still he was happy. He thought about flying the kite at Viswakarma Puja which was on the next day. He could not participate in the fight of kites since he had only one kite and he did not want to lose it. Besides he was too young to have the skill to cut the strings of others' kites without cutting his own. He would just let the kite go higher and higher towards the autumnal cumulus clouds.
He walked as fast as he could to reach his house before the rains started.
But it had to happen. As he was walking through a field and had still to cross the mango tree clump, the old temple and another field big drops started falling from the sky. He quickly put the kite inside his clothes. His figured must have appeared strange with the rhombus object kept across his thin body. In no time the rain started falling even more heavily. He hoped that the old temple would be open where he could take shelter.
(to be continued next week)

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A cold wind passed,
My expanding thoughts-
Solidifying water
Cracked my skull.

Thorns prick,
Penetrate
Deeper
And deeper.
They crowd
On all sides.

The fire
Sadistic
Licks my flesh.

The waves push me to mock
As I sink slowly.

I struggle to take another breathe,
Can I....

(This poem was written by me many years ago but I recently made some changes to it.)

THE WRONG SUSPECT

"I've never heard of the gang"
He screamed as pins pricked
His finger tips.
Shutting his eyes so hard
The eyeballs might've been pushed
To the back of his brain,
But how could he sedate his nerves?

They left him, locked
To bring back monstrous
Relics from Cretaceous times.

His nerves just stopped squirming
Like the eel fished out of the sea
Released to a puddle,
Soon to resume the death pain.

He cupped his hands,
Boring his fingers into the face
That resembled the criminal's
His neat life shredded apart,
He attires himself in chill
To bring back escaping vapours.

( This poem is from my book 'One Hundred Poems' published by Writers Workshop. Next Sunday I will post one of my unpublished works)

EVENTS

They gave you a silver bowl
They forgot you have
No food to keep in it.

They gave you a necklace
They didn't notice
Your collarbone would subdue it.

You've got chandelier
But where's the ceiling?

They gave you gold pitchers
But the river has dried,
The wells lidded and taps
Releasing blood.

Talking of blood,
New fuel when the earth
Fails to leak the old one?

( another of my poems from my book of poetry One Hundred Poems published by Writers Workshop.)

THE PAINTING

Serpentine shapes-
Are they what they seem
Or they're streets or rivers
Or winding life of mine?

Dark stretching curves
Are they clouds or stylised
Hair, or shadow remnants
Of my most heart felt dreams?

Multihued dots
Sprinkled to add colours?
Or buds or little beads
Perhaps, specks of my hopes.

Artist,
Through papers, net, journals
I know you, famous one
How is it you know me?


(Another poem from my book of poetry One Hundred Poems published by Writers Workshop)

ASSIMILATION

Villagers carry grains and straw,
Golden oriole among green leaves,
A stir in water of the pond -
In sky's colour for a moment
Marigold's many petal layers.

All mine.

Deceived by dividing scratches
Raw red from many caustic blades
crisscrossing over th' Absolute.

Segragated ones now belong
To me for I belong to them.

( This poem is from my book One Hundred Poems)

Graceful Might

Elephant in water,
Its raised curved trunk
A lagoon, sending out
Fountain from its tip -
Actually relieving
Congestion in musth gland.

Ground shakes, stars will descend
On earth, trees lean away
To make space, actually
Elephant has just walked.