Creative Guncha

My masterpiece ! I sit down with some paper and a pen, Making up my mind I set up a premise pretence. Then I open up my imagery sack, Full of consonants that I bead together with vowels onto a thoughtful track. Cleverly to this some punctuations and adjectives I add. As my thoughts meander I knit a premise grander ! A fable of characters unique, A story fresh but with an appeal antique. The words elusive come in a jumble, One after another out they tumble. From left to right I try and write, But if the picture I find still fails to excite A word from the left I then slyly slide, Brining it to the right till my verse can glide. A lot of chopping and cutting goes on Till a metrical composition says it all. A stitch in point, Or edit in a line, Till everything seems fine, For poetry, prose or simply a rhyme. With every work when I open my imagery sack, I pull out expressions with rhythms grand ! A lyrical emotion I attempt to weave, Aspiring to have a style

The wish candle ! As each year passes by Birthday cakes that I buy, With candles that symbolise The number in my years specified. An extra candle I like to light Shutting my eyes to blow out all but my, Extra candle with a smile As a wishing list I epitomize ! So many birthdays gone by Moon like cakes that I buy, Keeping a tradition alive Offering prayers to Artemis, With candles that signify Reflections like moon light ! The extra candle with passion I ignite Lest it lose its light, Or the smoke fail to vaporise And reach high, Up to the Gods in the skies ! What a bounty I can recollect, Blowing with my candles a bag full of wishes that I could select. From candies to toys, From dresses, shoes to boys ! From exam results to professional successes and employs ! Moon cakes now I buy For my daughter, love of my life, And as candles I light A very different wish my heart likes, Of smiles, happiness, good health and simple joys I wish for her to enjo

The Friendly Tree ! The little birdy chirps around, In the park hopping up and down. It rolls its head from side to side, Till a tree is well within its sight. It whistles a long tune, Calling its mate to come soon. And see the tree arched sturdy, A place it seems to find worthy. Yellow flowers growing in bunches, In abundance from its many branches, Drooping down Towards the ground  With long black beans too hanging down. Sitting on the park bench under that tree, In amazement, I watch with glee. Now its mate has joined it too, To inspect the tree without ado. Chirping and hopping they keep up the banter, The mate seems keen to pamper, Our little birdy as he lovingly pecks, At his mate’s neck. In tandem they fly and perch, At the highest branch after quite a search. I feel some flower bunches fall, Scattering into petals small. I look up and leave my birds, To their banter and their world. And when I return the day ne

Romance ! A breezy evening with light drizzle Walking the lane, my hair in a frizzle. My spirit peppy Steps are light. A jute bag I see on the roadside, Under a shed for bus rides. Green corn ears with golden threads silk, Peeping out of the bag, an inviting trick ! Flowing around husks of the ilk. My gaze caught, Alluring aroma brought in a waft, My steps falling in a line towards the lot. An old woman fanning over, Flames of burning coal hovering over. Golden maize seeds on the cob roasting over. The iron cauldron and charcoal cover. That smell of burnt, blackened, charred corn, Lemon juice and spiced salt powdered on. Salivating as I wait my turn, Poking at a few to see which would soft milk churn. Selecting my find, I hand it to old woman, so kind To roast and sear, Gold tasseled corn ear so dear. I take a bite And Instant gratification I find. Satiation of olfaction as well as gustation ! My idea of a romantic indulgence! Dr. Guncha Gupta 16/5/19

Memories Into a labyrinth, My mind wanders. Fumbling upon memories Of childhood blunders. In my heart distinctly etched Some enchanting tales, Some little wonders ! Memories of our first piece of land. Our house under construction, We walking with grandmother hand in hand. The large family and even larger plans. The playful laughter, Our games grand. The little old coin and a metal elephant toy, Presents from grandmother that I dug deep in the sand. Meaning to retrieve them, My treasure hunt planned. Going back to search that patch of land, Only to find a beautiful sapling Arising from the earth where my treasures sank ! Waiting patiently for the tree branches to span, And bring me a treasure trove of metal elephants and coins to pluck as and when I command ! Instead received juicy lemons as prize for my patience ! That I simply could not withstand. My memory journeys Into the naughtiest instances Of sibling pranks. My little brother and those gra

The story teller ! She sits in a carpeted room, Weaving a fabled loom. Tale after tale she can thread, From the books she has read, Or straight out of her head ! Surrounded by cabinets full of books, Smelling of paper and of wood. Some are bound, Some not so sound. Crumpled papers yellowing down. Some are printed small, Some are old, Yet she knows each one down to its soul. Often she simply looks out That little window for a thought. Original story she can then weave, Capturing her audience in pensive vein. Children love her every move, Her acts and tricks they follow through. Life to her characters she can bring, Audience believes in magic, fairies and kings ! Thoughtful reality she can create With equal ease, at quite a pace. For what is story telling but a craft, Creating independent thinkers is such an art. To reach the moon a child must believe, In possibility of reality of a dream. The story teller arouses an interest, Child looks up and in moon wor

Morning twilight Being with the universe is a rare gift, Reserved for those that do not drift. Dare to rise before the morning light, At the dawn twilight. Before the sun rises up in the sky, To share in unique a joy. Watch the mixing of colours, On the horizon’s canvas. As the nature paints, A sensational scenery in grey, black and white, Dawdling its brush in scattered orange sunlight. Deft brush strokes pulling out some blue, From the sky to add a purple hue. Quite a visual treat it is, To see the Master paint His masterpiece! See that orange colour, Form a hint of a semicircle where heaven and earth meet each other ! See the birds leave their cozy nests, Riding on the cloudy crest. Adding sound to the vision so far created, To an emotional experience early riser is treated. Chirping and singing such natural music, Scenery just got more attractive ! Now the breathing movements get added, From the trees that open up their branches. Creating silhouettes s

The Mummy Thousands of years In the twilight of history, A knight galloped Across the territory. Over the hills Across the desert, To woo a dame A beauty, to treasure. Many a mile he covered For many a day, To reach the castle The goal of his way. The hour was of twilight Exhaustion, slight Wonderstruck he stood Anticipating the sight. Darkness fell all around, The knight stood still... lost in reverie. Of the eyes he thought The musical laughter, The childish games The leaking shelter. A swift command to the horse With joy in his heart, Paraded ahead And gave a start. Amongst the ruins Of carved slate and stone, Rose a tomb On which an inscription shone; “In the memory of all those Who laid their lives To a fury Heaven had never unleashed before.” Shrieking like a madman He entered the tomb, And gazed at the corner Where a red bud bloomed. Pitchers and pots Antiques and dreams, Shining jewels And craftsmen’s seams. He stood like a

The Racehorse ! The gallant stallion, Stands his ground. He huffs and puffs, Courage abound. He gauges the distance, While he canters around. Then changes his stance, To a gallop resound. Charges ahead, Other horses he astounds. His neck moves like a wave up and down, Jockey in the stirrup stands, to help gain ground. Stallion covers such a distance, Even the jockey confounds. Leaving the grandstand spectators, All dumbfound. He gallops till the racetrack he can lead, Opponents with their Jockeys pick up speed ! With bridled precision our stallion sped, Oh ! such a thoroughbred. To think this is his first race, No frown on his forehead can one trace. From gate to the flag, Not missing a beat. The crowds cheer this Mighty beast ! Dr. Guncha Gupta 1/5/2019