Creative Guncha

Coercion ! While he strives to protect the lot Of his country, a geographic spot, Unmindful of his cuts and wounds With unsightly events his mind’s consumed. Heart heavy and a blemished soul, Unwavering strength he still can dole. For a noble woman awaits his return, Filled with anguish and concern. For her son, a precious soul Straight featured, taciturn ! There is so much she wishes to convey, To this hardened world some day. Of perseverance and sacrifice, Of anticipations and parting cries ! Her mind is full. At her heart strings she pulls. Bridling them to stay on course, Pretending courage, her throat hoarse, From secret cries, Some useless tries Of negotiations with Almighty. Oh what a price ! She trades and barters In her mind she charters, A flight to the unforeseen land. If only her precious can be returned In place of her, She’s turned a Marchand ! Offering everything she possibly can, Her prayers unanswered With hardened heart she now

Meditation! Searching for peace, Posture yogic, eyes shut. I sit in meditation, My soul attempting to rebut A world full of perfect lines, Standing, slanting, sleeping, That form giant skyscrapers. Dark sky fuming, With smoggy grey clouds, Raring to engulf human souls ! Deep in meditation still, Attempting to block out the world mean. Carving a niche deeper, In the blades of grass green. Intently exhaling the fumes, Involuntarily inhaling deep the toxins ! Pretending now to achieve A state of yogic dream. Of exuberant colours, Red, yellow, orange and cream; Subtle alchemy to turn the air clean, Like a mentalist working unseen. Sudden peals of laughter from teens, Gossiping nearby sitting in teams. Breaking me out of my reverie, And my pretend dream. Of music crescendoing, Air fresh and clean ! My eyes slightly opening To slits that detect Another human being. Close by in the lanes and lanes, Of rich vehicles parked, A visibly bored cyclist sl

The Red Lipstick ! The enchantress steps out, Armed with her arsenal, a pout. She has arrived and is here to stay No bad, sad, bleak or black day, Can stop the tempest in her purposeful stride, As her red lips form that perfect smile. The laughter ringing with confidence supreme, A business can take off or crash down at her will. A torrent can follow her or a traffic stand still, If she opens those red lips and laughter spills. Her little handbag with a raised flap, Smaller is the treasure in her fistful clasp. Admiring herself in a mirror at hand, Her red lipstick plays a trick grand. Setting up a pace for a day new, Her spirits soaring as she takes a pew. Secretive is the reflection that stares back, Splashing the canvas red, right on track ! The warmth of a bosom can this red seem to a child, Fiery like a seductress she makes men follow her wild ! Intentful, determined epitomise her, Cool too casually becomes her ! Her red lipstick’s truly a weapon heady,