Creative Guncha

Language Fun ! The love of the language Expressed in poetry to assuage A desire to create. Using words to gauge The depth in sentences. Finding meaning at every stage. The nouns in sentences, Meant to avoid pretences. Precisely refer To Mr. Brown, the House, the Jolly Town or simply the Clown ! Or an event if one prefers. Like the Ball at the Simpsons. Distinguishing Proper from Common. Naming a person in particular Or define a class all common. Countable to Uncountable. A noun singular ! Collective to Possessive. A pride of lions, Or a book that is mine A noun that brings a sense of belonging ! A verb comes handy To describe work dandy. Take action, depict an occurrence. Or suffix them forming gerunds. Playing with a gaggle of geese Or teasing a swarm of bees ! Marching like an Army of soldiers Or sailing with a crew of sailors ! Smelling a bouquet of flowers To watching a galaxy of stars ! And when one doesn’t like to name, Pronoun can with a...

Imperfect Life The tides of time have always vouched, For perfections that are fairly couched. From edgy rocks that rivers trimmed and transformed, Into solid pebbles with curves smooth round. The pots without cracks, Lives rolling on perfect tracks. The sunrise, the sunset Like clockwork present, Not a day missed nor a night lost. The universe in perfect a sync, Celestial bodies on set orbits blink. But even on a perfect weather day Sky can turn blue or gray, The day from sad to gay, And universe shed asteroids away, Life may seem not as perfect say. The tides of time I feel have changed, And it is time to embrace The scarred, broken, blemished or bent With equal aplomb and grace. For times ahead herald a trace, Of uniqueness and of new ways ! The broken flute exclusively plays, A tune not heard in many ways. That cracked pot could be used, Hung up high to water like dew. The lush green colour of plants so real, But the leaves red or brown too look d...

Desires Inexplicable, Innumerable, Certainly not innominate. Innocent, innoxious A few wayward desires. Some wishes, A few hopes Straight from the heart. Long woven, Still give me a start. Mostly selfish, The truth, O God ! But certainly not unacceptable Or impossible to provide for. Just a few gestures, A few words that acknowledge my presence. Simple, Yet make me delirious. A few moments Fun-filled, exhilarating Not to be asked for ? Dr. Guncha Gupta 3/6/19

A Fuzzy Cool Guest As I lay resting on my bed in the dorm, The soft sun rays slanting, fell on my face, keeping me warm. Through the window above my head, Eyes closed as I played sleeping or dead ! A velvet duvet circled my legs, An attempt to keep the cold out that stole suddenly as the weather transformed. Typical of that piece of land. Unaware I lay As the door opened. Unaware of the soft, stealthy paws, Hopping playfully on the floor across my bed. Unaware of the cute mess created, The pages of a book flying across the room. Pens chewed upon. Sweater sprawled. A cozy made for ‘the guest’ ! And then, soft paws I felt along my legs, Through my duvet Moving upwards. Promising to spank me awake, Gave me a certain start. As I lay staring Into a pair of familiar watchful eyes. Of my uninvited, fuzzy, cool guest Staring keenly, Unrelenting, Teaching me reproachfully, The importance of time I wasted ! The agility of kittens and lethargy of humans !

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 da...