Poems by Francis Komban

In 1982

a poem by Francis Komban

Fourteenth February,
Crammed with pageantry,
Not due to Valentine’s Day;
It’s our wedding day:
A glorious day,
A red letter day.

Treesa nicknamed as Thangam:
Fondly called by her siblings and mom,
Entered my beleaguered life,
Breathed life into my life.
Truly a godsend,
For me to mend.

Her tete-a-tete refreshes;
To peals of laughter it leads;
For me, it’s all a lot witty,
Even without its nitty-gritty.
Her sheer presence, so mesmerizing,
Transports me to a world, so enticing.

Gossips are not her pastime,
Indulges in la-di-da no time;
Absolutely a true optimist,
Without a speck of a pessimist,
Sees opportunity in every difficulty,
However grave is the difficulty.

With a never-day-die spirit,
She works incessantly, a rare merit.
Flak, the least; praise the most
A unique trait- always uppermost
In her heart-strings, frank and candid-
Puts me on an up-beat mood, indeed.

She’s the goddess in the temple of my heart,
Showering passionate love with all her heart.
She’s my fortune; praise the Lord!
My rapturous delight; thank you Lord!
This nirvana’s gonna be miserable without her;
God forbid that anything should happen to her.


a poem by Francis Komban

From a quiet start,
To the zenith of ‘stardom’,
Rose my darling twins,
With lots of God’s graces.
What a meteoric rise!
Thanks, Lord, for guidance.

Industrious and intelligent,
Well-mannered and obedient,
Forthright and God-fearing,
Respectful but uncompromising
To ideals and ideologies…
Our endearing lassies
Who aren’t as like as two peas
Get on like a house on fire.

Often in the lime-light,
with accolades,
Laurels and
Our blue-eyed ‘girls’
Held their heads high,
Chanting a silent prayer:
“Mould us to be instruments
To make the world better
Through our humble efforts.”

Now on the eve
Of their ‘mega event’,
They’re raring to go.
But, miles and miles
They gotta go
On a road
Dusty and dark.
Guardian angels,
Lead them kindly
To destinations-
Free of fear,
Full of freedom-
Where they live long
In joy and peace.

In the Twilight

a poem by Francis Komban

The dim light
Paving way to dusk
Then to night, pitch dark;
Gone the glow
The end of the day’s show
That cast radiance
Now only exiguous brilliance;
Soon the veil of murk
Spreads in every nook.

In the twilight
Barely bright,
In the wee hours of dawn
Of ‘seventh stage’ of man,
Life begins to tumble,
Lots and lots to fumble;
Many a thing in jeopardy,
Music of melancholic melody;
Only a gloomy, glum smile,
Sagging spirits all the while;
Gropes, yearning for a heart-to-heart
With the beloved, with all his heart.
Anguished solitude sets in,
At an end-feeling steps in
With bodily aches and ailments:
Nature’s wages! No room for laments.
Inching towards an unknown end
Sat the man still, in a predicament.

Hoping against hope

a poem by Francis Komban

Huge ‘trophies’
Bestowed by nature
Man- failing to nurture
Once, gorgeous looking earth-
Unaware of its incalculable worth.

Or, God’s gross wrath
For deviating from His path?
Opening floodgates of casualties,
Untold misery and calamities:
Deluge, hurricane, Tsunami, wild fire,
Disastrous damage from Ozone layer,
Deadly quakes burying live millions,
Dampening the morale of umpteen humans.

In an imbroglio
Stood the man;
Stupefied, no furor;
Sighed resignedly,
Exclaimed melancholically:
“O, gosh!”
Wept in a hush?

If word becomes deed

a poem by Francis Komban

Election on the anvil,
Electorate on the vigil,
In a total quandary,
Where to draw a boundary?
Parties reigning in power
Parties vying to grab power.

Election a mere farce,
Its evils worse than Sars;
By the people, of the people, for the people,
A catchy slogan to entice people.
Rosy promises in manifesto,
Tall talks with huge gusto,
Seldom translated into actions,
After election, indulging in factions.

Election grossly caste-politics,
Perpetuating sects with relics,
Washing dirty linen in public,
Fishing in muddy waters, no good for public.

The political reps
Rake up muck,
Run amok,
All for flimsy matters.

Under the mantle of liberators,
Christened as collaborators
With the mighty, bothering no down-trodden,
They play agenda certainly hidden.
So rampant scams and scandals,
Still supreme amidst sycophants;
‘Mea culpa’ they never utter,
Without remorse they flutter.

Election oftener a springboard,
Shady characters seldom above board;
Kings and queens of murky world
Crowned. Gosh! What does it herald?
Our aspirations going phut!
Window of opportunities shut!

No dearth of calibre,
India a mighty nation with valour,
Blessed with resources boundless,
If poll rubrics done in fairness,
Surely set to scale great heights,
With God’s blessings, not of heavy-weights.

Cheerio, Steve

a poem by Francis Komban

Hearts sank,
Spectators shell-shocked,
Galleries dumb-founded,
Kangaroos perplexed,
Stoic silence pervaded
Not merely in the Sydney stadium
But in every nook and cranny of the country.

Never did he have an inkling
That it was a disastrous shot;
By the time he realized it
The ball was already in the cupped hands of the Master Blaster.
He was OUT!
Unhesitatingly went up the umpire’s index finger.
A terrible, painful experience!
How many lamented, God alone knows;
But only for a fleeting second the rude shock lasted,
Suddenly the veil of gloom vanished.
Like the music in a melodrama,
Slowly rose his adoring fans to their feet,
And a long-lasting standing ovation
They accorded him with veneration.

No Aussie sportsman has ever received
Such a prolonged lavish applause,
Such an emotional public farewell,
Such a lap of honour on his team-mates’ shoulders.
The infectious smile on his cherubic countenance,
The charm, charisma, charity, icy cool composure
Won him at home and abroad friends galore.

The last innings of eighty,
A pinnacle innings, defiant indeed,
A skipper’s master knock
Though in no way surpassed any of his glittering records
Had a magic touch to rescue his team:
A team fostered under him with indomitable spirit,
A team clamoured by cricket pundits as invincible
From the impending danger of being conquered,
And to save him from an ignominious exit.

A gem of a man,
An ornament to the game,
A role-model to the up-coming cricketers,
An inspiring personality with his towering achievements
Deserving to be envied and emulated worldwide.
Cheerio, Steve, cheerio!

Hail Indian School Salalah

a poem by Francis Komban

There is a huge sacred shrine
Of eternal truth and knowledge
In the Garden City of Oman;
Like a beacon on coastal rocks
Flashing mighty bright light
For those who grope in the dark
For those who seek eternal bliss;
Yes, it is Indian School Salalah.

Thou art the true light-giver
Spreading the glow of joy and love,
Dispelling dark clouds of doubt,
Shedding old dead habits and vices.

There is no place like ISS,
Where black, white and brown,
Hand in hand with everyone,
Sing new songs of freedom
From ignorance and intolerance;
Shattering all shackles of vanity,
Building new bridges of love,
Scaling new heights of excellence.

Thou art the teacher the great,
Moulding ‘curious shapes in us,
Teaching lofty ideals of friendship,
Inspiring to build a bright morrow.

There is no place like ISS,
Where you steer us to perfection;
A band of teachers with dedication
Full of gusto and high motivation,
Create a new brand of generation:
Holding head with sky-high ambition
To serve humankind with passion,
To toil for a long-lasting relation.

Indian School, our beloved school,
Honour, glory and praise to thee!
We’ll always do thee proud
Our love for thee shall never fail.

Breaking Fresh Ground

a poem by Francis Komban

A world with mortal wounds,
A world with deep divisions,
The innocent gunned down mercilessly,
Sky-scrappers razed down mindlessly,
Men and women massacred,
Children, immaculate, orphaned;
Gruesome deaths, awesome sights,
Everywhere it’s free for all guys.

Lay scattered corpses of frontier guardians,
Scores fated to crawl with shattered dreams,
In a cruel fashion destiny danced
On the widows, callously shunned,
Thrown into a world of oblivion,
The rest of life, lost and forlorn;
Others sent into exile, suffering ignominy,
Humiliated and submitted to the tyranny.

Sham statesmen shedding crocodile tears,
With tall talks but no contrite hearts,
Rally solidarity for a ‘noble’ cause
Of vested interests; everything a mere farce.
Pacifists stand dazed and dejected,
Rationalists, in the midst of chaos, baffled;
‘We know not what’s happening,’ lamented humanity.
Everything seems enveloped in a shroud of mystery!

Run, man, run for peace-run,
For God’s sake, lay down your gun;
Stop waging waste wars for gold and land
Help accomplish the mission hand in hand,
Let’s hold aloft the flag of love and sanity,
With no room for any hatred and vanity.
A world where perennial peace prevails,
It’s indeed a world everyone cherishes.

Rise together with grit, above the walls
Of region, colour, caste and creeds;
Forge together for a world of fraternity,
Void of violence and blood-shed for eternity;
Take an oath to heal the wounds of scourge,
To spread the good news of winds of change,
Far and wide, East and West-
NO MORE WARS- with zeal and zest.

I wish I weren’t dreaming

a poem by Francis Komban

Deep down in the bottom of our hearts,
Lay buried the shattered dreams,
Along with the rubbles of Twin Towers-
The pride of American brisk business.

No aliens have ever trodden,
The sanctum sanctorum, though forbidden,
Of top secrets and classified files,
The dare-devils plunged with planes.

The disaster dawned destruction and chaos,
Tens of thousands lying dead in debris,
Ushering a murky era of crippling economy,
Inflicting untold misery, unfathomable agony.

Indeed are they a severely bruised nation.
Like a towering inferno spitting fire,
The ‘invincible’ fumed with rage and passion,
Marshalling to match terror with terror.

The shell-shocked world stood in mourning silence,
To honour innocent victims knowing no violence,
With bouquets of flowers and candles of light,
To ease the pangs of pain of American might.

True, no lip-service can heal their wounds,
No church-service can erase their mind-scars,
Let actions speak louder than words and promises,
To set in a saga of perennial peace and happiness.

To build a comity of nations of pacifism,
Mixing lofty ideals of uncorrupted socialism,
We shall strive stiffly to live together,
Caste, creed, faith not a huge barrier.

This is the world everyone cherishes:
Eternal peace and prosperity prevails,
Violence and vengeance take back seats,
Black, brown and white enjoying bliss.

Lead us kindly Light
Into that world of sane thought,
Where we manifest spotless love,
Where your angels envy us, in love.