Poems by Manjushaa S

Reverie (An Acrostic)

a poem by

Manjushaa S

Wonder of imagination once took me to a place,
Oblivious to the outside world despite its gaiety and grace.
Rivers here seemed to sparkle and flow forever,
Deep blue, Mackerel skies above filled me with joy and fervour.
Sepulchral images of wildlife blurred in my mind,
World here was tranquil and peace I could find
Olive, Maple and Apricot trees engulfed its glorious ambience,
Rustling and gleaming but sadly devoid of rapt audience,
Time transcends and the embrace of dawn becomes too difficult to resist
Hallucinations grow dimmer, until they finally cease to exist.

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Ode to a Tutor

a poem by

Manjushaa S

Oft I’ve heard the saying,
“A real teacher is like a candle, she consumes herself to light others.”
I’ve always admired truly dedicated teachers,
Who are sincere, friendly and thus perfect preachers.
And who gently smile and encourage me at times of distress,
That instills in me the spark of determination to focus and impress.

I’ve seldom experienced the bond of friendship in life,
But my supportive parents and teachers have helped me face the strife.
You are one of them, I assure,
Who’s brief but memorable acquaintance I’ve been fortunate enough to procure.

Not one word here is flattery and I hope you will fondly accept
This precious little gift of my feelings, which with you must forever be kept.
I will never forget our times together as it is truly a joyous boon,
Irrespective of whether I’m by your side or on the moon!

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The Foremost Solution

a poem by

Manjushaa S

A careless catty spark did it all
Devastating life in the path it chose to take
Leaving thousands lying still never to wake
The fortunate survivors craved for indemnity
Something to relieve their shock with a little serenity
Smart folks relaxed, while dull ones went frenzy
Just remember the acronym of FIRE
Fire Insurance Rest Easy.

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Surrealism

a poem by

Manjushaa S

Is there a greater game than the game of fate?
It is a matter for thought, not for debate.
Last evening I fell asleep reading a book,
About Elysium and the errand of mercy
Of us mortals, every sinner and every crook.
That evening I dreamt of the ultimate, celestial empyrean.
I was enthralled by the numinous serenity,
Of the palatial dwelling of the divinity.
The whole ambience overflowed with melodious humoresque,
That reminded me of scenery picturesque.
I was invisible to every angel, every soul that flew by,
And was inquisitive to know about our life after we die.
I mischievously sneaked into Zion, God’s own spectacular castle,
Its inner courtyard left me in total bafflement.
The floor was embellished with flamboyant aromatic carpets
Of rubies, sapphires and jade,
Fit for the King, Queen and Ace of Spade.
I crept towards the enormous wreathed table with numerous seats,
The flamenco seemed to shift to slightly faster beats.
Suddenly, a mysterious note dropped on my palm labeled Lesson 1,
I was puzzled, (I thought) is it a pun?
The tableau companions of the table were arranged in apple-pie order,
First, there was a hydrous bowl of knowledge from Proteus.
In it I could see the mayhem that the menagerie of the earth has to embrace,
Caused by none other than the Homo-sapiens race.
It struck me that-
“God created nature which man destroys for his future.”
Then appeared two glasses and a spoon,
The enchanted bowl emptied its contents into the second glass.
Then it spoke-
“Take the spoon and gently strike them one by one,
I’m leaving for my work here is done.”
Hey presto! Just as I feared, it vanished with gusto.
Carefully I took the spoon and struck the first glass,
It made an ear-splitting noise, but I had no choice.
Badly shaken, I struck the second glass
Only to be startled by its pleasing sound of such class.
It clearly implied-
“Empty vessels make more noise.”
Satisfied, I turned and walked (away)
Only to see the table vanish like a cheetah for its prey had stalked.
Feeling a little hungry, I walked into the curious looking hostelry room,
It had everything gateau, poppadam, pickaninny, even a mop and a broom.
First it was millefeville followed by gazpacho and I had my fill,
But my eyes widened and jaws dropped when I looked at the bill.
It said-
“Pay me with your honesty, sincerity and dignity that costs nothing but means a lot.”
Just as I got up to leave,
All the utensils shot up as though intent to cleave (leaving me bewildered)
“Please wait, my dear,” they requested,
So tenderly like a sapling that just sprouted.
Then all the airy-fairy members of the bewitched kitchen minstrelled in unison-
“We’re sorry if we scared you,
That was not what we meant to do.
Oh! You must learn your lessons well,
For that is where a healthy mind will dwell.
Farewell, young friend and adieu.”
Still perplexed, I waved to them and minced away.
Just then my eye caught something shiny and grayish black,
It was inside a room full of veiled racks.
I unveiled them and gaped in amazement,
For there were several books beneath amidst dust in stacks.
It looked like an old abandoned library,
With books that could answer my every query.
In some places I noticed pieces of parchment shattered,
Ink blots, books thrown away and tattered.
Uncared by a librarian
And thus devastated by a barbarian.
I knew there was inner meaning concealed
With reference to this forsaken grave of knowledge.
Requisitely, the repugnancy in my mind cleared and I formulated thus-
“What is the use of just storing knowledge?
When it is not used at the right time in the right way.
When knowledge is not nurtured and respected,
It will become worthless, one with dust, scum and long forgotten.”
As for the shiny black mystery,
I took it, a rusty old key.
I quickly put things back the way they were.
“I’ve learnt my lesson, I promise, I swear.”
Saying so, I closed the library door,
And delved solicitously so as to which place to next explore.
I wished to further speculate,
What else was left to scintillate?
The reception so far was honorific,
And the Hocus-Pocus I had seen terrific.
(Then something strange broke into my thoughts)
Motley butterflies with a vibrant blend of every hue all at once greeted me,
Scarlet, Azure, Crimson, Beige and mauve.
I was astonished, as I had seen
The most fascinating room I had ever been (to)
A room galore of painted lives,
Great saints, soldiers, philosophers and wives.
All of them in common had to pay a price,
Sweat, blood and sacrifice.
Then, suddenly I recalled my first mission,
But where to go was my confusion.
There were too many floors and too many rooms found,
Surging from the sky, sprouting from the ground.
Thereafter, I saw many other rooms one of a kind,
But nothing touched my heart or mind.
The mystic key I found, worked for one fateful portal,
The suspense so as to what lurked behind gave me a throttle.
Seemed to me like an old curiosity shop,
That bottled up some secret from bottom to top.
I quickly went to the flocculent escritoire beside the ebony bed,
On which stood stiffly a needle and some flossy golden thread.
I swiftly slew them into the topmost shelf,
And delved into the racks as mischievously as an elf.
At last it seemed like my engrossing game of hide and seek was completed,
For I had HIS secret diary in my hands well seated.
Instantly a lightning bolt struck Zenith from the mackerel sky
Like a lurking horrendous spy.
The whole castle groaned and shook,
And I stood spellbound with a grotesque look.
The castle was no longer well lit and frolicsome,
It grew dark and gruesome.
I fled only to wake up screaming,
And found the morning sun up early and beaming.
I could not believe all this was just my reverie,
For there was so much realism in this surrealism.

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The Lone Wish

a poem by

Manjushaa S

I am a wounded soldier, who has lost everything,
I have faced all consequences that hell can ever bring.
Nuclear weapons and atomic bombs did the trick,
It has left innocent civilians dead, dying and sick.
I have lost my family, friends and fellowmen forever,
I never practiced the motto, “Help ever, and hurt never”.
I’ve always had the passion to own the rarest of cars,
But instead fate made me spend life-sending crooks behind bars.
I happen to be the lone survivor,
All my insides ache badly, heart, head and liver.
Oh God! Only you can fulfill my desire and relieve me of this rattle,
Created by the wretched, gory battle.
A car new and sparkling,
So elegant and startling.
Such that its dashing presence and grace
Can bring a new glow to my face.
Oh! Come to me, my dream car,
Are you near or far?
Then my voice trails away,
A voice that was once halcyon and gay.
Suddenly I hear thunder from the mackerel sky,
And I see the parting of clouds passing by.
A bright illumination transcends heaven to heaven,
Is it god’s own terrestrial mirth? (I think)
I then find my doubts melting away,
For I spot my dream car appears from the light ray.
My eyes gleaming with anticipation I say-
“Good heavens! God has granted my most cherished boon,
I am no more a solitary loon.”
This car is my Imperial Treasure,
And possessing it is nothing but pleasure.
Happiness though temporary, I can find in it,
Because first I need to console myself bit by bit.
In my dreams god tells me-
“It happens that you can’t always become what you want to be.”
Life is a game plays it!
Fill it with generosity, humor and wit
Worries and grief can wait
For it goes on like Rapunzel’s plait.
You have a duty before you,
And tasks unaccomplished due.
I am sure you have understood what I mean,
It is not like figuring out something that you have never before seen.
I wake up nodding my head in approval and say-
“I guarantee I will perform impressively.”
Everyone is born for something,
Some to study, some to paint, write or sing
I am born to protect my country with my might,
For my people’s freedom I will fight day and night.

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A Lesson Learnt Late

a poem by

Manjushaa S

I used to know a beautiful place
Sparkling with gaiety and grace
And there is where I used to play
All day with friends in great joy.

There were swings and slides and of course jolly rides!
It was amazing there I tell you
With the sparkling waters and sky so blue
It was fun there morn, noon and afternoon
But when the clock struck at twelve midnight
We were asked to leave the place instantly.

But why? why? you may ask?
Staying there alive at dead of the night is an impossible task
Those who disbelieved it as a myth
Have vanished without a trace
Their families and friends grieved
But still there were few who lived to tell the tale…
A tale so cold, so frightening, so pale.

It goes on this way.
One cold dark night in the month of May
Two little boys Noah and Joe
Far away did they wander about and go
They did not care about where they went
And the cold fate sealed their lives was misspent
Sometime passed and the boys were hungry and lost
They wanted to be back home at any cost.

Just as they turned about to go
They saw someone or something at a distance on horseback
The boys approached it with a hope of getting a lift for home
But at what they saw, they became pale and as white as a sheet
Out of fear unknown.

It was indeed a headless ghost of a rider
About whom we were many a time told
Its whole body glowed with garish blaze of burning mould
The boys became dumbstruck and spellbound.

And Joe almost fainted and collapsed on the ground
Noah pulled him up and they ran for their lives
Chased by a ghost who seemed intent
To cleave the frightened boys with his knives.

They ran and ran blindly out of fear
And never was a minute to spare for a breather
Alas! Soon the game was over
For the boys couldn’t be any braver.

It was a dead end
And they could do nothing to defend
“We’ll be together now and forever.” said they to each other
Saying so sadly they jumped over the cliff of the hill
And all over the place did their blood spill.

It was told that their bodies could never be found
Even now it is told we can hear their desperate little wails for help
So shrill, so sad, so desperate, so chill saying
It is folly indeed it is folly.
We didn’t care to heed about
What our elders warned us.
We never listened and made fun.
Oh! Why didn’t we listen?
This is more tormenting than prison.
Oh why? Oh why? Oh why did we have to die?

Thus ended their strange, sad tale
So cold, so frightened, so pale…

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The Spectator

a poem by

Manjushaa S

There are some, who inspire me,
Like whom I aspire to be.
Every cloud has a silver lining they say,
And every effort and hard work has got to pay.
From above we are watched, our behavior, our thoughts, and our actions,
We hardly spend much time for Him, just in fractions
Meanwhile in some distant heaven, the clock of god ticks away,
Life is a timeless fairy tale, a heterogeneous mixture of sorrow and joy.
Practically everyone has a reason to pray,
He smiles and listens to us all patiently, silently, unmoved by night or day.
He is indeed our supreme, spiritual creator,
The unseen distant Spectator.

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A Day Off

a poem by

Manjushaa S

One evening I chanced to be in a park at twilight,
The pristine amethyst sky absorbing the vicinity was a pleasing sight.
All folks around were getting to leave failing to admire its beauty,
However, I gazed at the glorious transience of dusk in sheer joy.

Fluttering birds flew back to their nests,
And the motley crowd left with their guests.
The park was now devoid of hustle bustle,
With serene silence save for the gentle sound of leaves rustle.
This tranquil solitude made me recall myself as a tot playing in the meadows,
While the trees stood inky and dark spilling their shadows.

I then took a nice, leisurely stroll,
Free from stridency, drivel and everything droll.
For I had worked hard all day long,
And now I wished to be a part of the musical night song…

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