All are equal

‘We are all equal,’ the wise ones said.

‘How true! How true!’ the rest nodded their head.

‘All of us, each one,’  the wise ones said. ‘All are equal.’

‘Except, of course, the old people: they are old and weak!’

The rest nodded, too sad to speak.

‘And except, of course, the children: they are young and ignorant.’

The rest bent their heads in silent assent.

‘And of course except the women – they are women after all!’

To disagree with that, no one had the gall.

‘Except of course the poor – uncouth as they are!’

The rest snorted and rolled their eyes at the stars.

‘And except the OTHERS – how can they be equal to US?

‘How true, how true!” cried the rest. “Why the fuss?”

‘But, like we said, all of us are equal. All of us!’ the wise men said.
‘How true! How true!’ the rest nodded their head.

Why Why Why

“Why don’t we go to the park, father,”

Asked the little boy, slipping his little palm into his father’s,

“Like we used to every day

Till a month back?”

“Why don’t we walk around the park, father,”

He asked, tugging his father towards the gate,

“Like we used to every day

Till a month back?”

“Why is it not safe anymore, father”

He asked, gripping his father’s hand tightly,

“But it used to be

Till a month back?”

“Why is the park so bare, father,”

He asked, looking all around, puzzled,

“It was never so

Till a month back?”

“Why are the benches vacant, father,

Where are the grandpas and grandmas?

Why are the swings and see-saws still?

Where are the little children?

Why are the trees so silent, father

Where are the birds?

Why is the ground so bare, father

Where did the grass go?”

“And what is this small patch, father,

It was not there before

This red-brown earth all cracked and bare

What is this pit in the park, father?

It was not there

Till a month back?”

“But why did people die here father

Who dropped the bomb?

And whose blood is this, father,

That of the killer or the killed?

If all blood is the same, father,

Then what did they fight over?

And why is the park bare

And the grass red?”

GUEST POST FROM TARA SUDHAKAR

I am in the mood for a guest post today! Introducing the new poet on the block - my daughter, Tara, who wrote this lovely poem three years back. I discovered it in my system only a month back and was amazed at the expression. Must have read it a hundred times since then! 

ODE TO THE SOUL

Drown in the river,

Oh soul of mine

Quench your thirst.

Be thou but a small

Harmless self that

Touches the heart of one

That is rendered homeless.

Be thou a leaf

That dances to the tunes

Of Mother nature

Whose cradle is

As much yours as another’s.

Be thou, silk worm

Whose selfless sacrifice

Yields clothing for heartless people

Who don’t understand life’s worth!!

Be thou a river

That flows through ages

Forever, endlessly

Carrying with you

The freshness and calmness

The very essence of life.

Be thou a ray of light

Whose beam lights up

One’s heart which

Had once lost the life and zest.

Be thou the trees

Whose shade revive

The life of many

Sweet, sweet little birdie.

Be thou a wall

Whose power one cannot penetrate

When cruel yet pleasing thoughts

Enter one’s mind.

Be thou the pen

Which writes down

What I say.

Be thou , the home of people

Be thou, the home of hearts.

 BY      

                                                                                      

TARA SUDHAKAR                                                                                                              

(16 YRS)