Death Before Birth

Death Before Birth

                        -Sunil Rajguru

The birth of a life
in a mother’s womb
A dormant seed in hibernation
waiting to breathe fresh air
and see the world with its tiny eyes
growing slowly, steadily and beautifully
Blind, defenceless and unaware
Of the plot to end it life
by the very medium
whose duty it was
to suffer the labours and give birth
To protect. To feed. To kiss…
But a kiss it does receive
A mother’s kiss of death
for no reason of its own
other than being of one sex
instead of another

                    

 

The Tree

The Tree

 The tree
where little kids come to meet
where flowers grow around
where teenagers crowd together by
where couples seem to chat
where women read books
where men climb on with their son
the tree
the tree of life and hope
the tree of love
the tree of happiness
for years and years people seem to stop and take a few moments by the tree
this beautiful gift that God created
the tree

                     

Desert

Desert

        -Zaibar Zee

Keeping secrets we never know,
Many went and had lost their ways;
Rich merchants and camels in rows,
Silence is like a scary beast.
Sand storms and circulating winds;
Land of dunes and fading cries,
Unanswered voices are constantly dying.
Life is scared to take it’s abide.
Rain hardly thinks to take its ride.
Day is wilder under stocking sun.
Sand doesn’t let any tree or plant
Vastness seems infinite;
Evil conquers it in a gloomy night.
One who stays in it, will risk the life.

                     

The Candle

The Candle

              -Katherine Mansfield

By my bed, on a little round table
The Grandmother placed a candle.
She gave me three kisses telling me they were three
dreams

And tucked me in just where I loved being tucked.
Then she went out of the room and the door was shut.
I lay still, waiting for my three dreams to talk;
But they were silent.
Suddenly I remember giving her three kisses back.
Perhaps, by mistake, I had given my three little
dreams

I sat up in bed.
The room grew big, oh, bigger far than a church.
The wardrobe, quite by itself, as big as a house.
And the jug on the washstand smiled at me:
It was not a friendly smile.
I looked at the basket-chair where my clothes lay
folded:

The chair gave a creak as though it were listening
for something.
Perhaps it was coming alive and going to dress in
my clothes.
But the awful thing was the window:
I could not think what was outside.
No tree to be seen, I was sure,

No nice little plant or friendly pebbly path.
Why did she pull the blind down every night?
It was better to know.
I crunched my teeth and crept out of bed,
I peeped through a slit of the blind.
There was nothing at all to be seen.

But hundreds of friendly candles all over the sky
In remembrance of frightened children.
I went back to bed...
The three dreams started singing a little song