Tag: Poetry

Chai Wallah on the train

 

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Photo by Resham Gellaty chaiwallahsofindia.com

This is my tale of a chai wallah 

Met on an Indian train

If you’ve heard it before forgive me for

You are going to hear it again.

 

We are travelling on an Indian train

The only non Indians there.

A chai wallah’s moving down the train

And I guess you know the score.

 

He’s calling out to sell his wares

So this is what we heard, 

“Chai, chai, chai, chai.”

Moving down the train.

 

“Chai, chai, chai, chai.”

Closer all the time.

“Chai, chai, chai, chai”,

Until he got to me.

 

Without the slightest hint of pause

Or any break in rhythm

He changed his call 

As he went by me

And this is what we heard.

 

“Chai, chai, chai, chai,

Chai, chai, Tea, chai, chai”.

He changed his call from chai to tea

Just as he went by me.

 

Two nations tied together

By so much history

I hope we share our humour

And it’s funny to him

As to me.

Forgetful

Forgetful

Who put the fog in forgetful

Who put the blank in my mind?

Thoughts that were in there one time

Are so much harder to find.

 

Who tied the knot in my hankie?

What was it there to remind?

Something I can’t remember

Need help with jogging my mind.

 

Somehow it slipped my memory

Was painfully pushed to one side

Some things are better forgotten

There’s times I can’t bring to mind.

 

My mind is gently slipping

And taking sad memories away

Somewhere and somehow you’re in there

But you’re gone and there’s nothing to say.

Tides

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The sea went out. I missed the tide.

I’m stranded, abandoned, left on shore.

My dreams, ambitions all denied.

The sea went out I missed the tide

 

Like flotsam, jetsam cast aside;

My hopes are dashed, I’m feeling sore.

The sea went out. I missed the tide.

Stranded, abandoned, left on shore.

 

The tide goes out but will come in

The waves will touch my feet again.

I’ll feel their splash against my skin.

The tide goes out but will come in.

 

Chances return though odds seem slim.

I’ll be prepared; be ready then.

The tide goes out but will come in.

The waves will touch my feet again.

My Song

My song’s not an air, not a chant or a ditty

Not an: aria, canticle, ballad or hymn.

It’s simply these lines that keep running in my head,

Make me hum, tap my fingers, before long have to sing.

 

It’s nothing too grand, it might not make you cry.

Not a poem, not a hymn, not a psalm or lullaby

It doesn’t have great lyrics; it barely has a tune

But it’s a song to sing along to so just give it a try.

 

Songs can raise the spirits, songs can bring you down.

Here’s no rousing anthem, not much melody.

But once you start to sing it; it’ll carry you along

And your friends will all join in before too long.

And your friends will all join in before too long.

 

 

 

via Song

A response to the Daily Prompt

Integrity

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He meant to be both good and true.

But where he was was who he’d be

He would not wish to lie to you.

He thought he knew just who to be

Yet acted inconsistently.

 

He’d different faces, different lives.

His life so lacked integrity

That all the lives he lived were lies;

 

Not really sure of who he was.

Or who it was he meant to be.

A face for faces that he met

He was not whole, he was not free.

 

He couldn’t be true, would often forget

What he was for and who he was.

He couldn’t live authentically.

He hid himself afraid they’d see.

The self he’d hidden deep inside.

His hidden vulnerability.

 

He could not show them who he was.

Something deep inside had died.

 

Morgue-file photo by vickiayala

 

 

Depleted

Once we were legion, now we’re depleted.

So few of us now; we used to be more.

There’s me and my brothers, a few others too

Not sure about some of them; not sure of you!

 

Surrounded, depleted, outnumbered too few

Our ranks are diminished, whose with us, are you?

Do you stand where you once did? Do you stand with us now?

Our numbers depleted, we sorely need you.

 

Certainties questioned, the things we once knew,

We’re down to the hard core, the core chosen few.

Rally the ranks, stay true to the cause

it may be a lost cause but surely it’s yours?

 

 

 

 

 

via Deplete

The right kind of bombs

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We hate chemical warfare

Dropping the wrong kind of bombs.

We’re taking retaliatory action

Because chemical bombing is wrong.

 

Our smart bombs will all hit their target

Make sure no civilians are hurt

But if we hit any women or children

At least they’re the right kind of bombs?

 

We still sell conventional weapons

We don’t care who they’re sold too

We hope they won’t kill any children

Though the ‘right kind’ of bombs sometimes do.

 

 

Pebbles

BE597DC1-39D4-490D-8FE9-0254B5BF4A45There’s plenty other pebbles 

Plenty in the sea

Plenty other pebbles

Plenty on the beach.

Round and smooth and shiny

Washed up on the shore

Hear the clink of pebbles.

Washed along the beach.

 

Choose a shiny pebble

Choose it from the beach

Smooth and shiny pebble

Warm against your skin.

Pebbles clink together

So smooth and round and trim.

 

They rub along together

Pebbles on a beach.

Choose your favourite pebble

Cherish it a while

Choose your favourite pebble

Best one on the beach.

 

There’s plenty other pebbles

Plenty on the beach

Spot another pebble

Choose the one to ditch.

 

You skim me cross the water

You skim me cross the sea

There’s plenty other pebbles

That’s the end of me.

 

There’s plenty other pebbles 

Plenty in the sea

Plenty other pebbles

That’s the end of me.

Show Don’t Tell

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The first buds of spring were peeking,
The trees were still stark and unclothed.
There was something she was not telling,
A secret she hadn’t yet shared.

She hid her secret
She hid it well
She did not show.
He could not tell.

The first spring flowers were now blooming,
The trees overhead lightly clothed.
Something about her was changing;
A change that could not be ignored.

She’d started to show
And he could tell.
He knew what it was
Knew all too well.

Now nature in all of it’s glory
Burst forth neath a bright summer sky.
It was no longer a secret
So plain was the swell of her form.

He did not show
And sorry to tell
It seemed that the tale
Could not end well.

The trees were starting to colour
An autumnal nip in the wind.
The promises that he had once made her,
He was all too quick to rescind.

She’d started to show
It was easy to tell.
It was so plain to see
It would not end well.

Froth

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Sometimes a good cup of coffee

Is enhanced by the froth on its top.

If the coffee is strong

And the drink’s not too ‘long’

The flavour will come bursting through.

 

The froth can help hold the flavour

It lingers there on the tongue

But the coffee has to have substance

It’s no good if drunk on its own.

 

It can be the same with writing

A rhyme can push it along

You can jolly it up with rhythm

But if nothing is said

Your words will fall dead

They won’t stand the test of time.

 

Daily Prompt Froth – https://wp.me/p23sd-14NL