Two is better than one

In honor of the better half of our friend, who also plans to run the short marathon.....( she runs and makes payasam; as for him, well, he only runs....)


He stops
at the 30th kilometre
feet jogging
in place,
the cell phone
to his ears,
bobbing
up and down.

But
no one answers.
He frowns,
as back home,
the milk
collects together
thickening in worry,
herding the raisins
together
with the slivers
of almonds
and
pistachios.
Its cold
in the fridge,
and
they huddle together,
safe
in their sweetness.

She is not
at home;
but
at
the 37th kilometre;
waiting
for Poetic FR
(Family Resources),
to catch up.

And so
they jog
the last patch
together,
she
just a wee bit
ahead
of him.

And the pistachio
drenched in the
payasam
nudges the
slim almond
to say;
"Psst,
I told you,
She is actually
the one
with power;
the idli
just
told me yesterday,
when we
accidentally met
at Asian paints.....
canteen ....

Musing and running in great company : and I don't mean Reliance.

In honor of one of my good friends who is planning to run the marathon in the New Year....





Fingers to the keyboard;
they run,
musing,
spouting observations,
nudging,
winking,
applauding ,
wondering,
pausing
to take
a breath
with
some photos....




Now toes on to roads,
he runs,
adjusting
his number,
emblazoned in front,
as the oxygen
flows in,
enthused,
excited,
wondering
about the
fellow runners,
applauding ,
a child here,
a lady there,
a father,
running for a cause,
muscles rippling.

He shuts his eyes,
and sees the tape;
A few steps more,
and he makes it,
a great end
to a greater effort,
practicing daily.

And she smiles
and stirs the milk,
bubbling happily
in excitement
along with her;
Yes,
she promised him
payasam
for lunch.......:-)

Flowering in synergy

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)
The perfectly developed
advanced
philanthrophic
petals,
side by side
with
the
troubled bud
still developing,
brown spots
amidst the
pervading green.



The leaves
in their greenness
do not skimp
on facing the Sun
to make food
for all,
and oxygen
for all,
big and small.

But sometimes,
it helps,
if,
like a mother,
the big one
gives up its
portion,
to the one,
who is trying
to flower,
amidst
the troubling browns,
to get
into the pink of health

Copenhagen , anyone ?

Leafless in Seattle

Inspired by Sylvia's wonderful photo of Snow in Seattle....and dedicated to a special lady who did professional ballet, and now teaches Pilates.....

(Photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)



Ballerinas
pirouetting
starkly,
amidst the silver sands,
now
stopped
mid action,
standing on tiptoe
palms unfolding
to the sky.



Dreaming
of the days
of green
jetes
as their branches
gracefully
bowed and swished
in the cool
late summer breeze.

The Day of the Adagio
is drawing to
a close,
Water
slowly
gently
lapping
at the rooted feet,
freeing them
to live in the sun
once again

The Allegro
has started,
with a glimmer of green,
and
they shake off
the frosted
diamonds
and gracefully
bow
to the God of spring
watched by
an amused Sun.

Life's little trophies

In appreciation of this .

(Photos by Kavi)
Like a sunrise
on a winter morning,
the clean glow
and the radiance
trickles through
life's clouds.



Pewter and silver
on the shelves,
archiving
the successes
of
the now
not-so-little-ones.

A saree pallu
wiping a corner,
sometimes
of an inscription,
sometimes of an eye,
as she basks in the
home movies
in the theatre of her mind.

The phone rings,
and anticipation
turns to a smile,
as those with names
on the trophies,
call.

There is a stir
amidst the crowded cups
in the archives,
"Psst,
stand straight,
they are coming home,
I heard Amma say so"...

She puts down
the telephone,
looks up
at grandpa by the window;
He has heard,
from the look on her face,
the shining in her eyes,
the wonderful news.

Its evening,
and
the sun has set,
after a successful
traverse
across the skies,
having won its own trophies.

They try to rest,
much excited.
The archived trophies
too,
shine in anticipation;
Not for those who
got them,
but
for the
coming home
from Bengaluru,
of
the littlest trophy
in their lives......

Life Marathon

Its all in the running,
and not,
in the reaching.

Some tog up,
branded,
top to toe,
a hairband,
to keep out
non existent hair,
a smart something,
emblazoned
on a piece
of embossed acrylic
announcing,
their charity
above the heart.



Singleminded steps,
quadriceps
climbing up and down,
water drunk on the go,
flung by the wayside,
waving at friends
at the Trident,
as they turn along the sea.

And some,
run ,
a bit late to start,
rushing in from
the train station.
There were
parents to help,
children to dress,
old socks to search,
messages to give
someone
dependent on you;

They never got around
to buying
those tracks;
last years should do.....

And so they run the
Marathon of life,
the charity,
not emblazoned,
but nestled
in the heart,
supporting
a kid
waving from the sidelines,
a father,
watching them on TV,
as the mother
brings him the medicines.
They smile at the
others,
running,
walking,
helping others,
to run,
and walk.

The place at the top
is a lonely one.
And its so much
more fun,
crowding there....

Because everyone
stands, holding on
to the other,
and each one
rejoices
in the win
of the
other.....

Like I said,
Its all in the running,
and not,
in the reaching.

Yours, Mine and Ours

 (Photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)

Gardens of life,
with upright folks,
holding on closely
to what is theirs;
Counting,
sometimes their riches,
sometimes their blessings,
and
at the fall
of dusk,
locking it all away
to open
again,
on another day.




But some gardens,
are blessed with
those
who also stand upright
but
open to the world;

"What is mine
is yours too;
come partake
freely
of nature's kindness
Sip the nectar...."

And the ballerina in yellow,

smiles,

leaps,

and lands daintily,

on her toes,

amidst a

carpet of white,

bows

hands outstretched,

and says

"Thank you !"

Him and Her

A raised palm
wonders
at the responses
to it,
by those
purported
to have brains. 

Sometimes,
drunk on prestige
making contact
and impact
with a face;
who does she think she is ?

Sometimes,
wallowing in importance,
stopping her,
secretly tickled
about his ability
to dictate a NO

And a few times,
delighted,
happy
with her success
touching palms,
up there,
high fiving it,
in celebration with her….

It takes two palms
to make this,
a contented life…
and no one’s hand is higher …..

Castle building

Build
and look ahead in life....


Some
build castles
in the air
and bend
the way the wind blows.



Some build castles
on the beach,
digging
with grubby fingers,
and sand in your hair,
patting into place
a wall here
a tunnel there
a flag on a turret
decorated with shells
painstakingly collected,
and a moat
all around
to fool the
sudden wave that
that ventures there....

But the best ones
are those
built in the mind,
by you,
for someone,
who has
never seen
a beach,
and
never tasted
the salty zing
in the spray
of opportunity,
in a lopsided world.

And should
the last be your choice,
I'll be honored
to help
with the scaffolding.....