That is Dad!

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His Hidden support discreetly disguised,
wrapped in indifference yet looks pacified.
Protection pondered and well balanced,
Which in all circumstances he shouldered.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

A lineage of rich culture carried through,
A legacy of traditionally built values true.
Concealing all his emotional weaknesses,
Displaying strength in wise decisiveness.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

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Giving a ride on his shoulders was manhood,
In love becoming a horse back in your childhood.
Training to pedal a tricycle or steering paddle boat,
Making you swim through crucial life lessons afloat.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

A concern shown by showing ‘ no concern’,
A caring look yet appearing distant n forlorn.
A loving heart with the uttermost silent care,
A quiet prayer with his earnest moments spare.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

Ensuring success by letting you tumble n fail,
Pushing you to pursue your goals that prevail.
Hiding his tears to bring you a smile cheerful,
Sacrificing his own for your comforts plentiful.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

His annoyance and indifferent aloofness,
Churning out your patience n perseverance.
The patience game played to perfection,
That appeared to be his rigid succession.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

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Living up to the timely rewarding magic spells,
Of special Barbie Dolls and sturdy tennis balls.
The guidance in carom tricks and karate kicks,
The unforgettable drives to zoo n circus trips.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

My greatest Hero, my biggest inspiration,
No words in his praise doth do justification.
His calm approach n mature qualification,
Unrivaled, unequalled in no contradiction.
That is Dad! That’s my Dad!

Sikiladi

—————————————————————————————————————————————–

In the media:

Published in “The Asian Weekly” Edition : 356 (June 16th – 22nd 2017)(Father’s Day Edition)

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MOTHER

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By Sikiladi

Mom, mother or simply mum
Closer to my heart …..
Than teeth to chewing gum

Mama, Amma or say it Ammi
Cannot resist the charm……
When fondly, snuggly she hugs me

Giving birth and bringing up
Was no mean chore…..
Flowing with love was her cup

Being far away in alien land
Grateful to her……
My each nerve, each hair strand

Sparing her time with equal care
Belonging to us siblings…..
In an undisputed uncounted share

Raising with added value education
Her guidance to me……
Has turned like a precious benediction

Being the light in unknown ways
She led my path…….
Letting me fall to rise in various ways

Playing Ludo game just for fun,
And Snakes and Ladders……
She taught life skills can be hard fun

Acceptance of my many traits
She experienced……..
Like unkempt hair tangled in braids

Taking tough decisions in her stride
She taught me…….
Perseverance can mature to be of pride

My first teacher, she became
Speech and walking…..
She taught me like a playful game

Being helpful and charitable was natural
Sharing and caring……
These traits became her precious jewel

Mother, mama, mér, maman or mummy
Titles may be many……
By any name she remains a dear mummy.

——–/–///———–

In the media:

published in The Asian Weekly- Edition 351 – May 12th to 18th 2017

Mother’s Day Feature

asian weekly 2017 Mother

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I AM SORRY MUM!

 

I am sorry mum for your suffering!
I am sorry for your pain bearing!
Having lost you to illness left me hurt….
But having lost you to wounds has injured me.
A brave warrior you fought till the end…
….Although the suffering saw no end.
The pricks and piercing here and there…
……And ugly jabs almost everywhere …..
…The uncouth handling of your care….
By the staff of Apollo’s nursing care.
The Intensive care forced upon you,
By the doctors of Apollo whilst their pockets
……..were fed by you.

The painful expression coming from your eyes,
Questioning me everyday,” why O! why?”
Docs pushing you away from the comfort of home,
To leave you alone at a time whilst sickness had grown….
The loss of the vital body fluid….
that should have run smooth and rapid.
Leaving you feeblest like never had….
Causing fevers and tremors of shivering ….
All so firmly accepted and borne by you.
The unethical morals rule medical fraternity ……..
The dirty tricks layered by ego between medics…
Cost me dearly a life that was precious and pure.

I am sorry mum for your suffering!
I am sorry for your pain bearing!
Having lost you to negligence by specialists….
Who forgot to check on you but checked pockets.
To them of interest were the results on charts,
They noticed not the inflicted painful darts.
Causing infection and then finding the cause,
Causing blood loss after blood loss to fulfill the loss….
By hundreds of syringes that extracted your blood……
…..To them it was a mere routine job.
Did they notice ever those shabby helper boys….
Contaminating the samples on the way to pathology lab ?
Holding trays full of samples, with samosaed oily hands,
Stopping on the way satiating their gossipy glands.

I am sorry mum for your suffering!
I am sorry for your pain bearing!
The legs captivated by that DVT pump….
Made you feel imprisoned on the hospital bed.
I should have understood your agony oh mum,
Please do forgive me for the ignorance mum.
The mouth went dry and you felt to cry…..
…..Neither a sip of water nor tears to cry.
I was shocked by that condition and wanted to pry…
Your hands too were bandaged under a pretext oh my!
Your own beautiful, glowing body ……
Turned to emerge a burden or a sort of cage….
Was it your illness or the hospital that laid the trap?
To squeeze out the life force out of you….
……Giving it wings of air to fly far away.

I am sorry mum for your suffering!
I am sorry for the pain bearing!
No apology ever came from them……
They found excuses to give you the run.
Their options all were fatalistic eventually,
They love the game called Life that ends in Death.
The Apollo Hospital at New Delhi,
To me appeared to be a death sanctuary.
I am bitter, yes very bitter at the way things worked,
I lost you at a place where lives are meant to get cured.
You said not a single formal goodbye
You spoke not a word in days lying masked.
You neither hugged nor were allowed to be hugged….
…….In life at hospital or even in death.
I miss by big motherly hug dear mum,
I miss you each day my dear mum.
Now memories alone shall hang on
Of the immediate past and years of past
Like a jigsaw puzzle unfolding on mind screen,
I wish I could get you back my own royal queen.
Sikiladi

SUPER WOMAN

Discarding her dreams half way,
She gets up to boil that cup of tea.
One eye observing children’s’ uniform,
Another monitoring the boiling milk.

A hand on the pan frying the breakfast eggs,
Another brushing away their unkempt hair.
Toasting the bread and spreading the jam,
Packing the lunchbox with sandwiched ham.

Adding some and a cucumber salad,
Balanced meals she prepares for she cares.
Attending to ageing grandma on the sick bed,
She helps your old grandpa to get up from bed.

Her frets and fumes form daily routine,
Perfection is played as biscuits with cream.
Unending tasks with diligence all fulfilled,
Never seen her kids with crumpled clothing.

Cooking some porridge, visiting the physician ,
Picking up grocery, working like a magician.
Watering those dainty flower pots on window sill,
Sweeping away the dust giving home a clean bill.

Laundering the shirts, pants and dress skirts,
With a thousand odd chores she takes a flirt.
Enjoying her taste of music, twisting to tunes,
Attending the church, mosque or temple she blooms.

Paying courtesy visits to those that need a care,
Forgetting her own needs, she churns with a flair.
Pleasing a husband & kids & parents his and hers,
Smiling away she nurses the wounds inflicted on hers’.

Timid as a dove, and raging as a storm,
This one woman carries wondrous charms.
Her gentle soft hands work as a healing balm,
Amazingly in thunderous moments she acts calm.

This awesome human is a super woman,
A daughter, a sister grew up to be this woman.
Gaining motherhood needed no introduction,
A caring attribute God gifted to each woman.

A responsibility big on slender shoulders,
Nurturing a new healthy, able generation.
Educating moral values being her certification,
Becoming a mother, cook, nurse and academician.

Sikiladi

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BIRD ON BOARD

by Monica Gokaldas

It squeaked, it chirped!
Behind the seats it smirked,
Flying and perching in enemy territory,
The tiny little bird was churning inventory.

They gasped and they gaped,
Its movement they caped…
Giving them an adrenaline rush,
It gave their expertise a crush.

A tiny feathered thrush,
Whisked past them a-brush…
Leaving a trail of their failure,
On board the Emirates it found air.

With its measured moves light,
It challenged the mighty ones’ might..
Chasing them out before the flight,
Unfastened the seat belts fastened tight.

It caused quite a delay and fright,
To the schedules that run so tight….
Lounging and duty free turned boring,
While they wanted to rest and go snoring.

The amusement of a bird on board,
Caused fidgeting mind and feet cold…
The wait seemed unending,
The bird had found a new landing.

The power game went on,
The struggle too caught on…
It escaped all their moves,
By displaying its feathery grooves.

EK 380 to Hongkong…
Turned out to be epic history…..
When one boarded and re boarded,
Yet none angry nor being scolded.

They waited with patience,
They waited in exhaustion….
The passengers and the crew,
Hungry and tired albeit they grew.

The struggle was immense,
Yet for some it made no sense…
All the flight’s daring and caring,
Couldn’t help the fluttering bearing.

Meanwhile it felt so lost,
And wanted to fly out at any cost…
It braved the masses a couple of times,
Attempting to save one of its precious bird lives.

Uncaged yet far from being free,
Liberty it needed in a soaring spree….
The duty hours of crew ran overdue,
The families in Hongkong waited without a clue.

THE DROUGHT

 

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Northern Kenya has been facing a severe drought situation. In this poem a fraction of a the suffering of the drought affected is mentioned.

Those hollowed eyes narrate a tale

Of nourishment gone down by the scale

Dual seasonal spells of awaited rains

Have given us a Kenyans too big a fail

 

Rugged yellowy ground now dirty pale

Missing are the vibrant greens that hale

Baringo, Mandera, Marsabit and Turkana

All on gloomy, ugly, dry, withered trails

 

Boreholes broken down to over usage

Many gone silent leaving the body cage

The livestock, the crops and the men

Each heart suffering an unspeakable rage

 

Faced by imminent death that nears

The starved three millions dropped spears

No time left to fight or quarrel anymore

The crop failures made them change gears

 

They call these times a real period of Lent

Looking for aid in food forms and monies spent

Communities have gathered to help their bit

The millions spent are a mere narrow vent

 

The effects of desertification are harshly felt

The climate change, shortage of rain is spelt

Those who reigned supreme when in greens

With malnutrition are weakened and bent

 

The little ones of many no more so gay

With hunger pangs no energy left to play

Walking far and wide in search of water

Eagerly await the Almighty’s clouds to spray

 

A boiling pot on the charcoaled fire

To their lost eyes is hopeful desire

Unbeknownst to the little mind frame

It’s tubers or worse, dying animals on pyre

 

Dried up are all rivers, dams and pans

The drought has appeared in timely spans

That smell of death hangs heavily around

Lake Turkana receded to dryness plans

 

————————————————————————————————————————————————– In The Media:

Published in The Asian Weekly : Edition 345 (31st mar – 06 apr 2017)

 

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मॉं

 

तेरे आँचल की छांव तले
मॉं अनेकों लाल पले
चाहे छोटे हों या बड़े
तुझको सभ ही लगते भले

ठोकर खाते, गिरते पढ़ते
घबरा जाते जब हम ढर् से
धूल भरा वो तेरा आँचल
सहला जाता मॉं हर ग़म से

अब जो हम परदेस आ बसे
गर्दिशों की धूल तज कर फँसे
याद तेरी मॉं बहुत ही सताए
जब जब घने से बादल बरसे

रहते हैं हम सहमे सहमे से

आँखों से चुपके आँसू बरसे
जब होंठ हमारे मुस्कुराए
आह सी निकल जाती है दिल से

सिकीलधी