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Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Poems of yesteryears --Still A Kid

Churned out when I was edging towards my 11th birthday.

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Radio Mix-up

Voices float out of my little radio
As I tune it—
“…cut into small pieces…”
“…’metre’ is a standard unit…”
“…mix just a scoop of Vanish…”
“…with onions you must garnish…”
“…three people were killed by…”
“…and your little one won’t cry…”

Voices float out yet again—
“…use our product to cure pain…”
“…and your yummy curry is ready to serve…”
“…it was the problem of a sensory nerve…”
“…when Mr. Acharya died…”
“…and the glitches you must hide…”
“…the police suspect it’s a murder…”
“…Mummy, please! I can’t go further…”

It seems to me as if it were a joke.
“…then in the dust you must poke…”
“…for an hour let it soak…”
“…insecticides found in coke…”

“Oh my God”, I smile and think,
“This will push me to death’s brink!”
“…playing! Playing! Playing again!
I tell you, not a single mark you’ll gain…!”
I thought, “Oh my! It’s my mother!”
But then I found it’s the radio, therefore another,
Reminding me that any time mine may come
And scold me, for I’ve not solved the eleventh sum.
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Random, I know.

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