In The Park- Another evening of hope and nostalgia

This time it's the rain,
Makes me nostalgic once again,
In these moments of loneliness,
Comes a rush of feelings like a smoke billowing train.

Memories, sweet and sweeter,
Circling my head like a roller coaster,
Engulfing me in their charm,
Remind me of that farm and that rooster.

I still remember how we used to make paper boats,
Frogs croaking at the edge of their throats,
Those roads filled with muddy water,
But now it's just umbrellas and raincoats.

Dripping from the edge of the roof, those little droplets,
Appeared to me like a dancer's anklets,
The wings of that sparrow all drenched,
While it was trying to rush to its nest.

The numerous ripples in that lake,
What a sight they often make,
Floating on the surface, that lotus and that lily,
Like cherries on a cake.

The sun used to play hide and seek among the clouds,
That sound of thunder, so loud,
And when the rainbow used to come out of its abode,
The soil in the water emerged as a dry sand mound.

                                                                                              - Disha Wahi

'In-animate'

Watch the clouds,

When they remove their dry shroud,

Depicting a bantering crowd,

Perhaps an elephant's face or a child's skate,

They artistically state-

'We are not inanimate!'

Listen to the frogs,

When their croaks replace the barks of the dogs,

When they come out of their bogs,

With gallantry in their gait,

They, in a medley, state-

'We are not inanimate!'

Inhale the fragrance of the roses,

Swaying in the rain flashing charming poses,

Cherishing the company of the wet earth that mosses,

Penning down their stories on nature's slate,

Sweet-scented, they state-

'We are not inanimate!'

Indulging in acts of destruction and deception,

The human race has shut all windows of perception,

Feeding voraciously on mother earth's production,

At such a reproachfully increasing rate,

Yes, we have lost the right to state,

  That we are  

    humane,

                                            alive        

  and animate!

-Disha Wahi       

The Downpour

The season’s first rain,

In an attempt to wash away my pain,

Forgets that it cannot uproot the real villain,

The one that’s settled- in, deep within.

The one who over-powers my brain,

Who’s the culprit behind my hidden strain,

Who rejoices my depression,

Who takes pride in my suppression.

Naturally found as the hand behind every cardiac arrest,

The mastermind behind every failed test,

One that paranormally transforms a human into a barbarian,

And compels us to redefine the word- ‘humanitarian’.

It just oozes the concentration out of me,

And distracts me till I’m no more the same ‘ME’,

And commands me in a soothing manner,

To destroy my precious time with confidence- powered valour.

So I wish the first shower to be a bit stronger,

And drench this evil scandal-monger,

And subdue its ego, its darkness,

And purify its crust and core,

So that I could taste freedom in the seasonal downpour.

-Disha Wahi