A father’s passion

A couple going somewhere,
With luggage and a little baby,
Mother gets seat, but father, nowhere
Carrying 3 bags, only a single daddy.

One in the hand, one on the back,
In the crowd, difficult to keep track,
Facing angry stares, as space lack,
Feels like living in a shack.

Then, if that was not enough problem,
Baby started crying, threwing tartrum,
Crying papa, papa, papa,
Where your lap is, I want to come.

The mother quite the baby,
After some time​, he gave a smile,
Seeing that, something moves in daddy,
He can’t wait even a while.

Even with 3 bags to take care,
He made space for his child,
Taking him in his left arm,
Heart of the child is begiled.

The baby and daddy
started playing their own game
Which for other, was just
Strange signs with no name.

Seeing them,
My heart is filled with glee,
Wishing, I can be a father,
Some day in future, maybe.

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Staring

Sitting in front of me,
A girl in a yellow dress,
Seeing her, is a glee,
Fair skin given by god’s bless.

Pretending to write this poem,
I watch with my dirty fantasies,
The figure so awesome,
On her, eyes of every male freeze.

Then, a feeling was recalled,
By my mother, I was told,
Be sensitive, not just bold,
How will you feel mister,
If she was your own sister.

Of course! I don’t want,
Anyone staring at my sister,,
So this girl in yellow does not
Deserves stares of every observer.

At that point, I understood,
That if I want a girl,
I need the guts to say,
That, I want to stand beside you,
Weather it is night or day.

So until I have that guts,
Seeing every women
With respect and dignity is a must.

Stories in a metro

In the metro I travel,
A dozen stories to unravel,
Each passenger carry a fable,
I can guess only the label.

I like to play a detective,
Observing quietly is my tactic,
Analysing different retrospective,
Makes you more connective.

First, I see a man,
Sitting on a seat,
Clutching his bag,
Like a thief away a feet,
Must have learnt a lesson,
In public,
never be careless for a beat.

A women holding hands of her child,
Dropping her to school on early rise,
Parenting is a job of big size.

Some Muslim men with long beard,
Might change at Central Secretariat,
For Jama Masgid is neared.

All youngster on their phones,
Listening music or playing games,
Too busy to appreciate the,
Beauty around them, what a shame.

A couple lurking in back corner,
Showing affection to each other,
God not, love be for how much longer,
Little gurantee, they will take it further.
(lovers now a days)

An old man entered the train,
Body frail and the face pale,
3 people at once stand up without fail.
Seeing this kind of sensitivity,
My trust strengths in humanity.

Many other characters,
Young and old,
Each is a conspirator,
Of stories usually not told.

And here comes my station,
I got off the train,
Leaving behind all the characters,
To travel alone on my lane.

What I did today

Before going to bed,
Stand in front of mirror,
Light on today is shed,
Events of the day shimmer.

Another day over of my life,
Have I lived it to fullest,
In crowd, am I just a rife,
Is there nothing, I can best.

Today, I woke up early,
One point in my kitty,
Though 4 hours nearly,
On a show, in continuity.

I try to do some studies,
But didn’t feel ready,
Tried things, to pass time,
Day was over in this comedy,

Like this, many days come,
And without much go,
I feel like a person dumb,
Progress in everything, too slow.

I try to maintain a flow,
But stones in the way,
Makes it difficult to row,
And away from targets, I sway.

Standing in front of mirror,
I had this realization,
My heart goes aflutter,
I am living in an​ illusion.

Illusion that, I have time,
Enough for all I want,
Alas! life do not give overtime,
Time was never a grant,

Every day passed in ‘timepass’,
Is a day lost of your small life,
Most persons never outlast,
The time needed to complete​ the vibe.

So if I wanna die with satisfaction,
I have to step up my game,
Difficult is process of corse correction,
But much better then dying in shame.

So, for the night,
I will sleep tight,
To rise…. bright.

A father’s life

In the early morning,
I start the race,
Against all the abating,
And obstacles I face.
Forcing by way, battering,
Through many many gates.

Woke up early,
Still, no time to rest,
100 chores waiting,
Each in itself a test.

First, I remember my weight,
To reduce it, let us go to walk,
Even if last night, I slept late,
Then rising son on time,
Thinking about the grocery rates,
In front of the kids, being sublime,
Searching for my daughter’s mate,
Working several hours overtime,
To protect my children’s fate.

Seems like a difficult job,
Years of lifetime, it rob,
Many times, it is not enough
The appreciation you got.

But, I am still happy to do it,
There are perks to this lunacy,
A life having a purpose to it,
Better then a perfect life of fantasy.

When, I see my kids grow,
From small steps to giant leaps,
Watching this my eyes glow,
Better then thousand gold heaps.

So, I stick to fight,
For, I can announce aloud,
In all trials and delight,
They will make me proud.