Thursday, 22 December 2016

But Carl Wasn’t Kidding

So Carl saw a crow feasting on a Lay’s packet thrown on the roadside by an insensitive, silly or confused, messy person. That crow croaked and called his friend to join. Carl stood there for a long while, thinking and thinking.

When did this switch happen that the crows are opting for Lay’s, that also spicy flavour, rather than their normal diet? Is it by choice or the circumstances are no more junk-food-free for the crows?

The crows fly away and take the Lay’s for their young ones, who slowly adept to the tangy taste. All the crows sitting on the electric wire talk about it and the one flying far outside the city takes the news along. As time rises and sets every day, the crows become accustomed to the plastic packed diet plan.

And the story is rewritten… the thirsty crow finds a pot of water and a half-eaten doughnut, he chooses to binge on the doughnut, because he isn’t really thirsty, it is just the spicy lunch that burned crow’s tongue and the crow knew that water cannot solve his problem, so children, moral of the story is, directly go for something sweet when your mouth is burning…

Carl was staring at the crows and the passers-by were staring at him. Suddenly, Carl rushed towards the crows and shooed them away. He then picked up the Lay’s packet and threw it in a dustbin nearby. A sigh of relief! Carl started to continue his journey, where ever he was going to, when he heard the crows. He turned, the crows sitting on the lamp post where looking at him, they croaked. Carl smiled and said, “Thirsty Crow is my grandma’s favourite moral story.”

Carl knew the crows have understood his words, beaming, he walked ahead. Aaahhh! A crow flew and pecked him on his left ear. So, Carl stood there rubbing his left ear and the crows took a flight to Hawaii.
Just kidding!

Sunday, 18 December 2016

The Moon Talks

In its stillness the moon shines poetically and travels through the same old route and reaches the very many hearts of its listeners.
I believe in your dreams, your smiles and tears.

The wavy mountains make a marvellous backdrop for the moon to become brighter, where it meets the eyes of a lone survivor.
I walk along; I follow wherever you go.

Amongst the twinkling stars, the moon beams broadly and warmly at the free souls, the little ones.
Yes, you can do magic and hide me in your lotus fists.

Deep, true brush strokes attempts to take the moon’s magic and pour it in a canvas.
I blush, yes, all the while.

The night sky and the blue ocean together carry the moon’s palanquin, rhythmically and lovingly they move.
I take their colours and they take mine.

A curtain draws, a window opens up and someone, in the serene peaceful moonlight, says a prayer.
And I say amen.

Ocean Meets Sky by Terry Fan

Not Alone

You are not alone Know this and take the way home Not to the concrete walls Or to those fairy dolls For Time is playing an old ...