Toys... not just playthings!

They used to talk to me with muted lips
They used to dance on my naive beats
They used to be my soft support when I fell
They played in my lap like babies in a shell
When I myself was the little girl
Who talked to mum with unclear words!

And today when I stand alone in that room
They lay on my bed
As if playing with the dust...
But the sand to me is their lust!

Their hands and legs are still in place...
Covered under the lustily dirty face...
But their cottony heart inside I know
Has waited with utmost hope
Of seeing me - their little mommy back home!

Yes I know they have waited all this while
And today when I am back home
They have greeted me
With that same big smile
Yes... they have talked to me
Yes ... they have played with me
Because their lifeless heart is still that lively
That beats for me in my imaginary world
They ... my toys ... my all time fantasies!

Seen-unseen

A story of hearts did a poet once weave,
Two hearts together, under the same roof did rhythemically beat,
Playing the tones of innocent love ...
Creating the music of affection!

But eventually time made them bleed...
Tears of anger and unattended greed!
Creating unknown distances ... slowly tearing them apart!

Each wept a suppressed tear for the other,
With soulful belongingness gushing immidiately under!
Covered with a skinny layer of howling anger
Creasing their seamless laughter!

Each knew the pain,
Each knew, the other bore a teary strain.
But none of the hearts were so firmly concrete,
To wipe the droplet off the other's cheek!
And so, in the noisy scilence do they weep
Unattended... Seemingly unseen....

-Angel Pandhi

Broken Patterns

Embossed fonts chizzeled over a seemingly infinite base,
Rubbing my hands through all the patterned gales.
Addicted to the rhythemic movement of my hands,
Over the ornamentations on the temple wall in colourful bands
Carried was I to go with the flow,
Unaware, unattentive of what went around
Lost in the patterned world!

But the rhythm did something interrupt ...
A wiggled tuft,
Blossoming life inside a lifelessly lively pattern
As if taking forward the baton ...
The responsibility to burst the monotony bubble,
And bring twists and curves even inside the cracked part of the motif! 
Yes a pretty life emerging from the broken pattern!