The Human Spirit

Depthless reservoir of strength glimpsed on the toughest paths.
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Experiments with Haiku, Senryu

1. Woman’s Best Friend

Breeze on my face

New scent tickling his muzzle –

A perfect walk


2. Summer Heat

Blade of golden grass

Under boot buckled in brass

Trampled – hopeless, dying.


Scorching Sun,

Quivering yellowed grass –

Forest ablaze.


3. On Stage

knees jitterbugging,

sweat beading, hearts thumping while

in the wings waiting,

my son takes his bow on stage

happy confidence oozing


4. Outside

Stone boundary wall

Edged with glittering shards of glass

Field of grass beyond

Stretching, at the horizon

A line of office buildings

My world encompassed

A Glass of Milk was Spilled Today

Mothers are not angels come down to Earth. They are human beings doing the best they can for their children and families and half the time too worried about the future of their children to think straight. Don’t put them on a pedestal. Appreciate them for being humans with frailties. As one mother succinctly put it, “We are angels, just angry angels quite a lot of the time.”

A Glass of Milk was Spilled Today


A glass of milk was spilled one day.

Mother yelled and Sunny froze,

Knowing the drill, he waited

For the storm to close.


Anger though takes time waning,

For this event alas, kept recurring.

Clearly audible was her muttering,

About careless wastage – dire warning.


Forecasts faithfully foretold, such folly

Would surely make Sunny’s future unholy.

Then the Homeless and Hungry

Were invited in spirit to behold

How naughty Sunny wilfully

Their last meagre supper, floored!


Time at last cooled Mother’s temper,

Having vented some other skirmish here,

It was just a storm in a tea cup,

And the milk finally mopped up.


Sunny regretted in vain,

Guilt trip was his bane;

In his mind, jumbled, faint

Articulated a refrain:

“It was an accident.

Everyone, you too,

Have thus been rent.

How much did you

Then exclaim, regret,

Brow beat yourself

Over the head?

You’d be of the ilk:

A waste to cry

Over spilled milk.”


Their dog, a house pet

Tethered at bay,

Hoped the accident

Would play out his way.

Wished they’d let him

lap the milk up;

Such a tasty way

To clean the mess up.


A glass of milk was spilt again today.

Mother yelled and Sunny froze,

Knowing the drill, he waited

For the storm to come to a close.


Too many glasses had been spilt,

And Mother’s anger quickly built.

Sunny struggled with his own guilt;

Why did he keep gesticulating

While eating, his stories punctuating?


But this time mother’s mind, sane,

Articulated a humble refrain.

“What if I had caused the spilling?

Wouldn’t I be far more willing

To let go, without any milling?

I would quite easily myself  bilk:

What waste, crying over spilled milk.”


At that thought she smiled,

Shared with Sunny, quiet mild:

Her crazy reverse thought process.

Sunny amazed, was not in disgrace.


The dog wagged his tail eagerly;

His tongue lolled out happily.

“Someone please read my mind,

Let me lap up the milk, be kind,

I’ll clean up the mess in a jiffy,

No need at all to be miffy.”


This time Mother did look to him,

And he did the job with superb vim.

An Ode to the Beginning

Fate (Feb 1989)

When sleep steals over half the world

And my body rests in slumberous repose;

I then wander into my private land:

My dream land.


A land of sweet dreams,

Ecstatic hopes and fantasies;

Where castles may be built of air

But each stone is laid with love and care.


Each steeple I build there touches the sky;

Each bird I hear sings harmoniously;

Each flower there bears a smile;

My heart is at last quiet happy.


So I lie on my bed,

Think in rapture and sigh;

What does not suit me,

I erase and supply.


Then suddenly with thunder rolling

And lightening flashing;

(Not that she needs moral support)

Fate appears at my side.


Fatimah, Nemesis, Kismet …

How many names she has!

Just as many ways and methods

She employs to wreck my dreamland.


With flowing black hair

And silver eyes flashing;

Quiet calmly she descends,

Right into my wandering.


I shrink back in fear

And watch her diabolical eyes

Reflect the colour

And glory of my land.


She surveys the vistas before her

With malicious delight;

Then raises her sceptre and ruthlessly

Sweeps everything down with careless might!


In one fell swoop my crystal domes are shattered;

My steeples all bent and pointing towards hell;

The flowers have all dried and clouds

Hang heavy in the sky!


Instead of my fantasies now

I gaze at a laughing face.

Her diamond chip eyes shining with glee;

While I struggle in vain to set my dreams free.


Fate, She must be a beautiful siren

To get away with this disgrace!