Saturday, February 25, 2006

A New Life

Spring cleaning the house,
I find an old name board that
my dead sister-in-law had at her clinic:
“ Dr. R----------------------
M.B.B.S., M.S (Gen. Surgery)
Clinic Timings:……….”
The board is quite big.
About 5’x2’ and pretty strong.
The metal sheet is rust free.
The wooden frame, termite free.
Even the paint is not flaked or faded.
Though my memory of her is.
I wonder whether to throw it.
Or keep it.
I decide to repaint and
use it to cover the new birdcage
in the balcony, protecting them
from the sun.
She’d have approved the recycling
and her place in the sun.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Never dissect a Poem

When I was young,
I was naive and impressionable,
and always desperately trying
to impress women.
(my buddies claim I haven’t
changed a bit…)
On a vacation trip, I came across
this poem* that really moved me.
Promptly, I wrote about it to my
new pretty English teacher.
Line by line I paraphrased the poem,
explaining how good it was. What
the poet meant etc., etc., Finally after
showing off my alleged acumen,
I had the audacity to ask her,
“What do you think
of the poem ?”
And I waited anxiously for her reply.
“That is a beautiful poem,” She wrote back,
“You have pinned it on its back, exposing
its soft, secret sensitive areas.
Very nice.” I felt thrilled and read on.
“But, you didn’t stop there,”
she continued her critique, “ You had to
cut it, quarter it, gut it,
show me its raw innards, its fading beating heart,
its gasping lungs and its
naked slimy soul.. Tell me, how can I fancy
this poem that you’ve
so clinically dissected ?”


*The Guy in the Glass