UNSUNG

Ambulances scuttling through streets,

Is it in Syria, Palestine, Yemen or Ukraine?

Forest fires vaporising houses, livelihood and people

Is it in Hawaii, Canada, or Australia? 

Bombings in mosques, synagogues and embassies

Is it in France, Pakistan or America?

Bodies knotted in boats, some capsized, some breathing,

Are they from Mexico, Afghanistan or Sudan?

Numbers losing count.

Bodies, toys and memories

pulled out by faces unexpected,

supporting the grieving and the lonely.

Relief pouring in, unheard hands donating,

a Yuan, a Euro or a Rial, sparse but welcome.

Distant eyes offering compassion, 

blanketing clothes and medicine.

Hope assembling in all shapes and forms,

shedding their layer of offering.

Silently seeking not holiday destinations,

but war-torn areas and disaster hit zones,

coating the needy with warmth.

Disqualified for ramp walks, 

or invading paparazzi clicks.

Each one a polished gem.

Melting marvels all around 

their fragrance blooming withering buds,

their touch bandaging assorted bruises,

their gesture roofing homeless walls.

Beacons of gentleness and charm

missed by artists, poets and awards,

diverse ethnic contours, 

each one a paragon of attraction 

practising the greying habit of giving.

REVISITED

The old flowery album sticking my smile,

unmatured head lost in itself, not a whiff of responsibility.

Slithering away from boulders 

earlier chores done for pats and compliments.

A facade of pampered duplicity

the original asphyxiated

fangs of stress and aches rewarded imitation, 

the sting too acidic to digest.

Bursting dam of tears and guilt, 

past smile scratching my present wound.

Desperate to delete earlier self,

hounded internet and spouse

both weary, one responded, other supported,

a meditation retreat popped up.

Half a dozen years since then, serenity protruding more often,

meditation brought my besties along, mind coughing words,

into poems, limbs throbbing to exercise better.

Chores magnetic pull seeming bit alluring,

black couch gluing me for puzzles and reading, 

nose rumbling for old book shop's smell during holidays,

moods lessening the swing speed,

Bit by bit inching to scrape the unpleasant

a daily trip to extract and preserve the me I found.

A TRAVELLER'S NARRATIVE

The rumbling train wheels match the matured silence 

Both in perfect synchronisation of their own

journey of wheels resting at stations

journey of the couple smooth as blowing aircon air.

Unsaid words stuck on her chain and his blue shirt

understood emotions pasted on the tea lips

some concealed words on his grey moustache

some on her golden ring. 

Fifty-six years of uphill and downhill

each situation so unfamiliarly familiar

occasional silences of hurt and anger

still slipping from her wrinkles. 

His new bangled neckline 

matching her sagging arms

both dripping affection as a rusty tap. 

Both looking out for each other,

their warmth competing with 

the heat of the spicy Indian curry

served in meals on train.

The fluctuating bulb's settled dust

dimming their unsettled greying knots 

Joint experiences thicker than a thread bundle

stretch of train track lengthier than their future

words insufficient to fill every pause and stop

language trying hard to keep their full-fledged relation.