Poem

So with the memories of Delhi (college holidays) still in my mind, here is a poem inspired from a situation in the Delhi metro.














The tale of two ladies

They sat on either end of the aisle,
Exchanged an ever so polite smile,
(The lady on my left), had a look of wonder,
(Perhaps she thought), could she ever be like the one seated yonder.

A pair of netted stockings and a black leather pouch,
Accompanied by a low cut velvet blouse,
A shiny new silver mobile phone,
And a sparklin’ faux diamond brooch that shone.

On either hand there was a blue glove,
That covered the elbow and extended till a little above,
And then there was music on her i-pod’s ear phones,
(That to me seated beside her, sounded like a cacophonic drone.)

To complete it all there was red sling bag,
And a short blue jean, which was more of a rag.

Now I present the other maiden just as fair,
Perhaps she hailed from the dunes of the Thar.
She had big dangling silver rings on each ear,
And beautiful hazel eyes with a look so queer.

Atleast a fifty bangles adorned each tanned arm,
All in all it had a rustic village charm,
Her head was covered with the bright red choli she wore,
But her face was beautiful, of that I’m sure.

I imagine she felt,
A mixture of disapproval and admiration,
Disapproving the other girl’s poise,
Ánd her risqué attire,
But I’m think she was quite mired,
Because these were the very things she did admire

But as our little journey came to an end,
She too made her little conclusion.
‘Maybe in my English I falter,
And I do not wear such risqué clothes,
No doubt she is beautiful,
But I’m beautiful in my own way too!’
Mukund P Rao (July 22nd ’10)

The beauty of the night

The beauty of the night

(PART I)
There is a beauty in darkness,
It is mysterious,
It hides and only partially reveals,
It softens tones, and mellows stones.

There is a beauty in darkness,
You see the stars and the moon,
As you o’er your damsel swoon,   
And watch pebbles in a stream reflect the moon.


Light causes a naked exposure,
And things are best when not all is shown.
Romanticism starts only after dusk,
Once light has begun to sombre tones.

(PART II)
In the city there is always light,
As you look up at the sky at night,
All you see is a yellow light,
that to your eyes feels like a bite.

There isn’t a vision of black anymore.
In the days of yore,
The stars were uncountable,
But it ain’t so any more.

The smog and all the pollution,
Clog our vision,
And the perpetual lighting of our vibrant life,
Have caused our lives to be full of strife.

(PART III) 
I do wish I could run away,
Go back to the age of nine again.
In a village I watched all the stars that shone.
In the darkness of the night,

All you heard were the croaking toads,
And not a man was seen down on the roads.
Now the woods have gone,
And the jungle is all a concrete mess,

Every night at eight,
The lights come on and its day again.
Maybe go back to a time,
When night and day were different things,

Night always had a different charm,
As every night it told me new secrets.
My friend the Moon,
And my sister Venus,

Talked for hours on end, every night,
Until the sleep fairy came and said Goodnight, sleep tight.
Every night now when I look at the sky,
It is full of dust and smog and ash.

My old friends are still there,
But it is all now more of a haze.
I wish I could run back,
To a place where the night ain’t light, and burning bright!
Mukund P Rao
(July 10, 2010)


To read more about the problems night lighting causes please visit
http://www.nature.com/news/2010/100707/full/news.2010.339.html