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Village fair

Village fair

A village fair has just begun my thoughts –
Colorful windmills purple as they dance,
Boundless fields eager for shine to dry
From morning’s mist to evening’s sweat

Trees stand tall, cattle too see end of day,
Children forget their homes, blindfolded
At stretching play, searching in the twilight
The day that had promised a winner

Thoughtful lamps glow in every home,
Their oil in clay, like diamond in the shore,
Is fortune only to the one who gets,
And each home’s contend with its light.

At night, ghosts sing into the winds,
Close the children to their lids,
Hide the moon from its tales,
And ask forgetful dogs, when is time to sleep?

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Balding in Young Age

Balding in young age

Sweat of burning books in midnight oil
Causes receding hairlines on young scalps.
The mirror becomes a place for refuge
And false trees are sought to hide the Alps.

young minds tremble with goosebumps oft,
And pry to over-hear people’s hushing talks,
Foreign voices get trapped in soul to echo,
In rooms of worry, ghostly knocking stalks

The train of life pauses on rumoring brakes,
The swaying that had lulled to sleep wakes
Up fellow travellers who further leak oil
To burn in murmurs many silent lakes.

Crooked brows try to embrace bare temple,
By feigning needless amazed looks,
Like the bird that hides its beak for shame,
When it’s nest is blown into the brook

None but time teaches a son that true pride
For one’s middling father’s scaled not by height,
But like the balding patch, it’s with ease
He learns to compromise with his sight.