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Rajaram Ramachandran

of

Mumbai, Maharashtra, India

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A Tear For A Bird (A True Stroy)

by

Rajaram Ramachandran

To a man, the ‘death’ of a bird,
There’s no meaning in that word,
For birds do live or die,
Matters little to the human eye.

To me, the ‘death’ of a bird,
Ushers a touch of gloom in that word,
A depressed sense of sorrow,
Deep in my heart o’er a sparrow.

Of all the places around,
How the little sparrow found,
A roof-hole, for its groom,
In my busy office room.

They both settled inside,
The tiny nest of their pride,
Flirting and searching,
Caressing and perching.

Their shrill and sharp noise,
As they flew across,
Tilted my mental peace,
Keeping me ill at ease.

My superior complex forbade,
Their trespass o’ver my head,
Out of they flew, at my chase,
But back they came, in retrace.

Their unbreakable obstinacy,
Won o’ver my supremacy,
As I got reconciled to them,
With the passage of time.

A straw or a feather drop,
From their tiny nest atop,
I threw out from my table,
Thereafter without a grumble.

What a shocking fatal day,
The ever remaining sparrow gay,
Fell dead, belly ripped open
By the speeding ceiling fan.

There remains still the tiny hole,
And my past memories of the bird’s role.
Lo! The bleeding lifeless sparrow’s body,
Lies in state before me even this day.


A Miser's Tale

by

Rajaram Ramachandran

A renowned miser he was,
"No" he said for any cause.
To "Help," he was averse
Thus earned others curse.

The word "Pity" didn’t find,
A place in his crooked mind,
No beggar made a sound,
At the bark of his hound.

A desert he was passing thro’
Once amidst hot wind that blew,
To a peg a camel was tied,
To drink water it tried.

The tub was beyond its reach,
It found none in its search.
He kicked the tub near its mouth,
Half the water went into the earth.

The other half the camel drank,
And shook its head as if to "thank,"
He was proud he did a job great,
That was good, despite his ill fate.

One day he breathed his last,
The Hell sent messengers fast,
Took him to the Heaven first,
And then back to the Hell just.

He saw a leg in the Heaven,
Kept well on a chair clean,
Decorated with a garland,
Found dipped in desert sand.

To the surprise of the miser,
Said the Hell messenger,
"It was the God’s decision,
Your leg is in the Heaven."

"For the good job it had done,
A place in the Heaven it won.
Your past records go not well.
So you’ll now go to the Hell."

Having no more credits to defend,
He went to the Hell at the end.
Yes, every little good job done,
It counts one step towards the Heaven.

A bud crushed under the foot

by

Rajaram Ramachandran

The day’s newspaper shook my heart.
I can only shed a tear on my part.
A heartless father shot her daughter.
It was like an animal slaughter.

Her love for a boy was the cause.
She married him as her choice,
Not with her parents’ consent
That led to their utter dissent.

Her father, to teach a lesson,
He invited the boy in person,
For a talk in a public place,
Just to break their alliance.

Her mother became serious,
Her father became furious.
When the talk failed at last,
As the kids stood steadfast.

Father had in his pocket hidden,
A pistol normally forbidden,
Two or three rounds he shot,
And gave the boy a chase hot.

The boy escaped with a wound,
But the girl fell dead on the ground,
Her life sucked up by bullets three,
From the pistol that flew free.

Oh God, when this gun culture,
From this earth will disappear?
Why a father kills his daughter,
O’er such a simple love matter?

What for he bred her for years?
Had their eyes dried of tears?
Many lost lovers history has seen,
Now one more added, fresh and green.

(A true incident from Times of India newspaper)

The tears wasted

by

Rajaram Ramachandran

They were newly married couple,
A few days went on with no trouble.
As days passed on, he never turned,
While for his love, her heart yearned.

She wore daily the best of robes,
Diamonds sparkled in her ear lobes,
But he had his mind on his work.
And wasn’t keen to have a look.

Her heart, one day, nearly broke,
But it was saved from a stroke.
With tears she stood before him,
He saw her face-glow gone dim.

Deeply engrossed in his work,
He was stuck up to his desk.
Elsewhere was his mind
The reason for tears to find.

Suddenly, his mind woke up.
He collected, drop by drop,
In a test tube all her tears,
And mixed some powders.

"Oh, I found out, my dear,
It’s nothing but saline water."
So said the scientist husband,
Still tied up, work bound.

A Timetable for a Life

by

Rajaram Ramachandran

At 24 hours a day,
365 days in a year,
For a life of 60 years.
One has 525600 hours

At 8 hours a day,
2920 hours in a year,
175200 in a life time,
In sleep, one spends 20 years

At 1 hour a day,
365 hours a year,
21900 in a life time,
In bath,dress spends 2.5 years.

At 1 hour a day,
365 hours a year,
21900 in a life time,
In worship spends 2.5 years.

At 1 hour a day,
365 hours a year,
21900 in a life time,
In travel spends 2.5 years.

At 8 hours a day,
2920 hours a year,
175200 in a life time,
As student,worker,house wife spends 20 years.

At 1 hour a day,
365 hours a year,
21900 in a life time,
On healthy exercise spends 2.5 years.

At 1 hour a day,
365 hours a year,
21900 in a life time,
On reading,gossiping spends 2.5 years.

At 1 hour a day,
365 hours a year,
21900 hours in a life time,
In sick bed spends 2.5 years.

At 2 hours a day,
730 hours a year,
43800 hours in a life time,
At Play,TV spends 5 years.

It’s for any individual,
To change this timetable,
More to his or her advantage,
Of course, with less wastage.