My Tribute to Kishore Kumar with a song and a sketch

http://youtu.be/i6HA-LASSFA

My Pal

My friend, A duplicate of mine

Whom I everyday meet

Has a terrible fuss of imitating me.

The smile that only I can make-

he smirks at me in a similar way.

I bet he goes to the same school where,

His teachers love to imitate

Teachers of mine who are tired of seeing

The mirror every morning.

He shows me how ugly is crying

And how a grin makes it equally beautiful.

He is stubborn, I admit but horribly truthful.

Outdoors, he lies at my feet and slides,

Where ever I go, along with me.

Allergic to light, he hides behind me.

Throughout the strenuous stroll he

Rubs the dust and dirt from the street.

But there he goes again look!

In the mirror absolutely neat.

Wreek Kundu     

Bookworm

From its cocoon it quickly wriggles

To the nearest book and settles.

At the vast stretch it stares and begins

Its first and hearty feast.

To him, of the book nothing amazes

Than digging through many pages.

After feeding on knowledge all that time, it burps

The fat worm then slowly climbs out and lurks.

For another luscious fat book,

The bookworm keeps a firm look.

Wreek Kundu 

15/1/13

Memory Lane

My memory lane, a golden field

Dry and dusty the golden leaves

Beckon to me as I slowly stride

'Oh! You have been away for quite a while.'

Long ago when I tread on them,

Full of grace, the field was green

The fruitful foliage that sung of spring,

Were as robust as I had been.

But as I grew busier, I found

The woods grieved with no one around.

The blooms did shrivel, the thorns slyly smiled,

Without the walker, the lonely walk sadly sighed.

Not in dreams, nor in day

Could I enter my memory way.

The flowers withered, fell the leaves

In them, captured my memories.

Tired from working all day long,

Free from hardships, fret and pain.

As an activity now I prefer,

To stroll down the whispering lane.

WREEK KUNDU

16/12/12

A Poem/ 2012

I have plans for that day

On a chair I shall sit, facing the window

Open to the still sky beyond

To count the idle patch of clouds before I sleep.

My diary I will clasp it to my heart

Open to this page, reading these words

Of the poem I longed to read.

When thus I shall freeze along every one

This page shall freeze, so shall these words.

Yet its fossils like echoes will sound throughout 

an endless darkness

cold and quiet.

Waiting for the reunion of the five elements of life.

Wreekk

The Piano Never Counts

My mother asked me

To play to her the piano,

Every night;

She said, she loved

To hear her son

Play the piano.

The same song every day,

I played.

Shifting no scale,

Changing no chords,

But to my mother it was,

 Another song, every night.

The piano got dusty,

Yet it sounded mesmerizing to my mothers ears;

Because it was again, to her

 Another song;

Even when the piano got dusty.

Soon, I gave my concert.

Before the town. In

A lavish hall, on

A lavish stage, with

A brand new piano,

Offered by the premises.

                                                                                                                      

     And yes, the same song I played,

And yes, to my mother who sat in the front row,

It seemed like yet another song;

Even on a different piano.

Today, on her death bed, she lies; waiting for some one to soothe her.

So I shall play to her,

The same song, on

The same piano;

The dusty, antique piano which,

Would sound even more enchanting,

To her ears; because

To my mother the song sounds,

New every day;

Gives her utmost pleasure, to watch

Her son play……

And the piano never counts, the piano never counts.

 

The Giving Tree

We call the tree a “Giving Tree,”

The tree of wish, the “Giving Tree,”

The tree of generosity, the tree that cares,

Selfless is the “Giving Tree.”

She gives us shadow, She gives us fruits,

She holds the land firm, by her roots.

She gives us pulp, She gives us strength,

We salute her, for her height and length.

And from her hands, hang fragile,

The cherries, berries, flowers, sublime.

It costs a penny, for our least contribution,

But the “Giving Tree” costs herself, for our nutrition.

And yet, the tree of silence, the “Giving Tree,”

Gives her wealth, to you and me.

But still, we grow greedy,

Slyly, we look upon the “Giving Tree,”

Innocent and welcoming in the warm light,

Gives us delight, when the scythe do smite.

Calm, lies the “Giving Tree,”

Sacrificed, in the name of humanity.

Out of leaves, wood to be stolen,

A mere carcass, ready to rotten.

And shameless, savage, we mean

That we are perfectly ready, to Go Green!                

                                                                                              By Wreek Kundu   

                                                                                                   19-06-011

                                                                                                    4:21 pm