The Flight.

A tale of a little dark plumed bird, I write,
The winged creature,not much of a sight.

The red beaked,a frail little insignicant bird,
Amidst the leaves,at day break she stirred.

Her songs spoke of no melodious tune,
When others sang,her voice drowned,all too soon.

But the bird unconcerned,paid no heed,
She hopped and skipped,happy indeed.

One fine day,of the sun she caught sight,
She was drawn,moth like to the spectrum of light.

She could no longer hold the forest dear,
Her eyes fixed on the sun-kissed sky,clear.

She soared to take a closer look,
In anticipation,like a wind swept leaf,she shook.

She sang all the way up,wind borne,
Imagining,to her,the sun did beckon.

Alas! her wings singed,she fell,
She spiralled down,from heaven unto hell.

She lay in Nature's breast,
Uttered no cry,heart to the earth pressed.

The clouds rained drops benign,
Unmoved,to her fate she did resign.

She hobbled around,shorn of wings to fly,
Her wings healing,or at least giving a try.

Maybe the little creature,
Oneday,again in the sky,will feature.

But that is only Time's call,
Before she can rise,perhaps,for another fall!        
                                                                      Chandni.

She

                   Gentle by nature,
               So graceful a feature,
          Epitome of love and affection,
                That is you,my lady,
The brightest star on the human horizon.

           A concerned daughter,
                 Ever so ready,
     To shoulder their responsibility,
         They,who had enlightened,
    Her  parents,no less than God,to her.

        The sister,a benign figure,
         With a mind crystal clear,
           Her affection transcends,
                For her siblings,
 All other emotions,she harbours and feelings.

                When she is a wife,
     She walks and with him she stands,
                With his in her hands,
     Steadfast is she,in moments of strife,
 A choice,consciously made for this devoted life.

                 When she a mother,
            She assumes a character,
             That of a fierce protector.
            She enfolds her offsprings,
                     In the warmth
              Of her unfurled wings,
           And shelters them from,
    The silent and invisible predator.

    A deity of immeasurable strength,
     Toils away, for time,at any length.
             Bears pain and pleasure, 
                  In equal measure.

        Daughter, sister, wife, mother,
      She plays well, each of her part,
Dedication couldn't  find herself in any other,
 Endowed with benignty, she,such a fine art.

         But when teased and tortured,
        The tenderness she'd nurtured, 
                    Takes a turn,
  Transforms,she to a tigress from a doe, 
        Dreadful, a fearful entity to her foe.

  You carry the man in your womb,lady,
         Divine is the spirit you embody,
       For all your affection and concern,
            To you,the sky writes an ode,
        And the earth breaks into a paean.
                                                           Chandni.

Destination

Someday I would love to live in a cottage set in the middle of the woods,where the door would open to a brook gurgling by and windows,to the wide expanse of a blue sky.Where mornings would be awash with golden light,afternoons a white shimmer,and evenings the colour of the dying light,in darkness aglimmer.Where the night would be basking in the moon's arms and stars lost in a divine dance.Where music would be the birds singing to the morning sun and the rendition of the chatteting brook accompanying the cool evening breeze,engrossed in frolic and fun.Where peace would drip from the quiet hills and the voice of tranquility by it's silent smile,thrills.Where spring would break into a riot of colours and summer rains swell the edgy rivers.Where the autumn would make the woods shine yellow bright and winter turn the cottage and the tree bending over it,white.Where time wouldn't be in a hurry,where moments would be happy and never sorry.Where oneday I'd grow old and grey,and with death I'll be gone,but my soul tethered to the cottage,will continue to stay.