WHOSE IS THE MOON? : SONNET 102

D'you see the moon -- that snowy bloom -- like I,

Her beautiful face, her beaming smile of fun,

As she hangs herself up from nightly sky,

Pouring down balminess from loving urn?

D'you feel her teasing you with her mischief,

As more you love her, farther yet she goes --

Smaller -- each passing night, till out of sight, if

Some stronger human wrap'd her in his boughs?

D'you 'so exult when suddenly ere your drab eyes

She does appear, on evening pool's dark water?

And 'so distress'd you feel when for the prize,

You bend, but she does break and disappear?

If you do, she's not yours, nor is she mine;

For, humans are deprived of the Divine.

-- N P Samal

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KISS ME, PLEASE!

Woo-hoo...! Kisss you...u...u...u...??? Oh, I'm being frenzical !!! My slavering tongue is jerking fast And my quivering lips are pouting out With booms of kisses in the air -- Ummah...! Ummah...! Ummah...! Just yesterday, an okay got my promise. Today is the chance no way to miss. And ready is my basket with pecks, Lip-locks, French kisses, and other varieties... I'm also ready for the lizard kiss, And the kiss of the Spider man... And I'm sure I won't beg like Big B -- (Juma, chumma de de chumma...), This is my right to kiss I earn'd this week. I shall kiss like one Dhoom 2's Hritthik-Aash's, Although I envy Emraan's 'Murderous' thriller kiss... I'm ready with my balmy lips, Strawberry flavour'd, To be the biggest smoocher Of do hazaar chhabees... And I have hidden the cracks On my wintry lips To save from rashes My Valentine's softy cheeks... Well with flushed up teeth, With cleaned up tongue, With exotic ...

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The Return Rhyme 100 Infants gambol about their home With blooms and toys, But they return to mom's bosom For the real joys. Children frolic about the streams, In meads and hedges, But to their home they return for Their real flowerage. Youths do rush about crazy for World's whole treasure, But they return for real living To own life and career. Adults get sunk into the labour With dedication, But this's the return to raise well Their own children. The old trudge about the yard Of their nursing shed, But lastly they return for rest To their death bed. ©️ N P Samal

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