Joker's Adieu

Recently the joker has come to the news, albeit for the wrong reasons as the evil guy in "Dark Knight", enacted superbly by the late Heath Ledger. Though my poem might seem to have been influenced by Heath Ledger, it is actually not. I wrote this poem when I was in college though (actually I was 20 years, 9 months and 5 days old when I wrote it). Hope you enjoy it.

Joker's Adieu
The joker took the centrestage,
For twenty years, nine months and five days
He had been doing just so -
Always appearing at the wrong moment,
Fumbling on the ropes, mumbling through the lines
All with a painted white face.
"Always wrong - never right" -
That was his watchword
For twenty years, nine months and five days.

This time, too, he came on the stage
When Bozo was juggling the hats -
The audience loved to see him that way -
"Always wrong, never right"

This was to be his last night -
He said he couldn't do it anymore,
So he came to the stage with a painted face,
"Always wrong, never right" -
Fumbling, mumbling, he told them all -
His final, parting speech:
"Last night, I tried and tried in vain
To solve a jigsaw puzzle, part by part,
Sometime in the morning, I would try again
To solve it right from the start
Till that day, my friends, I bow to you
And with a smile, I bid adieu..."

Perhaps he had some more to say
But the poison encroached his silly heart -
He fumbled, rushed through the lines
and stumbled, stuttered and fell to the ground,

"Always wrong, never right",
The audience burst into laughter,
They loved to see him that way...

To Sirs (and Madams) with Love

I know this site is mainly for stories and poems but then the wise men (and women) say that a picture is worth a thousand words. I recently completed a yearlong long distance (via satellite) course in Business Management from IIM Calcutta and during the year, it seemed to people that I had taken a lot of notes. Now that the course is over, I am letting people take a peek at the notes I have taken and bask in some fond memories of our teachers ...

The Way of the World

When I was 15 years, I had written "The Way of the World" and it had fetched me a medal at the Shankar's International Children's Competition from the hands of the president of India (Mr R. Venkataraman). When I wrote it, I didnt know much of economics and now when I read it, I realize, I had tried to exemplify the concept of demand/supply of microeconomics and then extend it to aggregate variables of macroeconomics and thereby touch upon the basic measures in macro-economics. Well, lets get on with the poem:

The Way of the World

(The story of the Johns and Josephines)

Flowers were blooming and the weather - good,

And under a pine, sweet Josephine stood.

She wriggled and swayed on that day in May

And then John noticed her wriggle that way-

"Ah ... such heavenly grace.... wish she was mine"

And he approached her slowly under the pine.

Gallantly he performed all the great acts -

Revelling in revealing all his bitter facts,

Then one fine day, he blurted out the question,

She gingerly smiled at its mention.

That was all - at some church they tied the knot

And soon they were found near the baby cot.

The newly wed couple were very pleased

But then the world population increased

And the venerable PM's brows creased:

The taxes were raised and foreign debts scaled

And people's angry, hungry faces paled-

All because John noticed, one fine day,

Josephine wriggling in an artful way.

Axel de Fersen on the demise of Antoinette

So much for contemporary history - I decided to go some centuries back this time. In 1990, I had read the synopsis of a book titled "Louis and Antoinette" by Vincent Cronin. This book, while it chronicled the lives of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI on the backdrop of the French revolution, it also talked about a character in the king's court, Axel de Fersen, who was in love with the queen but could do little when the juggernaut took over and watched helplessly while the queen was guillotined.
I had written this poem on reading the synopsis. Hope you like it:

October 16, 1793
When a page softly broke the news,
His face fell, his eyes were aghast:
Lips stuttered, and cheeks changed their hues
And he wept, chewing on the past,
"I shudder to think how she's gone,
Parted by the ominous blade,
Leaving behind me to atone
Memories that never fade ...

Memories haunt this guilty mind:
I loved neither king nor his throne
But his lady, she drove me blind
And left this weak heart to atone
For all those sweet, fleeting moments
'Oh God! Why did she have to go?
Make me bear such fiery torrents-
I cannot face their whipping flow.'

'Forgive me, o departed prince
For worshipping your wife divine,
The loveliest of all the queens
That enraptured this heart of mine'
But alas! I cannot find her
For she left me to start anew ..."

And his heart was torn asunder
And he too, couldn't start anew.

An ode to Lorena Bobbit

Recently a friend of mine had run a quiz on orkut by showing a photo of Lorena Bobbit and asked folks to identify her. The clue said that she represented a violent form of feminism. Answers ranged from "my ex" to "Mona Lisa with a makeover". Somehow the whole stuff jogged a chain of memories and I was compelled to pen a few lines on her. Agree that Lorena Bobbit is not the ideal thing to start a blog but somehow I felt that people should remember her just like they remember Jack the Ripper, John Lennon, Babe Ruth or (even) Hillary Rodham Clinton.

So here is my poem offering to Lorena Bobbit, hope you enjoy it:

Not long ago, in an American state

Started the trial of someone whose mate

Suffered at her hands, a curious fate:

The legend of Lorena Bobbit.

To a prison she was sent

And on an on, her trial went

When she blurted out,"For all he did,

I just let him have it!"

As lawyers let the gory facts roll by,

The aghast judge heaved a sigh,

"I dont want to hear the rest,

Why dont you just cut it?"

To a renowned bishop, the judge did send

And she told her tale till she reached the end

Said the troubled bishop in front of the nuns,

"Its okay, my child, to do such things once

Hope by God, it doesnt become,

a deadly feminine habit"