The One Who Remains a Memory

The One Who Remains a Memory

Waking up to a glorious sunshine one day

I ran my hand through the moist grass covered with dew

Thoughts, running frantically out of my way

I thought,I do have friends,but,so few.

I saw my shadow, vary in length

As I sat on the rock, a silhoutte,

Thoughts,their pace set, volume gained

Meant for those who stood by me, stout.

The rays of the blazing sun,fell hard on my eyes

A cloudless, blue and chaste sky,loomed over it

I watched the horizon dazzle with colours,black orange and blue,

Thoughts, they singled out one amazing scrawny git.

The chores of the day began around me

It smelt of fresh flowers, with the buzzing bees in the air

Thoughts, focussed on this little lady, one with , a mind carefree

One who had a patient ear to lend, one, who was fair.

The roses bloomed red and bright, colours spread and fade,

The lonely swallow chirped about, hard to follow

Thoughts, they led my frivolous mind, to everything she wrote or said,

Every conversation revered, advice swam in waters so shallow.

I snapped out of the reverie, to see a train of ants,

Crawling around with food, morsels of their work, for winter,

Thoughts, they fly back, to wonderful times, of legends who have fallen

United with understanding, protecting from wear and tear.

Thus, the morning came to it's fag end, the heat so harsh,

I started the strut back home,slow steps reluctant,so old

Thoughts, they couldn't tell me as we drift away, hoping for the best,

What the day beholds and how the future shall unfold.

-Shubham Chattopadhyay

Life With Hens

   

Life with Hens 

(written for kids basically ?:^D)
 

One fine day, I picked up an egg

Wondering what it was

From which we get omlette dregs?

I turned it around, the oval very white,

The bottom so flat, and the top so slight.

I asked my mother,

What it was and where it had come from,

I was pleasantly shocked,

To know it fell out an hen,

Over well stocked!

My mother explained,

The story of the albumen and the yolk

Hearing it I wondered if this, knew the other folk!

I further enquired, what happened to an egg later?

The story yet to come, the end would be better.

I had this chance, to visit an old farm

I entered the coop, Wow, was it warm

I sat and watched,

Some eggs shaked, so lightly,

From a few of them emerged, beaks so tiny.

The clucking mothers helped remove,

The stuck eggshells,

The yellow bodied chicks went gamboling around,

Me, in the middle surrounded

By squails and squacks, so loud.

I asked the farmer, a Joe, if he knew the outcome,

He pointed at the seeds,

And the the cock sitting on the drum.

I saw the chicks, pecking at the feed

Replaced them with more,

Very satisfied with my deed.

The cock with his hens,

Trudged and trotted along ,

That is what they become, when age chicks gain

In all the cacophony,

Only cock-a-doodle-doo seemed like a song! -Shubham Chattopadhyay