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Doctor's Day

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MY BLUE IS NOT YOUR BLUE Your blue is the clear sky Or the waves of the calming seas. Your blue is someone's mesmerising eyes Or perhaps the winter breeze. My blue is my second skin My work wear, my prickly scrubs. My blue is on the desktop screens At the doctors' & nurses' hubs. My blue flows through my pens And scribbles medicines on charts. My blue is the gloves, the needles The syringes and the plastic carts. Your red is not my red.  Your red is a garden of roses in bloom Or the carpet that your film stars walk. Your red is the dress you wear Or the lips that glow when you talk. My red is blood that flows out Through the arteries and the veins Or the red lights, the alarms and bleeps Of monitors or ambulance vans. My red is the pricks and scars  The bruises and the bumps I get As I try to save the breaths  Of strangers that I had never met. Your white is not my white. Your white is a wedding gown Or the marvels of the snow. Your white is a scoop of icecream Or pe...
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We love florists......

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  Poems about flowers have been written for centuries there is nothing in this world as poets say more beautiful than a flower. Let us all today develop insight on the artful communication of flowers.  I WILL GO OUT AND LOOK AT THE FLOWERS There was one of my kin (of another day) When the Riddle of Life defied her powers, And her fretted heart rebelled, would say, “I will go out and look at the flowers.” And after a while–like those who had quaffed Of the cup that Helen distilled in her bowers, Returned from the garden, she softly laughed– “I have been out to look at the flowers!” My heart is so ill with the growth of ills The world is sheaving, these harvest hours– The sword that smites, and the shell that kills, While Life lies charred ‘neath the burning towers! Nothing to do–it will be as Who wills? Helpless to aid, how my hurt soul cowers!… Let me drink of the cup that pure Beauty distills– I will go out and look at the flowers! -Edith Matilda Thomas
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A sneak into the life different from ours.......RAINBOWS IN THE DARK

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RAINBOWS IN THE DARK :  In that torquoise coloured room, not much spacious, 15 to 20 kids were waiting for us, sitting in a circle . Out of those small flowers , one child in the corner of room caught my attention. He was propelling his hand boat in the air as in the water. It was like out of those flowers ,there was one which was swinging and dancing in the air. He was just playing regardless of our existence. After his imaginary and dreamy boat ride he started conversing with himself by taking his own name,that was bit comical. He was shantanu  ,about 7-10 years old , wearing small red and yellow coloured soiled shirt ,short hair , running nose and he was wiping it with his sleeves . We gave them books , colour boxes , chocolates. I was standing near the door and looking that shantanu and his friends were busy in unwrapping the chocolates , that moment was really satisfactory and gratifying for me , I captured that in my mind.   Often physically and mental...
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A sneak into the life different from ours............BEHIND THE GREYS

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BEHIND THE GREYS:   He is an old man. We call him Nana . He has a fringe of grey white hair around his balding head, and his back is slightly hunched. Mr. Yusuf Khan ( Nana ) is a very old man who is employed to provide us with security when the sky changes colour and the sun disappears below the western horizontal. A man who travelled eight decades to stand here as an old man, beaten and weakened. A night before yesterday, when I was sitting in front of our hostel, he was edging his hands towards the flame of fire . The light of the flame illuminated his tired and wrinkled face . When he was describing his life, his voice was slow , the map of wrinkles on his face told us the incredible journey of his life. His forehead told us of worries past and present.       He is a layman, having five children, four of whom are far away from his shed . One of them is a 40 year old woman who is mentally challenged and was not accepted by society. His wife, Mrs. Zahida Khan, suff...
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