by O. Susmita
ONCE UPON A TIME AND OTHER POEMS
BY O. SUSMITA
Table of contents
Once upon a time
Silent
Letters to santa
The shadow
The ballad of a man and his coat
Sink
The story of the Sad Lady
Lost
And one day, she cried
Millie
Other titles by O. Susmita
Copyright © 2015 by O. Susmita. All rights reserved.
In lands far far away,
In a time before time remembers,
A story was born to stay
in the minds that then held sway.
It was a normal day that dawned forth
with the grass turning green
and flowers blooming fresh,
as an old cart pulled up
to the door painted in green.
Odd was the creature that stepped out-
bent over with age or with gout,
holding a stick close by the chin,
it hobbled up to the door painted in green.
Knock! Knock! Knock! sounded he.
With an impatient wrist and an irritated sigh,
it waited for the welcome
and that which is closed, for it to open.
A rustle of an apron
A clink of the locks
And the door swung open
And a smile shone through the light.
No smile in return did the old one give
No hand to shake did the bent one offer
Just he knocked his stick in anger
against the ground that held his feet.
Then he opened his mouth
to hiss the words to peel the smile
off the tired little face...
for tired it was, a tired little face,
tired of the work, tired of the struggle
tired of the effort to get through the days.
"He's dead," rasped the creature
in a voice full of displeasure,
in a tone meant to hurt.
The smile dropped indeed
as grief slipped through her shields,
as the tears held back
o'er the years, began to fall unheed.
The creature turned his back
left the city for good.
But, his memory stayed alive
in the tired little face and its tired depthless eyes.
And so life went on...
like dragging blistered feet over dirty little pebbles
like scratching bleeding hands over thorny prickly brambles.
Every night passed with no sweet dreams.
Every morning opened up no new realms.
That's when the knocker sounded
yet again,
as the sun set over the hills
and the day drawed to a close.
Tired feet shuffled
Baby cries stifled
And the door opened wide
to a face streaked with tears
hopeless eyes lifted
a hopeless gaze shifted
and it finally landed
on a face almost forgotten.
"You're back," she gasped
in shock, in surprise,
"They said you died,
but here...you've come back!"
So saying, she stepped into arms
open for her sake;
she leaned into the lips
waiting for her kiss.
"I was afraid, I was so afraid," she sobbed,
"I thought the war had taken you
and God had forsaken you..."
"Appetite had left us since,
peace was forever lost,
the baby would cry all night
and i wouldn't know what to do!"
"So many tears I spilt
over the memory of you- my soul, my spirit,
and here you come waltzing in
on this morning ever so late!"
and she beat her tiny fists
against his broad weathered chest.
He said nothing, but held her tight
and tears flowed down his cheeks
as he felt her terror tear through his heart.
At that moment he lifted her head
and with a fleeting kiss, he said,
"I'm so sorry, my dear girl, my love,
tell me, to make up, what it is that I can do?"
Then she said,
hope in her eyes,
love in her breath,
"Just promise never to leave again."
He smiled through his tears
kissed her wrinkles clear
and promised his sweetheart,
"Never again, my love, never ever..."
*END*
She was a child,
Happy with her world;
Watching butterflies, wondering how they fly
And thinking she’ll grow up and touch the blue, blue sky.
A small thing she was,
Tiny were her steps,
Fell she many a times
And helped up by herself.
Then, one day, he came and offered her his hand;
She smiled at him and took his helping hand.
He came every day after that
His hand, at first, touched only her hand;
But slowly, it moved up her arm and down the chest,
Up her legs and around the breast.
He pinched her and said it’s a game
Played by two- that’s only them;
He said keep it secret or it won’t be fun
And she thought him her friend, so she kept mum.
For a long a time, it went on so;
Not one bit, did she like it though,
For it hurt in places it never should
And it bled in places it never would.
Bruised and battered, she crouched in her bed each night,
Hurting and crying and still silent and quiet.
But, one day she woke up, unable to walk,
Unable to cry, unable to talk.
And that day, she decided, no more can she stand;
She shut the door and locked her stance.
He came that night like he did every other,
But, this time he met not a girl, but a lock and a door.
First night- he knocked quietly and called out to her sweetly;
Second night- he banged on the wood and called her no good;
Third night- he abused the door and the girl and every other thing in the world;
Fourth night- was quiet, for he didn’t turn up at all.
Days and days went by, before a peaceful slumber came;
Nights and nights pas’t by, before the nightmares packed their game.
It was a small beginning, but a beginning nonetheless
Of an innocence peeping through the mess.
For a small thing, she was
And her steps were tiny;
But she began to wonder again how the butterflies fly
And how she’ll grow up and touch the blue, blue sky…
*END*
Hello, one and all! Young and old!
A tale of Christmas and cheer!
A tale never before told!
So hear me! Come close, come near!
In a nameless colourful land,
There lived four girls once.
They were, to say, of same blood, of same sand
But, of same nature, they weren’t, nor of same sense.
As air blew colder and
Snow showered down, pure and white,
They knew Christmas was ‘round the bend
And began to write thei
r letters in the morning light.
To whom are the letters addressed, you wonder?
Isn’t there a man with a white beard and a sleigh?
Up there, in the land of gifts yonder…
Oh! It’s Santa Claus of course! All the way up high!
The letters travelled all the way
And finally reached the man himself.
The gifts asked by each except one, let’s say,
Were too much for even the most hard-working elf!
Still, Santa Claus, the good old man,
Began his survey of their goods and their bads,
For his gifts, as per his plan,
Went only to the best of the lads!
The eldest, Maria was the name,
Considered herself superior to all.
She spent her time trying for fame
As the fairest at every ball.
At second, comes Joan
Who fancies herself a porcelain doll.
A fall and a wail, a prick and a moan
Is the way her life takes toll.
Brenda, the third, also called Bunny,
Was loud and obnoxious, selfish and rude.
She thought stealing was fun and bullying funny;
She was a pain to all, being unrefined and crude.
At the came the mature, but little Eve.
She was helpful and kind, caring and loving.
From her, a smile never its leave;
She could set many hearts moving.
Santa, thus, viewed the profiles.
In a minute, his decision was made.
He set aside four gifts in his piles,
Each asked for by the girls- the good and the bad!
Christmas morning dawned cheery and bright!
The four girls checked their stockings.
For three of the four, no one had visited that night;
But, the fourth found four gifts from Santa for her taking!
When she heard, however, of her sisters’ fate,
The happy girl was also kind.
She took the gifts from her place
And left them for her sisters to find.
Little eve succeeded in kindling their love;
“We will try to be good!” they began saying.
Santa smiled down from his land, up above,
For now, he says, they are, at the least, trying.
*END*
Sometimes I hear voices…sometimes I see faces…
There’s always that spark of recognition…followed by that thrill of fear…
What is it that makes me fear my own?
What is it that makes me fear my blood?
Is it that ruthlessness in their eyes, when they judge me?
Is it that tightness around their mouth, when they don’t like what they see?
Where is that warmth I yearn for?
Where is that safety I crave for?
I wish not, for the sky or the stars, but for the acceptance of those I call mine in my mind.
Where are my friends when I need them?
Where is my family when I cry?
Where do I go when I’m scared when home is what scares me?
Where do I hide from the eyes that follow me into my dreams?
Is it their judgment that I await? Or has the sentence already been passed?
I know not, I fear…I fear those I ought not to fear
I run away from those I ought not to run away from…
I hide from those I ought not to hide from…
I mix with the crowd and hope to vanish…I wish to pass unnoticed to all that care to notice
I hood my head, mask my face…but what can I say, I still pull the trace…
For what do I know that they do not? For what do I do, that they cannot?
They know my inception; they know my end; they know my secrets; they know my farce;
They know me better than I know myself…
I hold my thoughts near…let them not go…
I hold them tight…and let them lead through…
Every once in a while, I turn around; I check for the threads that seem to follow my thoughts…
I wonder in my sleep can they read me? Can they smell the betrayal and trace it to me?
Do they know that I fear them, when fear I ought not to?
Do they realize I carry their weight all the time, through and through?
Make it go away, far away, I pray every night…
But then, I wake up the next morning and my shadow is still intact…
*END*
He remembered the first time
He laid his eyes on it
Touched its fibre
Relished its softness.
The first time he slipped in an arm
And felt it sit cosily
On his shoulders.
He wore it every day after
His coat it was; his most beloved
Coat.
Brown in its colour
Fine in its texture
Comfortable in its fit
Warm in the cold.
Happy though the man was
With his coat,
His life, he saw was
Going downhill.
He lost his car, at first;
Then his wife;
Then his house
And slowly everything in life.
A beggar he became
On the left corner of a much-trodden road,
Counting his pennies every night
And making it just by as he might.
The cars on the road changed
The season changed.
But, he became a fixture on that road
In its left corner and in his brown coat.
The coat had lost its shine
And many of its buttons;
But as many holes as it might have,
It still kept him warm come night after night.
And so life dragged him along
In its merciless flow-
The man and his coat
Among the many trodden masses.
Then one night, it came
The coldest of the coldest in the century.
The man burrowed deep and huddled deeper
Into his coat, he went
Into his final hope.
But for once, in all of its noble life,
The coat failed him, just like
Life had-
So many times afore
The man shivering for the cold
Crouched in his left corner
Holding his brown coat
Hugging it for his life dear.
Flake after flake of snow fell
Until no sign of the man was left
Except for a little brown peak
In an otherwise all-white field.
The next morning dawned
And with it, a single ray of the sun;
And slowly the snow melted
Layer after layer, it all cleared.
That’s when they found it…
They found a brown coat
And in it a man…
Too late for him it was…
Frozen to death he was.
They lifted him as he was
In the arms of the tattered brown coat
And gently put him into the ground
Still in the arms of his beloved brown coat…
And so ends this story
Sad as it may be…
‘Twas the tale of a man and his final friend;
‘Twas the tale of a man and his coat
(A very fine brown coat, ‘twas too)
To its very fine end.
*END*
Raging fires, flaming hills
A volcano, silent, about to burst
Boiling blood, fraying nerves
Love and affection turning to dust
Words said that are not to be meant
Words spoken that are not to be spelt
>
Throwing a tantrum, breaking the silence
Letting it all go as the final penance
It's under the hood, that's holding it in
Now out in the open, filling to the brim
Making no sense in this game that is lost
Making this move at whatever the cost
Quiet, quiet it goes, as the screaming starts
Vacuum, I feel, surrounds this lot
The world is me, I'm the world
Can't feel my breath, but I know it's hot
running away- my legs give way
Falling to doom, I feel no sway
Scraping knees, bleeding elbows
Bruised up body, healing too slow
Nothing is right, nothing is wrong
It's just the way it is, just before the gong
Darkness is coming to envelope all grief
This is my town- I'm its sheriff
Sink with the ship, cap'n, I've heard 'em say
Run, I can't, but sink, I can, today
Falling to doom, I feel no sway
That's just the way it is, that's just the way....
*END*
In an old city, way back ago
Lived this lady in those olden days
Always full of gloom, always full of woe
A smile never lit up her sad face.
There came the jokers, the funny men
The buffoons with all their paraphernalia
And many a silly creature, vying with each other
To make her smile and bloom like a springtime dahlia.
Alas! You see, not a twitch of the lips
Not a dimple in the cheek.
No tingling of her lips
Nor a ghost of a smile, even weak.
Let me tell you, this sad lady is rich.
