Posted by: Pucadyil | February 15, 2011

Under the Painted Ceiling

Under the painted ceiling, amidst my peers
I sit, waiting to be called to the presence
and for the scroll and the medal, a lifetime’s reward
for going my way and doing whatever I did

My wife sits among the guests, in signature blue
Her eyes darting my way in constant concern
when she was not watching the gathering crowd
of movers and shakers who make up Delhi

they gesture and prance and surreptitiously look
for the wandering press, perchance a shot
for the page three prominence, the holy grail
and those who arrive late, with those arrived

youngest of the Kapoor clan, Kareena of the Khan
flirts with the babus, as they blush, their day made
and the hall slowly fills up, the last seats taken
and a hush as Trumpets rumble and bugles flare

As we are called, we present ourselves
in well rehearsed order, with obsequious care,
namastes strewn around, cameras flash
and back in the seat, the trophy clasped in hand.

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Responses

  1. Hi Jonny,

    Enjoyed you new poems very much. As usual you still observe everything that goes around you very keenly. One of these days you need to publish all your poems in a book format.

    Your old friend
    Raju

  2. ..Not just a keen observer…but a pretty “contemporary and updated” one… 😉 I liked it….

    –Sambaran.

  3. I really liked it Sunny appacha!! I just came across this blog! 🙂 Happy to see this side of you! I knew you were a great artist! but a Poet as well!

    -Rohan N Pukadyil


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