Stumbling

He toddles along in front of her eyes
Hopping and jumping, as she watches with a smile
Suddenly, his foot catches without any warning
He spreads out his hand, as he is falling

As she watches him tottering and stumbling
Her heart skips a beat… and then starts pounding
She reaches out a hand… but stops herself mid way
As he straightens up and moves along on the pathway

She let out a deep breath, as quietly as she could,
Ah! the pain and the understanding that is motherhood
Knowing she cant always protect her little son
Only allow him to learn…learn with every fall and stumble

~Anamika

© 2008 Anamika



Stumbling by Anamika is licensed under a
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Bubbles

He throws silly paper balls at her
Then chortling with joy, falls over her
She’s tired but just can’t get angry with him
Loving the laughter, and the eyes twinkling

His laughter surrounding her like water bubbles
Soft and delicate, making her forget her troubles
A low sweet laugh, that fills her heart to bursting
Making her feel that the world is the colour of spring

Used to the grime of life, this happiness scares her
But her son wipes away the grime with a tiny ball of paper
Ouch! she tries to dodge another paper ball in vain
And the bubbles surrounded her again…

~Anamika

© 2008 Anamika



Bubbles by Anamika is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License  

 

Sticks and stones

Tearing across the playground, chasing a butterfly
his eyes land on something glinting in the sunlight
He picks it up , holding it this way then that
A wobbly shaped stone, coloured blue and black

Oh! he is going to be rich, its a treasure …
to add to his treasure chest, its so precious!
he runs home, and quietly retrieves a box
hidden in his little drawer, under his socks

The box holds his precious posessions
a medley of different shapes and hues
all sticks and stones treasured for so long
trophies of his forays into the playground

His heart blooms, as he surveys his treasures
adding the latest stone to the pile with pleasure
how wonderfull, he is as rich as a king
or perhaps richer than all the kings!

Watching from the doorway she smiles
oh! her sweet and innocent child
Her little prince, surveying his kingdom
his little treasure of sticks and stones

~Anamika

© 2008 Anamika



Sticks and stones by Anamika is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License

 

She loves that loving feeling!

She loves that loving feeling!

Washing over her, like a warm wave
drowning her heart in its wake
lasting but a few moments in time
or moments that last a lifetime?

Oh those moments of sunshine and bliss
when he offers his cheek for a sweet kiss
or wraps his arms around her, crying mummy
or falls asleep on her shoulder, tenderly

’tis love that she is feeling, and
oh! she loves that loving feeling!

~Anamika

© 2008 Anamika



She loves that loving feeling! by Anamika is licensed under a
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कितना मीठा था बचपन का सपना…

More than a poem this is a memory of my childhood.  Having spent my early childhood in UP, a region dominated by hindi speaking population, I can’t help but write in hindi about my childhood.  Writing about it in english kind of takes away from the nostalgia.  So over to my nostalgic memories…

नानी की उँगलियों से बालों मे तेल लगवाना
सर्दी की धूप मे सूखती रजाई पे सो जाना
रात को अंगीठी की सेक मे कहानियाँ सुनना
सुबह के कोहरे मे रजाई से बाहर ना निकलना
कितना मीठा था बचपन का सपना…

स्कूल खुलते ही गर्मी की छुट्टियों का इंतज़ार करना
नानी के घर जाने से ज्यादा ट्रेन मे बैठने की खुशियाँ
दोस्तों के साथ पत्थर मार के आम तोड़ना
मीठे तरबूज़ खाके खुश हो जाना
कितना मीठा था बचपन का सपना…

बारी बारी दोस्त्त की साइकिल चलाना
छोटी-छोटी बातों पे रूठ के रोना
वो लड़ना झगड़ना और मनाना
अपनी ही गुडिया की शादी करके उदास हो जाना
कितना मीठा था बचपन का सपना…

~Anamika

© 2008 Anamika



कितना मीठा था बचपन का सपना… by Anamika is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

 

A little sweet, a little sour – my world

A little sweet and a little sour is the song “Mera Jahaan” from the movie “Taare Zameen Par”. As a mother I watched the movie teary eyed, holding my toddler in my arms. Seeing the world from a growing child’s eyes. And the lyrics below are just that. The world from a child’s eyes.

(Have added the english translation for the hindi words)

MERA JAHAAN (MY WORLD)

A Little Sweet,
A Little Sour
A Little Close Not Too Far
All I Need, All I Need
All I Need Is To Be Free (Repeat)

Chhoo Loon Main (I can touch it)
Itna Kareeb (So close)
Chal Padun (Start walking)
To Kitne Door (And it seems far)
A Little Sweet, A Little Sour…

Chhoo Loon Main Itna Kareeb (I can touch it, so close)
Chal Padun To Kitne Door (Start Walking, and it seems far)
Sapna Ka Buna Sweater Sa Warm (Warm as a sweater knitted of dreams)
Safed Baadalon Ke Paar (Past the white clouds lies)
Mera Jahan (My world)

Let Me In Without A Shout
Let Me In I Have A Doubt
Let Me In Without A Shout
Let Me In I Have A Doubt
There Are More,Many More
Many Many Many More Like Me

 

Happy New Year Son!

A red balloon flies across a blue sky

All out of breath chasing a butterfly

Dirt of the playground on his jacket

He falls and gets up to play again

Cold wind blowing in his face, lifting his hair

The hot sun taking bite out of the cold air

Sliding off the slides and see saws

Making new friends and shaking hands

Happily playing with his new friends

As his smiling mother watches, from the bench

A good day, this, the last day of the year

A new day and new year await you tomorrow!

New year, new days, new possibilities…

New bedtime stories, new discoveries…

A new world awaits you everyday!

A happy new year to you my son!

~Love

Mom

 

~Anamika

© 2007 Anamika



Happy New Year Son! by Anamika is licensed under a
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Jumpy baby? Mom must be on nicotine

Whatever mom does, the baby does too. So if mommy smokes, the baby does too. No no no! Stop! Before you start getting images of little sweet innocent babies with the cigarette hanging out of their mouth…heaven forbid!

A latest study conducted shows that babies of mothers who smoked, sleep less.