The Bridge

The Bridge

Ever heard 'Bridge' the differences?

Ever heard 'Bridge' the gaps?

Of a bridge one can make several inferences,

Most importantly two ends together it clasps.

A bridge is a binding force,

One of many a name.

To the force that many endorse,

But their work is all the same.

Some call it the cementing material,

Of the building blocks of the society.

Yet others find the description unreal,

But hey! I'm not here to discuss their anxiety.

The Bridge seems fine by me.

And it wouldn't be wrong to think,

That we need lots of them to be,

For the people to interlink!

For the society to act as one,

For communities to be united.

Many ideas are born under the sun,

But none of them have left me so delighted!

So let's create bridges wherever we go!

For they be the seeds of happiness we sow.

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A Park's Bench

A Park's Bench

From the most beautiful mornings,

To the most enchanting evenings,

From the spring to the frosty fall,

It's lived through to witness it all.

It's been there across generations and yet more to come,

Be it scientists or the philosophers, to it they succumb.

It has shouldered many a tired backs,

And more so of such kindly acts.

It has sheltered many homeless folks,

In many, a sense of nostalgia it invokes.

As it's always been there under the yew tree,

Open to everyone, without as little as a fee.

Scribbled across its surface are countless marks,

A sense of wonder in me every time it sparks.

A living history book it is for all, to see and touch,

Just be gentle with it... It's already aged much!

From a homeless man counting his days,

To a young artist experimenting his ways.

Carving in it animals and smiling faces,

It's wood has preserved their long left traces.

It sits there as it has always had: peacefully,

Under the yew tree, ageing beautifully.

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The Laughing King

The Laughing King

Once upon a time, in a land not far away,

Laughter was all that'd be heard through the day.

For it had a king whose all interests lay,

In laughing at jokes throughout the day.

The king in his dwelling had a score of clowns,

Professionals, hired from the best of towns.

Practical jokers too, were high in demand,

To quench the laughter of the king of the land.

The battalion of clowns and the army of jokers,

All had the same job offers:

Keep his majesty's pot belly jumping up and down,

And take home his own weight of silver crowns.

For money to the state was secondary,

And a happy king to the people meant prosperity.

But even when the things were all good and smooth sailing,

There certainly were lots of serious things worth discussing.

And so the ministers would hold a grand meeting,

For the king, there'd be arranged a special seating.

And while the ministers would argue and debate,

The king in his chair, would keep shifting his weight.

And would occasionally wipe some sweat off his brow,

He'd wish he could just run away from there somehow.

He'd really miss all the clowns and their jokes,

And would sadly wait for the arguing folks.

To just come to an agreement for a second!

Huh... I hope it doesn't take long he reckoned.

And then! As if by magic they all stopped!

And brought forth a new resolution to adopt.

Finally, the king had been relieved,

A long sigh of relief he heaved.

And he could now attend to the more important matters at hand,

Like laughing his wits off till no more jokes he could stand.

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