A poet in the courtroom

 In the hallowed halls of justice, where shadows softly fall, 

A lawyer stands with purpose, answering the call.

With words as their weapon, and wisdom as their shield, 

They navigate the labyrinth, where truth is often concealed.

In the dance of legal language, a tango of the law, 

They weave through statutes and precedents, leaving none in awe.

Their pen, a mighty sword, scribing justice on the page, 

A poet in the courtroom, where battles fiercely rage.

They champion the voiceless, the oppressed, and the weak, 

In the pursuit of fairness, where the scales must always speak.

With empathy and reason, they bridge the great divide, 

Defenders of the accused, in the courtroom they abide.

In black robes or sharp suits, with a gavel or a pen, 

They navigate the labyrinth, to justice, they attend.

Through trials and tribulations, they guide with steady hand, 

A beacon in the darkness, where justice makes its stand.

But beyond the legal tapestry, a human heart beats strong, 

For every case they handle, a melody, a song.

In the courtroom symphony, where justice finds its tune, 

A lawyer's spirit soars, like a crescent-waxing moon.

So here's to the lawyers, guardians of the law, 

Navigators of justice, in a world filled with flaw.

In verses of advocacy, their legacy is penned, 

A poem for the lawyers, may their noble deeds transcend.

Before Xmas...

Rose Apple...

STRAY THOUGHTS

 

Sans rain, today morning was all dedicated to crows. Have lot of winged friends who visit my home during the day. Thanks to the large number of fruit trees that my parents planted, home is always buzzing with activity. Mornings are always musical. My neighbour’s rooster, crows, parrots, pheasants and lot of unidentifiable birds croon and rock as if they are playing in a concert. Intrigued by the behaviour of crows, here are some lines on what I saw...

 

STRAY THOUGHTS

As the dawn breaks,
And a new day begins,
I hear and see
An orchaestra,
Being performed

A flock of crows
Perched on my trees
-Jackfruit, Mahogany, Areca and Coconut
While some sit on the clothes line in my veranda,
And start singing incessantly,
Kaw Kaw Kaw Kaw

I pause and wonder,
At Master’s creation

I consider,
You the most intelligent,
Among the avian species
Your pitch-black plumage,
With shades of gray,
Around your neck
Makes you attractive

Some say you are ugly
But I consider,
Ugliness as a blessing in disguise
Some times being ugly helps
As it saves you
From being preyed
By selfish humans

Each time,
I see you cawing
With your beak,
Moving rhythmically
Up and down
I feel,
You are lucky and blessed
To always have a song!

Some say you are a nuisance
But I think,
It is a mean world out there
And in order to survive,
In this race of life
You need to be bloody clever
‘Clever as a crow’

How else could you explain?
‘Survival of the fittest’,
As Spencer coined,
And Darwin mentioned,
In his ‘Origin of Species’

And finally,
When dusk sets in
And I see the moon rise,
I see you preparing your wings
Getting ready to fly,
To touch the horizon

I pause and wonder,
Yet again,
At Master’s creation

 

MASTER STROKES

This is how I spent my Monday. Writing! Nature always inspires me to write. The more I observe it, the more I am amazed at the way it functions. Here are a few lines to the creator, who I feel is the best artist…

 

This morning, I lay down

In the open,

On my terrace

Silently appreciating

An artist at work

 

Above me,

Miles away,

Lay his cosmic canvas,

To begin with,

He decorated it with soft blue

 

I saw him,

The Master,

With his enormous palette,

Dip his brush in gold,

And seconds later,

I had a burning bright,

Ball of light,

Winking at me,

Through the blues

 

I could feel,

The sun

The warmth of its kiss,

On my forehead,

I closed my eyes,

And went to sleep

 

At noon, the gentle wind

 And light rain

Broke my nap,

I woke up,

To see the Master

Still at work…

 

All the galleries

In the world,

All the artists put together,

Cannot match

Up to his brush’s stroke

 

Be it Vinci’s Last Supper or Mona Lisa,

Or Michelangelo’s Adam on Sistine Chapel,

Or Gogh’s Starry Night

Or Picasso’s Guernica

 

I could see

The cotton-like clouds,

The silhouette of birds flying,

And slowly his blue canvas,

Had turned dark grey

 

And his creation came alive

In the evening,

With the heavy rain,

Beating the mushy soil,

Linking the earth to the sky

In a stream of water

I rushed inside

To my bed

 

Late at night,

I still found,

The Master at work

And I wondered,

Does he ever sleep?

Dawn to dusk,

He was at work…

 

I saw him sprinkle his dark canvas,

With silver...

And the sky twinkled in joy,

With zillions of little diamonds,

And we were blessed,

With a starry night

For The Master was still at work…

 

SAR'DINE' (A FISHY AFFAIR)

With vegetable prices touching the sky and state declaring the end of 47-day trawling ban and the local fishermen here in Vaduthala having a good catch...It is fish, fish and more of fish at home…Having been brought up in the north and north east, I am not a fish person per se like my parents but I am fond of sardines. So a few lines dedicated to sardines as I saw mother cooking it today…

 

SAR'DINE’ (A FISHY AFFAIR)

I see mumma,

Inside her wooden kitchen,

Cleaning fish,

Being born close,

To the seas and the sands,

I trust her hands,

She knows the knack of doing it,

And I sit next to her,

On the blue stool,

In the kitchen,

Admiring her skills

 

With a knife,

She deftly goes about removing,

The lateral fins, tails and gills

Taking out the intestine

And dirt from the stomach,

All the phytoplankton,

That the little fishy had gobbled up,

Throws it out neatly,

Thereafter descaling

With a swiftness

That I could admire

And aspire to inherit

One day, may be…

 

I see my fishy lie there bare,

My lovely sardine,

With her sad little round eyes,

Fresh from the sea,

Devoid of her silver sheen,

Washed and cleaned,

Under the running tap water

Waiting for her turn

Ready to be tossed in fire

May be in the pan,

May be in mumma’s mud urn…

 

Some say pearl spots are the best,

I feel they are ‘pricey’ and a ‘mess’,

Sardines top my list,

For, undoubtedly, you are the best,

Low-priced and rich in Omega-3 fatty acid

Nothing can beat you,

None can compete with you,

A plate of rice,

Would perfectly

 Compliment you

Some days

Mumma fries you,

With a pinch of salt, chili and turmeric,

While some days

She steams you

With chili and garlic

While some days

She adds tomatoes

While some days

She simmers you in coconut milk,

What amazes me,

Is the way you ooze out oil,

Anyways you are mine,

And always a delight

 

Easy-to-cook

Easy-to-munch

Don’t have to worry

About the bones,

As they are fine to eat,

You are definitely a treat,

Hard to resist and beat!