Kingfisher

Once upon a time, on a warm spring morning, when the roses were to bloom and life start again, there was a little egg that rolled and tumbled down an old banyan. For it was autumn and the leaves were fallen, the egg landed safely and warmed up for days hidden from every eagle's eye and dog's nose.

A week passed by and the egg started to crack, the little one inside now was ready to see the world. Hard as it was, the egg cracked up and a little kingfisher, half our palm stepped out. It looked around to see big leaves. It started to step aside and the leaf below its feet, drying since days, now creaked. The kingfisher felt like it was falling into an abyss.

It never knew how but its wings flapped into flying. It was like a unique jump onto a next leaf. Fate had it written, this one cracked too. The wings started again and the delighted kingfisher thanked an unknown being. So stumbling and flying, all around the banyan, it roamed till the sun burnt hot right above. An unknown pain started and the beak tried to sniff for green. Thus came a lunch, little gnawed out berries and banyan leaves. The sunlight leaked through the leaves, just like a paint pouring in. The tree was isolated and no cat paw ever reached around since a man's age.

The kingfisher continued to learn to fly and to eat and soon it pecked at the same banyan and made holes in him. He lived in one hole, the one in the trunk, dug deeper for warmth and the autumn slid into summer. The days were long, the hole was hot and waters dried up in the surroundings.

Then she sang to an unknown one,
"As a weakling was I born, out of an egg that was torn.
I did learn to fly and eat, but never did to face the heat,
Where’s the water where's the fruit, is it under the banyan root?
Is it under the banyan root?"

Thus, a frustrated kingfisher pecked the banyan root, ignorant until she heard creaks above. The banyan woke, after ages it could have been, and shook his arms and stretched his roots and stood up to look around. The egg white crushed under the roots and the Kingfisher shivered.

He flew around and finally shot away as the tree started to speak staring at her,"How tiny a kingfisher are you? Last time when I saw, your ancestors were twice as big as you." Terrified she fainted and banyan put her back in the hole and washed it in water sucked from the deepest.

(Should I continue?)

Coffee - A bitter sweet philosophy

A fight of billions of gold,
If it's mine or yours to hold,
Can happen over a cup of coffee.
The arguments of such heat,
Don’t even seem like a feat,
Over a hot brewing coffee.

A group of friends would tease,
Those friendships that never cease,
Can happen over a cup of coffee.
Those chats which shall never end,
Lots to detest but never offend,
Over a hot brewing coffee.

Amongst many mute speeches is a love,
That to which even cupid did bow,
Can happen over a cup of coffee.
The love that costs sacrifice,
Love that blinds the great and wise,
Over a hot brewing coffee.

We can have an endless talk,
On the divorce or the girl to stalk,
Can happen over a cup of coffee.
You and I can have our fantasy,
Wipe our grief or meet our ecstasy,
All over a hot brewing coffee.

A coffee is a mere hot drink,
For some who don't see but blink,
Such a simple thing is coffee.
For the rest like me and you,
We are definitely not a few,
Our everything is coffee.

It's not a life around,
It’s the one in us,
Life of a soul unbound,
Away from our daily fuss,
Any drink is not a coffee,
It’s a bitterly sweet philosophy.

Unorthodox affection

I was a tree big n fat, but I would never move.
A squirrel came by my hat,  and tickled my every groove.
She swung and clung my twig to twig,  and held me by my fruit,
she pulled my leaf and my fig, she knew me deep till root.

I was a tree dull and dark, my leaves do show my gloom.
I have a thick and shameful bark, I lost my live to bloom.
She never knew where she crept, it was the deepest trunk.
And there in my tender she slept, into her own dream she sunk.

My heart was  moist and soft,  that one different night.
She was in her fair aloft, with her bunny and the knight.
The way she moved her paw in me,  scrat off the older bark,
I knew how young I soon to be, my stems were no more dark.

I shed my leaves flowered in azure, I waited for her to wake,
she woke up and smiled at pure, like a heavenly make.
Stepped out and stared back, I stood still and numb,
in her deep eyes I could not crack, my image looked so dumb.

So she stood and tickled again,  jumped my twig and twig,
she didn't wander off in vain, but loved my tangy fig.
I stared still dumb and mute, she danced in a joy,
in me was playing the happy flute, and she was just a toy.

She was dull deep inside, her nature was to jump and slide.
My mute song never could play, in the tune in which her song lay. 

Why do we celebrate a birthday?

To answer this question, I think I would consider it incomplete if I fail to explain how the day is celebrated. A few people like to celebrate it throwing parties to their friends. Another group aims at making this day auspicious by being an ideal citizen that day. A third category would be calmly helping the desolate and find their joy there in. There are many more ways to celebrate a birthday.

Why do we celebrate any day at all? Festivals, national days, international days supporting any cause are a few of these. In each of these cases, the destiny shall be to review a life, a great personality whose remarkably good behavior towards the society and a great tale of life needs to be reminded. It is true, despite a modest answer, that everyone feels that he is the most important part of the world. He is the center of everything that is woven around him. He looks at everything with his own view and thus being the epicenter, manages to become a remarkable character, call hero of the story. He is the prince of his Kingdom of dreams. So, we have a character whose story can be celebrated.

You may question me of one's achievement to be celebrating. As some guy would put it, 'the problem with history is that it cannot be noticed while its happening, and once done, it need not be noticed then.' So, what you see as a plain life today is a roller coaster ride reaching a destination, often high often low. Thus the story of life, or in one's view, the entire puppetry in the world is going on. One's sustenance and well being in this great work is worthy the joy we get celebrating.

The reason to celebrate is clear. Birthday is the celebration of being alive. But why should this day only be a birthday? Why not some day hither thither? Its you, the hero, whose success is being celebrated. There has to be a unique day. The day would have been that of your success, had your story witnessed an end. In case it didn't, the life didn't stop. You still lived. You still survived. This is being celebrated on a day most unique to you, your birthday.

How to celebrate? Its simple. Celebrate in that way which, if penned down and read after a century, would still please your ego, remind you of the joy, and make you smile for being alive then. Happy birthday!!!