Her little chest crushing
against mine, head bobbing
from my shoulders, eyes
peering this way-then that, she
stares in smiling intensity
at patterns indiscernible
to world weary eyes like mine.

A yawn escapes, she rests
her cheeks on my shoulders and
I get the goose bumps even
as she drifts, ever so gently,
into some languid sleep.

I rock her to and fro, sing
made up lullabies, walk
across to the  balcony, open
the faucet and the sudden hiss
of cold water startles
her awake; beaming, she breaks
into a smile so wide, this
everyday moment transforms
into surreal contentment.

Current Mood: groggy

I slump in, slouching
worn out by the drive
from hell. She beams
and hugs, while my eyes
catch the remote.
The TV beeps, and I tune
into Serena playing Henin.
She gets my coffee,
sits beside & begins

stories of little kids,
their antics and follies,
and while I pretend
to care a damn,
the tales register,
and like a sardar,
20 seconds after, she catches
me smiling, and piqued,
wonders "what the..",
but smart ass that I am,
I play act "oh, nothing,
nothing at all".

She grumbles, and says,
"stupid, how was your day?"

I begin "hmm...",and that's
all there is to it.
Pray, what can you say
about a presentation made,
a model built,
even in being mistaken
for a risk management guru
- bah, who gives a damn?

But kids, they
make your day,
even
when you don't
have them around.

Current Mood: lethargic

Got this on the Minstrels list today. Rather funny.

Pagett, M.P.

The toad beneath the harrow knows
Exactly where each tooth-point goes.
The butterfly upon the road
Preaches contentment to that toad.

Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith --
He spoke of the heat of India as the "Asian Solar Myth";
Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East," in November,
And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay till September.

March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay,
Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my "princely pay."
March went out with the roses. "Where is your heat?" said he.
"Coming," said I to Pagett, "Skittles!" said Pagett, M.P.

April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat, --
Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat.
He grew speckled and mumpy -- hammered, I grieve to say,
Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way.

May set in with a dust-storm, -- Pagett went down with the sun.
All the delights of the season tickled him one by one.
Imprimis -- ten day's "liver" -- due to his drinking beer;
Later, a dose of fever -- slight, but he called it severe.

Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota Bursat --
Lowered his portly person -- made him yearn to depart.
He didn't call me a "Brahmin," or "bloated," or "overpaid,"
But seemed to think it a wonder that any one stayed.

July was a trifle unhealthy, -- Pagett was ill with fear.
'Called it the "Cholera Morbus," hinted that life was dear.
He babbled of "Eastern Exile," and mentioned his home with tears;
But I haven't seen my children for close upon seven years.

We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court at noon,
(I've mentioned Pagett was portly) Pagett, went off in a swoon.
That was an end to the business; Pagett, the perjured, fled
With a practical, working knowledge of "Solar Myths" in his head.

And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the mirth died out on my lips
As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of their "Eastern trips,"
And the sneers of the traveled idiots who duly misgovern the land,
And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into my hand.

-- Rudyard Kipling

Current Mood: bored

A slight slip up?
You say,
"We are sorry
for the delay?"

I can wait a while.
Take your time,
I am done with mine.
But can I on my mobile?

Too bad. Anyway, "Miss,
Tracy, is it?
Tell me,
Your name, really is this?

Ha Ha, My apologies
I meant to ask,
Coffee -
without sugar, please?"

Anything else? Yes,
Psst, between you and me,
I, am having
a pleasant journey.

Current Mood: naughty