My son’s up to some rooftop disaster.
He’s drowned the moon in a palmful of water.
He says he keeps a promise, thus,
To daily gift the moon hereafter.
Perhaps, he likes some college girl.
“Attendance Full,” reports Headmaster.
He’s doing all the chores at home.
From me, it’s something big he’s after.
Don’t fall for all his sweet-sweet words.
The cuckoo claims it’s a nest recaster.
“A couplet new in your hand, my boy?”
“The same one, Dad. The one you last heard.”
“Let it be, mister. It’s clear in your eyes.
Someone has stolen your sleep and laughter.
“You open that book every day now, Misra.
Whose gifted rose do you look after?”
Translated from my Hindi poem, तोहफ़े
tohFe
cHat pe bete ne kyā nātak lagāyā hei
chullū bhar pānī mein chandā dubāyā hei
kehtā hei roz chānd tohFe mein detā hei
kisīko diyā ek vādā nibhāyā hei
shāyad college mein koi pasand hei ise
Teacher ne bhi attendance full batāyā hei
kucH din se ghar ke saare kām kar rahā hei
kucH badā māngne ka plan banāyā hei
uskī mīTHī bāton mein na fas jānā tum
Koyal bhi kehtā hei ghosalā banāyā hei
ā gaye bete hātH mein nayā sher hei kya
purānein hein Pāpā pehle sunāyā hei
rehne do janāb ānkHon mein sāF dikHta hei
Koī he jisnein rāt kā chain churāyā hei
ye kitāb tum roz kholne lage ho ‘Misra’
bolo kiskā diyā gulāb cHupāya hei
Minakhi Misra 