Here is a ballad from Sumita, wherein the storyteller-poet tells an interesting tale, in Different Truths.
A glass of milk was spilled one day.
Mother yelled and Sunny froze,
Knowing the drill, he waited
For the storm to close.
Anger though takes time waning,
For this event alas, kept recurring.
Clearly audible was her muttering,
About careless wastage – dire warning.
Forecasts faithfully foretold, such folly
Would surely make Sunny’s future unholy.
Then the Homeless and Hungry
Were invited in spirit to behold
How naughty Sunny willfully
Their last meager supper, floored!
Time at last cooled Mother’s temper,
Having vented some other skirmish here,
It was just a storm in a teacup,
And the milk finally mopped up.
Sunny regretted in vain,
Guilt trip was his bane;
In his mind, jumbled, faint
Articulated a refrain:
“It was an accident.
Everyone, you too,
Has thus been rent.
How much did you
Then exclaim, regret,
Browbeat yourself
Over the head?
You’d be of the ilk:
A waste to cry
Over spilled milk.”
Their dog, a house pet
Tethered at bay,
Hoped the accident
Would play out his way.
Wished they’d let him
lap the milk up;
Such a tasty way
To clean the mess up.
A glass of milk was spilled again today.
Mother yelled and Sunny froze,
Knowing the drill, he waited
For the storm to come to a close.
Too many glasses had been spilled,
And Mother’s anger quickly built.
Sunny struggled with his own guilt;
Why did he keep gesticulating,
While eating, his stories punctuating?
But this time mother’s mind, sane,
Articulated a humble refrain.
“What if I had caused the spilling?
Wouldn’t I be far more willing
To let go, without any milling?
I would quite easily myself bilk:
What waste, crying over spilled milk?”
At that thought, she smiled,
Shared with Sunny, quite mild:
Her crazy reverse thought process.
Sunny amazed, was not in disgrace.
The dog wagged his tail eagerly;
His tongue lolled out happily.
“Someone, please read my mind,
Let me lap up the milk, be kind,
I’ll clean up the mess in a jiffy,
No need at all to be miffy.”
This time Mother did look to him,
And he did the job with superb vim.
©Sumita Dutta
Photos from the Internet
#Ballad #Verse #Storyteller #StoryInVerse #DifferentTruths
A lifelong bookworm and a graduate of Fine Arts from Chitrakala Parishath, Bangalore, Sumita Dutta enjoys most art-forms avidly. She has worn a number of hats – parent coordinator handling admissions, teaching O and AS level English, editor, publisher, photographer, manipulating digital images, designer, team leader for an IT start-up, PRO, sales rep and more. Her poetry, prose, photography, and art can be found on a number of sites on the web.
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