Arun Karfa' Profile

It was just twelve at noon, In the dark sky there was no moon,
Some may wonder why so soon, The need for the moon to show up its face,
Let the time pass by more, then the evening come to the fore,
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After evening between nine and ten, She comes with a nice new pen.
Offers him it as a free gift, But, with a rider he must meet.
The first flow of ink from its nib, Should compose a poem, To poke others’ ribs.
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After evening between nine and ten, She comes a with a nice new pen. Offers him it as a free gift, But, with a rider he must meet. The first flow of ink from its nib, Should coAfter evening between nine and ten, She comes a with a nice new pen. 
Offers him it as a free gift, But, with a rider he must meet. 
The first flow of ink from its nib, Should compose a poem, To poke others’ ribs. 
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After becoming down to earth, As soon as the thundering cloud, Lost the charm to show itself proud, Alone and downcast , disappeared the rain, Into the river, through gully and drain. The sky again regained its hue, In its kingdom reigned with blue, And the sunshine emboldened with might, Spread its wings in golden bright. For a playful and very cool sprite, It was a site perfect in sight, To settle in a game, In that frame, With mettle and delight, fly like a kite. But, for reason, no more a secret, Descended to the planet, ours direct, It was an orphanage, shrouded in foliage, Impressed the sprite less than none, At once decided, to adopt a son, Or a daughter, heard a laughter, Of a child, whose mild look and smiling eyes, Spoke so many, words nice, forgetting as such, About the gender, Embraced it straight, and outright.

Some people are known for knowledge,
Some are for grey hair and age,
If both approach you for a job,
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Run, run, run and more you run,
Touch that line,
Take a turn, Then again run,
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My wife woke me up, middle at night, From the sweet dream, I was inside, Because, thought she an uncanny darkness, Was surrounding the house from all sides, Which was moving, tirelessly, And in the form very ugly, Like a devastating storm in the making, Taking the whole world for a ride. I didn’t think, she was right, Still came out with searchlight, The darkness could be traced, In disgust I shook my head, And suggested her to go to bed; Next morning, When the birds would sing, We’d look for it with an expert, And punish it by inflicting insult. As soon as, the sun came in sight, With the advent of the shiny daylight, Her apprehension proved to be right; The darkness descending on our mind, Overcome us so badly thus, As if in the absence of light , We all plunged into the plight, Out of lure sans age bar, Everyone has turned bonded laborer.

Contrary to his other friends, He believes in setting the trends, After the summer season when, The cloud brings its maiden rain, And burst into the pond, The lily opens silky petals, To quickly respond, To the call of the honey bees, Who were waiting, in beehives, In many trees.
He will be there, At the forefront, Of the swelling and Surging queue, Among the people, who come to view, Their love for each other, And leave for home, To review it further.
After the rain decides and goes, The river banks, Still in throes, Flood water receding fast, And with it, Taking the last, Hope of so many, poor folks, He will be there, Yet, again, at the forefront, Of the skeleton rescue teams, Who the world seems, To have forgotten, Since, there is no immediate return, For the good work selflessly done.

He would not acquire, anything new, All creation, and variation, With suspicion, he would view, Only anything, used by someone, Tested and tasted one, Draws his attention and intervention. They may be rare, here and there, and very few, Like late morning, When wind’s blowing, On the petals, drops of dew.
When spring, shows its face, As soon as, the winter departs, Invariably he closes the gates, And the doors, of his heart, Therefore, when some broken pair, Get separated, a few days later, He starts plying his role, Consciously knowing clearly his goal, Like an actor, truly consummate, In the process gets his mate. 

She was always, a backbencher, Since, her nursery, school days, But, maintained relationship, with one and all, whoever they, Small or tall, In their social standings, never looked from, anyone away.
She took training in nursing, While studying in her college days, On the playfield, irrespective of the shield, She would start, dressing very fast, if someone, suddenly gets hurt, It, may be from the opposite camp, But, hardly mattered for her anyway.
Now that she is a homemaker, Much like a peace broker, Takes care of everybody’s need, The home is a residence, without her presence, Lifeless building really indeed.
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