Cherry Koshy Writes

  Fazil's Dream Steel and glass monsters Pierce the skies in glory Towering over each other As if to tell their own proud story It’s early morning sunrise As Fazil fastens his belt To scale the Dubai high-rise He faces the harsh sun that melts His sweaty skin but not his soul As he starts ascending 160 floors Feisty, fearless, all part of Fazil’s game Joined by his building brothers Whose lives of toil are just the same It’s not the height or fear that bothers Nor those floors a hundred feet below It’s memories of his family left behind Back in his country he left years ago All those things that drives him to find A life of promise in a city that shines Was it his destiny that called him here? No, it’s his lonely heart that pines For a friend or two, or someone dear Through sweat and toil for a good tomorrow Driven by a dream longing for a good life Reaching the Top, he brushes aside the sorrow Will what’s ahead bring hope, free from strife?

  Wake Me Up at 5 Her early morning snores have the rhythmic energy of a tractor Wakes me up from the farmland of my dreams But even in sleep, her love Like a warm blanket of her prayers Comforts me into assurance Silently wraps me up with energy Pushes me out  of my sleep womb Just what I need, to embrace another day of this impossible world. Her words are my healing.

  A white wooden door softly opens In the hallways of my mind Whispers of childhood laughter Echoing down its corridors as it unwinds To memories of our blackstoned school Where we broke every known rule One too many of those classroom things Ignoring the call of the school bell rings Where Algebra added up to a happy sum Of mischief joys to fill an album Like carving stories on the bench With a Geometry compass and the stench Of wet socks from a day of constant rain Having waded through flooded Bandra lanes Biology meant hearing Mr. Choubey's woes On the science of 'Yecks' & 'Why' cells While we drew happy faces on microbes Turning our textbooks to Doodle Hell Chemistry under the eyes of Mr Singh Took us to a journey through the Lab of Terror As Singh sang the music of Compounds While we gagged in the mists of burning Sulphur French was our only happy distraction Listening to Miss Fleur's accent, an attraction, When Parlez Vous Francais and conjugation Made...