Tuesday, February 10, 2026

Three Girls.....Standing stranded at a car service station

 THREE GIRLS

Good Morning
Standing stranded at a car service station,
waiting because of a punctured tyre, I watched
three young girls
loiter into the open service station
like clueless rustic women
trying to look abreast of the urban style,
wearing a mask of nonchalance,
they ambled timorously into the parking lot
and stationed themselves for some suspicious, clandestine rendezvous.
They were not the callous type with deadened nerves, with aggressive animosity
to the world of men swaggering around.
Not unduly perturbed by the conflicting voices of morality and the need of the life they had chosen to live
they were waiting for the client who had paid for the night.
There was neither fear nor expectancy,
no vile puerile curiosity.
They were restless because they had to guard themselves
against the rabid smiles and the insinuating gestures of the passers-by.
One of them had a coy demure face of a bride,
and another had a matronly wise look of a woman who knew
what love was all about.
The other two shifted their weight
from one leg to the other
and then one of them impatiently surged forward to see if the client's car arrived.
In the meantime, girls of their age walked past in haste
talking and gesticulating on their smartphones
wildly, eloquently, arguing fiercely with all the passion they knew
over how they were right and the other wrong,
oblivious of what was going around.
The three girls stood like magi
waiting outside the cottage on a wintry night of Christ's birth,
two of them wringing their hands in a cold dismay
and the wise one smiling knowledgeably,
maintaining a wonderful equanimity.
For a few seconds
the streaming traffic blocked my view
and when the sight was cleared they had already disappeared into a red car that turned around and went past me.
I missed the chance to see how they went, with what kind of a feeling toward their fate, like prisoners taken to the noose, or slaves walking to the galley, or with an indifferent gratitude.
Three young girls on the brink of life!
Sushama Karnik
Apr 20, 2016
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Prem Kumar Gutty
Good flow. While I believe in good morality and 100% commitment between partners, modern society seems to be moving towards pleasures as passing moments.
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Monday, October 20, 2025

 

Sushama Karnik

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THE MOON OF THE KOJAGIRI NIGHT
There is a giant tower where used to be seen the Moon.
I could lie on my bed and see him ramble from dusk to dawn.
Now no more.
Moon is no child who can hide behind the lime tree,
when playing his legendary game of hide and seek.
He is a big boss now who makes himself scarce
behind the walls of a tower.
No more those silly nursery rhymes.
The grown Moon needs an urban sky.
No longer among those rustic stars.
The sky must be done up properly with towers.
Heavenly rays?
Where are they?
The sky is filled with neon lights.
The Moon, like a corporate Head,
will be accessible to a chosen few,
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Thursday, June 12, 2025

 A misty Moon,

ubiquitous, yet anonymous,
a symbol of all that comes, wanes and goes,
reborn, growing, glowing, fainting,
vanishing to come again.
A keen observer, rarely noticed
unless on some night we look up
struck for some mysterious reason
by its whispering light.
Unrest seizes the Moon.
It hides behind the alert clouds.
Here on earth life goes on.
After the sunset a brief respite,
and night ascends, and with the night the Moon., its saga renewed, unrevealed, untold.
If you happen to sight it in its luminous aura
stop awhile and speak.
The Moon will be confused
but do not let it be sad.
Eager, responsive, it will smile.
Let it touch and feel you.
Perhaps it waited for this moment too long.
Sushama Karnik.
17-06- 2024. 05-13 AM
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Wednesday, June 11, 2025

 Qown pace. Some call her mother some woeship her . place her in a temple with a small lamp

Te water flows in abundace. Nobdy has ever thought of looking at her wasted flow, not thought of giving it auiet f[ows the river; never will she the little stories

of joy and grief That's the way of deastimy

flowing at its 

Not thought of bending her and shift her way to bring her face to face

with those staying far from her flow, those thirsting for a look of her, those in the wilderness missing her quiet dreams of  of sailors taking her to reach the farthest mod where she will find peac in the lap of the sea.

Quiet flows the dawn 

and with the dawn  flows the quiet river. 

The river is neither aware of destiny, 

nor does she know that time moves

and makes her move.

Stories are born on her banks and left unread.

Like destiny it's not in her to pause.

The cause and the effect flow as one single stream with her.

You may think of loss or gain

but in her flow they are one

because she knows, she must flow.

Some call her mother and stand on her shore;

pleading her to speak.

some call her  divinity

and place her in a shrine.

She will flow at her own pace, 

in abundance, never in need of joy or sorrow,

Her flow is unstoppable.

But not ignorant of your life ,its needs and deeds.

Until she comes in sight of the sea

her journey long and forlorn.

Do not forsake her 

when the sky thunders and in fear 

she breaks her bounds.

Take her waters to flow into canals;

help her reach the far out lands that need her

and she'll bless you before she follows

her destined path to the sea.

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