Amrita Valan

I am a housewife from India, mother of two boys, aged 12 and 11.

I have a master’s degree in English literature.

Till my boys were born I worked in various sectors of BPOs as motor claims and health insurance handler and was also content writer for simulation management entrance examination papers in the field of deductive logic and reasoning in English.

I have also worked for a short term in the hospitality industry as a receptionist at a five-star hotel, while awaiting results of my English honours examination.

 I love life, like tumbling headfirst into it, and then doing a double take to step back and observe it.

I have written over a thousand poems on genres including, Love, Spirituality, Family, Religion, Current affairs, Human Rights, short stories, humorous pieces, essays as well as funny poems and tales for my children.

I love collecting rocks on my day trips to hills, photographing nature and natural moods. Indulge in taking selfies and decorating them with punk art.

Teaching my children how to tell jokes with a dead pan face for maximum impact.

The Tamarind Tree

My mouth waters
Thinking of the sweet scent.

Tall, Lissom lacy filigreed cape. 
Emerald, olive and beige, tumescent 
Tamarinds suspended in mid air
Swollen mouth-watering morsels. 
Draping the ground as each loses 
Its battle with the breeze, falling to weave 
A beige and caramel carpet. 

Thankful for the brief respite, under its 
Shade, I rest on a mildewed bench 
Basking in  breezy saturnine cornucopia.

The school gardener hides his smile as I gather
Fallen tamarinds, in my hand bag

brown, plump and curvy, dry thick papyrus shells
withering to powder, crunching, bursting to 
Pop out hidden seeds.
Ah what sweet misdeeds of bliss upon 
My tongue are these!

I suck greedily, a six year old again.
Sweet and sour tangy ecstasy
Erupting on my tongue. 
I am waiting for my toddler 
To finish his kindergarten classes.
As he leaps into my arms I pop one 
Into his mouth as a treat.
Better than toffees and stick jaw. 

Mother and son gorge on orgiastic sweetness 
On the walk home, marvelling at
Nature's succulent trove.

The small boy has grown up. 
The tamarind tree offers shade to 
New mothers, new babies
Shedding her own selflessly.

 The Vision 

Quiet languor melted muscles and bones
To jelly honey drizzled sunshine on moist 
Dewy grass. 
I was lying in peaceful stupor under the
Tamarind tree, mouth a gawk, book fallen
Out of my hands, a Rip Van Winkle
Who knows how long I’d slept?
The screaming train sped across the 
Countryside, the church bell sounded
Solemn gong, I arose to walk towards 
The Inn.
But It seemed to have faded in a dream 
To a fairy bower of honeysuckle vines
A balustrade of oaken beams and cobblestones
I seemed to have been transported in sleep
Or dream to an antiquated century, the
Metro station rendered invisible in thin air
The timeless hawk alone circled an avian lair,
I gaped with fear at where The Taj Crown Inns
Should have been. Upon the balcony, minstrel
Played a fiddle as winged beings of light
Danced to its merry tune. 
The sun high in the sky at hot hard noon 
I was at an utter loss, fainting in a swoon. 
When I came to the music had faded 
As had evening light
I was in my room, where the shadows
Of another world cast predatory 
Prophetic fingers of gloom 
Nothing is, quite what it seems.
Dreams meet reality in nature.
Nature accommodates unnatural things.

A Do Over

I wouldn't change a thing for you 
Only for myself.

I wouldn't ask to be pretty
Less socially awkward.

I longed to be a diva in my teens, now
I no longer 
Need to play the lead.

I don't want anything at all.

Just to be fearless. 
Seventeen once more, 

In love for the first time, 
Wearing untarnished ideals

Like a shining school pin.

A little less people pleasing  idolising groupie?

But no, my passions made me.

I wannabe.
 Just a sweet wannabe again.
Naïve seventeen at heart my friend. 

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