Games People Play

O’ what games these people play,

Though they are made up of clay,

They rule the earth so they portray,

They are ready to fight and kill and slay,

For tenets that their ancestors lay,

Without realizing they have gone astray,

You are friend or foe, say ‘yes’ say ‘nay’,

Doing this they feel terrorism is at bay,

But a greater threat faces them each day,

For they believe that if you can you may,

While the sun is shining for sure make hay,

Some global warming the wise men say,

Is causing all this change and decay,

And snowfall in the month of may,

Is dear Mother Earth’s subtle way,

To tell us that she is in dismay,

Reduced Carbon emissions the scientists say,

Could give us some time and hope’s ray,

Or else our children would have to pay,

For the damage we are causing to earth today,

And for sure they would curse us and say,

O’ what games did those people play.

BABY CATHERINE

There was a baby cute and small,

She was loved by one and all.

But God had something else in store,

She died at the age of 3 no more.

The reason for her death they say,

Was an urn which was made of clay.

Which fell down from top of where she sat,

From an almarah beside the woolen mat.

An accident it was termed too soon,

They said for doubt there was no room.

But one person who had the nagging doubt,

The mother, she cried 'MURDER' aloud.

But who could it be asked the press,

The answer could be anybody's guess.

The baby was buried in the sacred grounds,

With flowers and trees and grassy mounds.

She wore a white gown with beautiful lace,

She was smiling for the parents' solace.

As time passed by and it became old news,

And when people stopped expressing their views.

The town cemetery man was found,

Dead while taking his night round.

The man he died in unusual ways,

With his head turned round the autopsy says.

The grave of baby Catherine alone,

Was empty with the missing tombstone.

The Father of the Church was afraid,

That foundations for revenge had been laid,

He prayed for Baby Catherine,

Who had by then turned very mean.

She looked nasty with skin pale and dead,

And with her eyes which were blood red.

She had her sweet voice and the drool,

Except it was to make a fool.

Of those who dared to venture late,

She made them meet a similar fate.

The one she had loved like she loved no other,

Was her father's mom and her grandmother.

Catherine would spend hours with her,

Listening to stories of God and Lucifer.

But she never knew being a girl was sin,

And that she would be murdered by her kith and kin.

Her Grandma had wanted a boy they said,

Who would carry the family name instead.

But it was Catherine the girl who was born,

In the winter chill of a december morn.

The grandmother was extremely sad,

Was on the verge of going mad.

While the parents celebrated the birth of their daughter,

She plotted the killing of her own grand daugther.

She won the confidence of one and all,

By playing, story-telling, feeding, et al.

And on the fateful day she placed,

The urn on the almarah, too displaced.

She put the baby on target,

And shoved the almarah with no regret.

It came crashing with brute force,

And landed on baby's head and nose.

She died a slow and painful death,

Like Lady Macduff in Shakespeare's Macbeth.

She could not say her last good bye,

To her mother who was left to cry.

But now she was back to take revenge,

And the miseries of her mother to avenge.

She found her granny and told her how,

She had felt, she would tell her now.

Granny groveled with death on loom,

But for mercy Catherine had no room.

She died in a way both painful and slow,

With her body turned around from head to toe.

The autopsy showed she had no heart,

So true for she had none from start.

Else who could kill a baby girl,

Who was white and pure as a sea pearl.

Catherine went to her mother and said,

O' Mom by death I was untimely led.

I did not get a chance to say,

How lucky I was to come your way.

I would have brought you as much joy,

As I could have if I was a boy.

The mother hugged the child for long,

And sang for her, her favourite song.

She told her that she would want to be,

In each life the mother of Catherine baby.

But for now the baby would have to go,

With angels who appeared sometime ago.

She told her she would love her forever,

And promised would forget her never.

The baby smiled and gave her a kiss,

And told that she was going to miss.

The mother who brought her who gave her birth,

Of love and affection who had no dearth.

The angels took her and made her fly,

Straight into the heaven's eye.

Beautiful mountains, rivers and trees,

In Heaven Catherine now lives in peace.