June 21, 2009 § 9 Comments
Once upon a time long , long ago ,
There was a baker who was known
For her bakes – which would melt
And disappear down throats
As fast as yeast could grow .
And as she grew old ,
She told her children the recipes
All made fine and woven ,
Created during many hours under the oven .
They all did hear her out –
Some more dexterous at the gateau ,
Others better at just making the right dough .
Yet there were a few ,
Who though heard all that the others knew ,
Who couldn’t spread butter on bread ,
Who were all fed to a starved death .
On one fine day , as the sun rose ,
The children were all on their own .
And so with there skills all set and perfect ,
The walked through the countries parks
And chose their shops ,
To spread love through their bakes .
A few boisterous mixed their flour
And added their eggs and yeast ,
Gave the world numerous feasts .
They took understudies to whom the taught
The skills , even as their coffers never stood still .
But those who could bake none ,
Lost their homes and had to run
From those they borrowed
And those they caused many a bad turn .
A few of such , idled about
(And that too all wrong )
And then the day came ,
When it was time to split
The estate of the one who was long gone .
With pens filled with liquor madness ,
They claimed that their siblings were unjust .
The harangued that their misfortunes
Were because the others were too good!
Pity , oh! pity the others felt ,
They thought that , at least their brothers’ kids
Would be better! So with their hearts
Filled with love , they wrote a decree,
Saying that the house shall be
Made of so much from the unfortunate’s
family , only so that they learn
And some day on their own earn .
Soon time’s ropes petered on those
And they left their bakery to their kin .
The kin inherited the dough
And so their demand never saw a trough .
All the while , the unskilled’s kids
Grew fatter under the provision
Provided and seeing success
Grew avaricious and claimed
That all this was through their pain!
A fight ensued and those successful
refused . They pointed out that
The bums had refused to learn
And that money cannot be earned
Without skill or working under the oven .
In a rage , the law book was brought out
And soon by popular vote , amended –
So that the unskilled got the majority’s share-
The rest just had to bare
These fat pigs who no more fitted
Into their own chairs!
In anger a few left ,
Others held that soon shall all be right ,
That under someone they will , together fight .
Soon that wonderful fresh bread smell grew ,
Longer became the queue.
The money came in and yet those
Who made them with honesty ,
Love and diligence ,
Lost their voice in the parliament!
One day a huge cake was made
It was for a festival’s sake .
The majority drunk in their inactivity
Got a big knife and cut in
For themselves and their kin .
And soon the pieces were
So many, Nothing was left
For the bakers
The actual makers .
For a while , they tried to reason
With their comrades and then
Realized with aghast
That lost was their cause!
Infuriated and cheated ,
They set out with bag and baggage ,
Landed in a better place
And baked a larger cake and ate
With grace , voraciously , singing
Praise to the new beginning .
Soon the old place ,
Ran out of money and food ,
Bickering , the people
First killed their kin ,
Then pealed their own skin
And finally lost everything !
A few survived , something
By nature , by blood had survived
Innate in them and in desperation something
Had come alive . The new of an old kind ,
Wanted to restore the past glory –
Though their memory was pretty foggy
With all that passed on being glossy .
One day , they called a baker home
And befriended him . They promised
To work together and to restore
Their pride . So the newly formed pride
Set about , the dough was bought
And the yeast all ready to dwell ,
But just before the first day’s bake ,
Someone found out the old constitution
And called the baker a traitor ,
Oh! he was no friend –
In vengeance into the oven
Went the baker
And baked forever was the bakery !
Pity , majority , democracy , atrocity
Ultimately a big big hypocrisy –
For that you eat , you gluttons
call God , yet the “makers
Are traitors” – so you say ,
Someday , someday ,not so far away ,
You will loose your way
And then wonder whose mistake it was .
You would then say ,
It was the man who decided to bake ,
Forgetting that , that was what made
You a big fat swine , Or maybe
You are right , you deserve less ,
Maybe a whip is a better harness!
The memories of the bakery
Were long after found –
After the bakers cult was tainted
And then erased to the ground .
The invading forces were butchers
And hogs were their specialty –
Enjoyed by the whole of (remaining) humanity!
It’s like a story isn’t it! I don’t know how you manage to write such long poems!
I agree with Nita 🙂
But yes isn’t it so easy to loose everything but so difficult to gain it back!!!
a lesson to be learnt..
a story format poem.. 🙂
This is your first one na? of this kind of poem?
This sort is better. Try to make it short. Can delete some lines.
@Nita: I just enjoy writing – I struggle to write prose for pages and pages , In fact I find it easier write essays and articles which are to the point 🙂
@smita: true 🙂
@oorja : yup 🙂
@reema: I have written a few ballads before
@priya: ha well I am over 6 feet , shall I cut myself into slices ?
The baker = India
And the kids = different casts of people with reservations as renumerations ???
Or was your idea something else??
yup correct 🙂