Following poem I wrote based on a true life inspiration from ongoing Kerala Floods 2018. A pregnant lady was rescued and airlifted. The same day she delivered. This poem is just a small glimpse of success stories and a tribute to all the brave souls.


After she has said her prayers

As her drowsy tired eyes closed shut

The rain outside had picked up pace

No one knew how long it would rain

Morning came with more angry clouds

And before she knew her house was flooded

The fear went in deeper now

For she feared not for herself but her yet unborn child

She is but a mother and a fighter

How can she not be hopeful?

The sound outside became louder

Yes it was the gusty wind but from the helicopter

And there came the much needed help

Within minutes she was air lifted into safety

And within minutes she had brought a child into this beautiful world

Yes it is a beautiful world

Coz today when she saw everything crumbling down

She also saw the wondrous acts of humanity

Where God came down in form of ordinary people

To help God’s own country and God’s own people






She boarded the bus and looked for window seat.

And she got one.

She always loved a window seat. The breeze playing with her hair. The fresh air cooling her face.

It allowed her to drift off into faraway lands.

She was pondering over something when she felt a movement.

Her hand that was placed on the window sill was hurt and her bracelet was gone.

She yelped in shock. It was her favourite gold bracelet. It had floral designs and hung loosely in her arm. A thin man in scrap clothes was running away with it. She let out a cry. The bus was at a traffic signal. Immediately the crowd gathered around her. Someone shouted and starting running behind the robber. Then two, then three and then a mob. The bus was pulled aside. Passengers waiting but no one complaining. After what seemed like 10 minutes, the mob brought the beggar to her. They returned her bracelet. She had a close look at the robber. He was worse than he previously looked. Blood ran from his forehead. His knees bled. He was a sign of starvation. He looked as weak as anyone possibly can.

She immediately took a pity on him. She was about to say
“let him go” when the mob attacked him again. Each one took turns. Some boxing on his face. Some punched his stomach. And some kicked him. He fell but they didn’t stop. Finally when the police brought the situation under control the robber had lost control of his breath. He died right there.

She wondered if a bracelet was worth someone’s life. She wondered if humanity was served or failed. She wondered if the man who died had a family. Whether out of starvation he decided to rob. Whether he did this for his family. She wonder whether justice was served or humanity died.

She only knew one thing. She would never take a window seat anymore.


Ma, you are the sunshine I wake up to,

Ma, you are the air that breathes in me,

Ma, you are the source of energy I look up to,

Ma, you are the one I want to be

Ma, yours is the shoulder I want,

To cry my heart out.

Ma, yours is the saree I want to hold on to

To feel safe in this world.

Ma, your hand made food,

Is what keeps me alive.

Ma, yours is the hand I want,

To feed me today, everyday.

Ma, yours is the voice I want to hear,

To be the music to my ear.

Ma, yours is the smile I want to see,

To scare away all my foes.

Ma, you are the one I want to be,

For my child.