Boggled

A young girl sat by the brook,

She enjoyed the pages of her book.

She was at peace until it began to croak

"Ribbid Ribbid, Ribbid Ribbid", it spoke.

Her focus lost, she looked about,

She found the frog, sitting stout.

She walked closer, "Shoo Shoo!

Unless you want to be caught for a stew!",

She yelled as she tried to shush it,

"Ribbid Ribbid", it went, it would not quit.

Much to her surprise she saw it cry,

"Serves me right.", it let out a sigh.

"You can talk?", the girl shook her head,

"Either that or you are mad.", it said.

"Why do you cry?", she asked the frog.

She went closer and sat on a nearby log.

"My brother has been taken by the warlock.

He is worse than the fiery hawk."

The girl cupped her hands in the brook,

Some water to the frog she took.

"Go on, you'll feel better. Have a drink.",

She urged it as the frog seemed to blink,

It closed its eyes as its long tongue lapped

The water from her hands it tapped.

She giggled as it tickled her a lot,

It opened its eyes and resumed its squat.

"My brother, Our King is forever lost,

For helping others, we paid the cost.

He needed to distract the warlock,

So he decided to talk.

Sitting on the pile of trapped frogs,

Who were crying for help in the bogs.

The evil warlock spared not even one,

A web around them had been spun.

His magic was too hard to break,

When I tried to help, he unleashed a snake.

I could do nothing, I had to retreat.

Why does he trap us when he has plenty to eat?",

The frog broke down and choked on tears,

The young girl could not believe her ears.

Could it be that the warlock was a catcher of fish?

Like the one who sells that famous dish.

Frog legs, yes, that's what he calls it,

She felt a sting, her head seemed to split.

She closed her eyes and held her head,

She woke up to find herself near her bed.

"Ribbid Ribbid", she heard and ran to it,

"I'll make this right, just give me a bit.",

She said to her pet frog and woke her father.

"What happened child, what is the matter?

She made him vow not to fish in the bogs,

And next day, to return the King of the Frogs.

"And promise me never to use your fishing hook,

To strike at them if you see them near the brook.

Swear to me that you'll help me save them all,

Their hearts are big though they be small."

About the post: I had written this poem for a really great initiative called "Save the Frogs". You can check out their website and spread the word if you like. Its definitely worth a look.

www.savethefrogs.com/threats/index.html

Ameera's Adventure

Ameera rolled her sleeves as her cape swayed,

She moved towards the giant cave to commence her raid.

There was no other way or means of reclaiming her Queen's domain,

The monsters turned on her at once, but she annihilated them with much strain.

She tripped and faltered, a scratch here, a gash there,

But she egged on further, in the monsters' lair.

Battered, bruised and strained by the onslaught,

She made her way out as she valiantly fought.

She gulped the fresh air and steadied herself

Not long before she was intercepted by a dark elf.

It studied her for a long time.

Ameera was helpless, she found herself engulfed by grime.

Dark elves, they were hard to evade

But this was not Ameera's first raid.

She wrapped her cape around herself tighter, till it became a shell.

The dark elf made attempts to break her will,

It summoned waves of grime but Ameera stayed still.

Vexed and humiliated, the dark elf finally withdrew.

Ameera emerged from her shell, her next duty in clear view.

She eyed the ominous hill of the dead.

It was a wasteland of corpses where one must carefully tread.

Ameera drew her sword and cleared her path.

They tried to grab her and strike her with all their wrath.

Ameera had to battle these vengeful vines.

She soldiered on and drove them to hell's confines.

Finally, she stood atop the hill, beaming with pride.

Conquered again, she celebrated with her arms open wide.

"Ameera! What do you think you are doing?

What if you fall?! I don't need any trouble brewing!"

Ameera snapped out to reality and her shoulders sank.

"Sorry Auntiji", she uttered, her expression now blank.

As Ameera made her way down the kitchen slab

The mistress inspected Ameera's work, she waddled around with her flab.

"The cupboard better be spotless, cleared of the insects and cobwebs."

Ameera nodded away, her glory and pride ebbs.

"The bed better be rid of the monsters underneath,

Bhaiiyya complains of chattering teeth.

Better set the rat traps right away.

You hear me?! Or still dreaming and been led astray??"

About the poem:

I wrote this poem for a poetry competition a few months back.

The poem describes the arduous daily routine of a maid servant, who is a young girl. She is an imaginative girl who works as per her Mistress’ wishes. Most of the poem has elements that we’ve come across in person or seen or read in news. This poem tries to explore this young girl’s thoughts and how she goes about her daily routine-dusting, cleaning, avoiding the “evil” eye of the Mistress’ son.

The Townfool and the Leshy

The Image is from Wikipedia-"The Leshy" by Ivan Bilibin, 1906.

The town fool took refuge in the forest,

He stifled his laugh and thumped his chest.

He looked behind, not a man was in sight,

He pranced about the trees like a forest sprite.

He skipped and sang among the trees,

He enjoyed the touch of the slight autumn breeze.

Two hours or three passed in the shade

Till the sunshine retreated and the trees swayed.

He shook himself from his pleasant nap,

He shrugged his shoulders and straightened his cap.

He whistled and marched along the stream,

When he felt he heard a tiny scream.

Taken aback, he looked around,

North or south, east or west, not a soul he found.

He resumed his whistling as he sauntered on,

Not a bird chirped, he wondered where they had gone.

Not a cricket, not a croak he could hear,

His whistle alone echoed in his ear.

He grew nervous as he walked ahead,

He took the path he knew, to the town it led.

He still whistled and kept up his gait,

It was growing darker but he kept on straight.

He seemed to walk and walk in vain,

He took off his cap and ruffled his mane.

The town was nowhere in near sight,

At this rate, he'd be out tonight.

And finally, he heard a gruff voice,

From behind the trees there came a noise.

"Halt! You vile brute!", the voice spoke.

He cautiously gazed upon the rows of oak.

A strong wind swept him off his feet,

Dazed he was, his heart wildly did beat.

Before he knew he was clutched by a giant hand,

A grim giant man stood tall above the forest land.

He seemed old and wise with a long , green beard,

The town fool squirmed as the giant brought him near.

"You dare crush the helper of the Forest Spirit!"

It pelted down hard on the townfool, the giant's spit.

He pleaded with the angry Forest Spirit, The Leshy,

"Apologies oh great one, for I was unable to see

Your helper, for I was too big, I assume."
The Leshy pondered as he continued to fume.

"But you must repay for your unkindly act.",

The Leshy frowned and vengeance he did exact.

Soon the giant faded much like a dream,

And the townfool woke up near the stream.

He shook himself as he awoke from the nightmare,

He heard the sounds of the forest as well as the chilly air.

The chirps were louder and so were the croaks,

The crickets thundered and there were giant cloaks,

Green as velvet, his senses seemed gnarled,

Till he took flight, for a monster behind him snarled.

A little fox chased after its tail,

Standing there, no human might hear his wail.

The town fool was never found again,

But the townfolk did complain of rogue little men.

About the post:  As per Nordic Myths, Leshy was the Slavonic spirit of the forest who led travelers and hunters astray in the woods. Among his chief powers was the ability to change size at will, from being small as a mouse to growing as tall as the highest tree.