A Donkey called Madonky
In the veterinary college campu where we reside, often we meet a gentle old creature a donkey. Donkeys are rare in our area, we find them only when we go to Palany on pilgrimage.
He is here before we start living here, Hence he is senior to us.He has the genuine calm in his eyes, Like Balthazar,which most donkies have. A calm which resembles that of hermits.He can be seen among a thousand cows graze on the footballground during nice shining mornings.When Bandhs and hartals happen, we can see his lonely figure still looking for a bit of green grass.
Somebody told me some pilgrims from Palani brought him here when he was very young.Due to some reasons, they left him here.Since then he is here, without a partner, without a friend.Now he is lame due to atrocities of some cruel people.
One day when I was walking with my son we saw him near mens hostel.Suddenly he stood up and charged towords us.Rakku was frightened and hold me tight.He suddenly stopped, gazed at us and slowly walked away.Two hostellers who were passing by, consoled rakku and told us that sometimes he behaves like that.
They told furthur,"You know his name? It is madonkey."
Rakku said"Is it monkey+ donkey? or mad donkey?"
O.k, That is his name: Poor old madonkey.

My friend Sebastian, working as a lower division clerk at present in my office, leads a terrible and tearsome life.Starts his daily ordial at 3 AM, travels from Alleppy to Mannuthy near Thrissur everyday.His day sometimes ends by 11 o' clock at night.He had opted many jobs for winning his daily bread as a readymade garment seller, construction clerk and even as a firewood retailer. One day he made me surprised by showing his own poem.It was good but lacking clarity and rhythm.He told me that he was travelling by train with his friends, who were interested in poetry.He wanted to write someting, and prove befare them and get established as a poet.
Looking in his curious, sincere and innocent eyes I saw the Poatman with Pablo Neruda.I was thrilled to idetify how poetry works on man and succumb his conscience.His poem was not bad. It was about a dove. I told him about several poems about doves and insisted he should stick on for quality.Thet day he didn't went home. He stayed in the office and worked with his poem. By the next morning, I found him with a piece of paper nicely typed and completed. Reading the poem, I again made some suggesions, espetially on usages.We spent some more time with thesaurus and discovered a way out of labyrinth of thet poem.His face was blooming with happiness. He was enjoying the magic of his own creation.