Monthly Archives: June 2016

A letter to future poets

a poem by

To future poets,
Poetry, hearing this word everyone imagines a dead art
A Poet! Hearing that this is what my son wants to become parents rush out to stop him.
They don’t want him to spoil his life by writing poems Poem!
A necessary evil that chaps have to study during schooling.
Friends, you are born in a world which thinks poetry is dead.
You will live in a world where people might state poets
as characters from past who have no place in the modern society.
Believe me everyone will think of you as an idiot,
having no work to do; wasting his time.
Now its no more about future, it has already started.
You will be persecuted for your poetry, even I was.
I was an emperor living in a royal palace; ruling over my vast empire.
Suddenly I saw a maid, most beautiful creature ever mankind has produced.
I fell in love with her, Love at first sight.
I decided to marry, everyone was stunned.
Life threatening, guilt and shame were all that I gained.
I had to forsake, forsake everything that was regarded as mine
Forsake my empire; forsake my authority; for her sake.
That prettiest of all, her name was… Poetry.
Yes, its true you will have to sacrifice,
Sacrifice your respect and your respectful life.
If my above sayings discouraged you; you are not a poet
At least a true poet,
Cause if you were, you would challenge my words with yours.
Nothing! Nothing can ever take what was yours.
Your closest will tell that poetry is a dead art and you are its coffin;
But as long as you are alive poetry is in your blood.
You have not chosen poetry, poetry has chosen you
And she will test you; to know are you worth being her bridegroom
What will be your answer?
In Poetry
Your ancestor

A Saga of Success

a poem by

Life wants you to believe,
You were born to achieve.

When your journey begins,
Don’t forget to grin,
Sooner or later you will win.

Life is not a race,
Stride ahead at your own pace.
A dash of passion on your face,
Work hard as you step up your chase,
When You grow with grace,
Excellence is what you will ace.

Your dreams reside high up in sky,
The stars shine bright as you lay by,
The almighty above wishes you to fly.

Carry your passion up your sleeve,
A saga of success is what you will weave!!

The Letters

a poem by

In the midst of twilight,
I found them!
Stained and pathetic-
Yes! those envelope of gray shape.
Which were hiding,
Heartily laughter,
Which once got buried into-
Fragmented and unheard wails.

In those shattered letters,
Lie the deep sound of pain and tears,
And Fume of flesh and fear,
Which once was grounded-
To escape
That detrimental howl of battle.
That air of blood.
Of that terrific time.
Of those silent days.

Those red smears, painted
Immensely on its yellow inch
Oh! those alphabets,
Dictating  mysterious mishap,
The victory of its doughty saints
And curtain the naked smile,
Of those who were abandoned from dear to known!
For that is the cost of patriotism,
Which Escaped every eye.
Of those who were buried in the soil of unknown.
Their blood flooded the roots of that tree
The same tree which witnessed
The screech of thousands virgin
Million young blood.

It is better to dream

a poem by

Don’t wake me yet
For the real world
It’s better to dream
Let me sleep awhile.

What is this reality
But make believe
False smiles, fickle faith
Lives on borrowed time.

What is past, will also be
Years like dried leaves
Each as the other
Running the same miles.

They say its wrong
To love too many
Not trust in gods
Walk on lonely roads.

Many seas to sail
Sweet songs to hum
It would be a sin
To not pay heed.

On the cliff’s edge
I close my eyes
Fears fall, Wings grow
I step out and fly.

Don’t wake me now
For this real world
It’s better to dream
Let me sleep.

Futile

a poem by

I did not wait for such a morning
whose dawn the darkness stole;
Burning with lies and yearning,
Truths, bitter and never whole.

I did not wish for such a night
watched by empty grey skies;
Even fancy dare not take flight,
this world is but shadow and guise.

I did not seek such hefty dreams,
Enough to sink this trivial life;
Like the sun caught in streams,
blown to bits by a breezy knife.

For none of this did I ever ask-
Only, a veil to shelter under,
Only, a beacon in the dark,
Only, to be filled by wonder.

I want to be a tree on the mountain top

a poem by

I want to be a tree on the mountain top,
standing tall on the stony ground.
I’ll suck water from the breast of earth,
as we suck milk from our mothers’ breast.
My roots’ll go deep down into her,
the bond, hence, will remain unchanged.
I’ll rise and rise high in the sky.
The clouds will pass by so close
brushing against my eager skin.
I’ll spread myself in the thin air,
get drenched at night in the tears
of the sky, feel warmth of his love
throughout the whole day.
I’ll be the home to the birds.
My joy’ll blossom as flowers
and peace will be my fruits.
My tears, like falling leaves, will
roll down with dew drops,
hand in hand.