Category Archives: Beliefs

Why I Write

a poem by

People often ask me,
For the reasons why I write,
It’s a question that stumps me,
And I ponder with all my might.

I guess I write because,
I see the beauty when it’s stormy,
I stop to smell the roses one petal at a time,
I’m just kidding, that’s just too corny.

I write because I’m terrified,
Of people and their ways,
Political correctness is the tune,
To which everyone in society sways.

I write because it’s easy,
To vent the anger of the mind,
It’s the only thing pure in this filthy world,
That can hope to us all bind.

I write because I’m no great orater,
With a aura of passion and power,
To wake the people of the earth,
From this reality so bitter and sour.

I write because I find,
The stereotypes that must be broken,
To free us from the dark ages,
And from this life of sin.

I write because I’m tired,
Of the conservatives of this land,
That walk in a by gone era,
And bury our nation in the sand.

I write because I’m angry,
That it is religion that tears us,
Which god would condone the killing of an innocent,
Or the flaming of a bus?

I write because I see,
A nation that is not free,
It is bound by its leaders,
Who awaken the banshee.

I write because I wish to share,
My vision in prose and rhyme,
Go ahead, arrest me if you will,
In my heart I know it’s no crime.

A Soft Pillow

a poem by

My heart doth now become leaden
With aches and pains gets laden
When hearing news that are sordid
Evil deeds of creatures too horrid

Demons and monsters in stories read
Come alive to wreck lives unhindered
With their fangs and claws so hideous
And wicked to harm in ways insidious

When heavy sadness fills my heart
To some pleasant memories I resort
The happy carefree childhood days
Of fun, frolic and friendly plays

Beaches, flowers, hills and dales
Any scenery that my heart regales
Little favors that life brings
And a lot of my favorite things

Those little acts of my kindness
Deeds of tact and thoughtfulness
That brightened a worried face
And emboldened to run the race

Unflinching always in my duty
Guarding the kin with loyalty
To gather knowledge my thirst
And to share it was I first

Let the ugly face of life recede
Let me only the bright spots heed
Unknown are the ways of Providence
In its kindness have I confidence

A branch is not destined to carry
Fruit bunches that are too heavy
No grudges and ill-will I keep
A soft pillow I have to sleep

The Bias

a poem by

The bias you see inherent in Nature,
Simply put these are but Nature’s laws
God’s work is nature: Be sure,
You may try but cannot find flaws!

Evil in His creation you may seldom find:
This just cannot negate His existence.
For, goodness outstrips evil. Bear in mind:
Nature ordains health to prevail over pestilence!

Nature ordains that the things that are best
Are equally set with those that are worst,
With the average to be in the majority
Normal Distribution is her Law: Since antiquity!

This, then, can be, at least, safely assumed:
God’s work-nature-acts as a fine balance
Curse not Nature: Like some ignoramus subsumed,
Only misery and evil in His account, for instance

For an athlete- expect someone to lame,
For a genius- suffer a moron: Don’t blame!
For sure, you may live in pretence,
But, for God’s sake, use your common sense!!


a poem by

The rains this afternoon
brought poetry into a reminiscing mind
the rains scattered seeds, threw up
the mind, extolled the skies in this festive
season, people with upraised arms paid
obeisance to the Goddess
who, it is whispered actually
brought these showers from rainbow tilted skies
little children playing, laughing crying,
I want this, that; as the Goddess looked
on serenely, the rains paused, askance
then tearfully said goodbye to the Goddess and her

Somewhere people are still praying for the rains
some to abate, some to give them fresh lease of life.
Give them O Goddess, give them!

Life’s Battles

a poem by

Snatched into life I should assure you
Trials and tribulations yes I have been through
But know that in life I have learned
That a heart filled with hate cannot grow cannot yearn

At times the days seem longer
But with each day passing I grow stronger
I hope that out of this mere life
I have been a good sister, aunt, mother and wife

And when my final excursion began
I will have fought a good battle
Sat straight in the saddle
And took this old world to
The End

Music Lover

a poem by

If love were music, I would dance on every note
With the rhythm of the beat I would float
The words would be my lily pad to keep my love trust high
And the way I handled the music would be the way I feel inside
Your voice would be what kept me as a friend
And the way you looked into my eyes
Would be how you felt for me in
The End

It is not easy to loose but…

a poem by

Am now half asleep and half awake,
Trying to understand what is at stake.

Is it always necessary to give in so much,
And also put a face with no grudge.

Is it always right to follow the rules,
And this to me is like being a mule.

Should we not stand for I or ourselves,
Rather than for living for him or himself.

Now I have decided that I’ll not give in,
I’ll break the system or let them break in.

What now I seek is strength from inside,
The source of which with me will take many for ride.

A broken watch…

a poem by

Is it broken when and how?
These are not from my lips
They are from the depth of my pained heart
Cause that broken watch has such value
Many good things happened in it’s life to me
It gave distinction in my studies and
It gave a lover and wife to my life.
It might be dim and shabby to see but
It worked for me for many decades
My last son and first daughter loved to wear
Such watch has broken and went for it’s rest
I stunned and broken for it’s death and
Placed as antique in the iron safe

Address Gone

a poem by

How can you wake up to a broken world
and yet feel sweet?
Do you have a chance beyond bombs?
What happens when you come home and
find the address gone?

It’s steamy, stifling.
Always there’s a crouching beast
ready to jump at you.
The sky closes in and there are
vultures circling overhead
ready to pick your flesh
your affections and the land
becomes a text of shadows.

You’re pushed from one place to another
carrying your body across strange lands.
and there’s always the vulture with eyes
sparkling with crematorium blaze following you.
You become homeless, intruders.

There is no dawn,
only an endless night and
bodies poisoned from burnt rice.
Once again the angel of death comes
in the guise of a vulture.
You possibly, realise there’s no martyrdom
and the evening smog descends on Singur.


a poem by

It is a mirage to our vision
It can be viewed but can’t be realised
Every morning will be more attractive
But nights are not like so

Your walks will change and
Your sight will change
Your thoughts will change, but
Your death second will not change

Your wife, children things are mirage
They can be seen but won’t come with you
Your strength and youth will not come
Only your ats will, up to your last


a poem by

A heart is a weapon of happenings,
Thinks, the way is vast for opportunities
Always finds burdens of opportunities,
Searching the way full without sorrows,
Finds mixing the beliefs of sorrows,
Only talking with heart,
Searching the opportunities.

At dawn…

a poem by

“The moon will go to bed
the sun to work,
Morn will dawn,
the rose shall bloom”
Dreamt the timid bee
of the morning to be.
“Nectar-greed, drowsiness,
caught in the closed petals,
the bee dreamt on”
Alas, eaten by the stray cow
ended the rose.
That sad night,
to say finis-in-toto
to lotus, petal, bee and all…

Flowing with the song

a poem by

‘You live a forgettable life’ said He,
‘Don’t you want to do something important?’
I thought that wish I could agree,
About his idea of life, about his intent.

Rather I ask him a question in return,
‘Does the wind plan the route it turns?
Or does the river decide where to flow?’
The Birds just fly; Its we who trace the patterns!

So that’s his idea of life and this is mine,
He has got it all planned out,
But I am just flowing with the song,
Riding along this endless road of time.

Strings of Fate

a poem by

How many of us conform to the belief,
that whatever happens, happens for a reason?
Be it joy, pain or just plain relief,
and that everything has a specific season.

True, it is hard to accept a supernatural theology
in these days of science and technology.
But many a time, one encounters,
happenings that seem as though they were meant to be.
Even as reason thunders,
the mind is led to believe in Destiny.

Are they but fancies of the human mind,
not supported by truth or find;
how can we submit to fatalism,
without fighting for scientific mechanism?

Still we indulge in believing in Fate,
and get ready to face the inevitable.
We succeed at least at any rate,
to console the mind and make it able,
to face the realities of nature;
where flowers are intended to bloom,
and nothing ceases to venture,
in spite of the impending Doom!