Advice for those who consider themselves weak
No bird is lame for his life
No child is crippled throughout his life
Just wait for an opportune moment
And hope for the sun to rise
And throw a ray of hope in your life
When you will rise
And stand on your legs again
And you yourself will shine
And be a lighthouse
To guide those whose boats
Are going astray for a while
They look normal, they may seem silent,
But their hands are never at rest.
They all the time look pleasant, but thoughts from them are abundant!
Never take a writer for granted,
They are snipers, armed with thoughts and words,
Writers are the most dangerous vipers in this world,
The most intelligent actors, free birds,
Who can use sentences as swords!
They know how to aim with lines,
Plan with prose and target with rhyme
They teach the world, how to fire with paragraph
And use poetry like a gaff!
They know how to wipe tears,
And also take revenge through their verses.
Writers know how to immortalise their kills by poems
And even convey their love by poetry as medium.
They know how to suppress, they know how to express,
They know how to impress, they know how to protest.
With words they confess, they caress,
Hide their fears and tears, with letters and feelings in excess!
If you fall in love with a writer,
You’ll never die at all,
Create enmity with a writer,
Then you create your own prestige to fall!
O’ the houseflies in my dine
Craving noodles like a vine
Licking through my milk-bowl line
Once you taste that’s no more mine.
That’s no fine!
O’ the mosquito in my bed
I’ve no All Out, no mosquito shed
Nothing such to lay you dead
But you got be malaria-fed!
That’s so dread!
O’ the cockroach in my bathroom
I never used Odonil or a broom
To get your honour face its doom
But you chased me out so soon
You get no boon.
O’ the wasp in my garden
Won’t spare you, you’re no burden
You’ve bitten me thrice in life
That stung like the butcher’s knife
Your buzz do not please my mind
For I know you’re hatred-bind
For which now, I’m no kind.
My inner beings by now abide
Embrace the power of insecticide
What good does pride do?
Alone in the world it leaves you.
If the trees had pride,
Where shall the birds have gone?
Oxygen and air we might have none.
If the clouds had pride,
There’d have been no rain
Prayers and chanting just in vain.
If the earth had pride,
We might have fall
None to bear the burden of us all.
If the moon had pride,
There’d have been no silvery night
Darkness must have given us fright.
‘You’ and ‘me’ lets forget the difference
Accept this truth and become good friends.
she took some selfies
the existence of
or heartiness within.
First selfie had
a dark region
as she used to say ‘I have it’.
it had someone else’s shadow
as a Shikhandi,
like she used to keep
against some, driving from back.
followed few selfies
her mindset exactly is.
some times over confident
many times lack self-confidence
some times dramatically down to earth
many times a Nautanki…
to see all these,
the experiment of
if there is
a drop of heartiness
At that moment,
shut themselves Off
‘we cant help you
the dark region of your heart is
you thought to be
in your vision ‘.
we close our eyes’.
she watched the image
In no time,
lost its charge
‘never use me
to find you again.
you are not genuine,
leave me alone…
never to see you again…
Death chasing me, I chase your beauty with
Never say die passion not so hard but delicate
Place of your heart,
But bad intentions spread all over
Not let one step toward each other
No sign of blinking is enough, to live on
Bonded beliefs signed on paper seems
Humiliation of relation
And ask anybody for a cup of tea and chat
Feels underestimating cheap like whore
And what is exposed and disclosed self bio
So both never dare to ask and uncertain
Of positive reply from, live safe in moral
Trap very better
Losing one unique chance of meeting of two souls
Like two planets encounter after thousand years
Yearnings only, found no shelter to die fearlessly
In the back-yard,
Spontaneous and talent-wise
Boundary, over boundary, single and others-
Each and every lively act of the magical bat
Enchanted the tumultuous crowd
To feel sporting in every winning or losing moment,
Emotional in their heartfelt expression
And proud to be a part of inspirational history.
In the front-yard,
The same thrilling act is still on-
But quite synthetic and script wise,
Well performed by a commercial rod
Ensnaring the luxurious mind and foolish brain
To feel more hilarious,
To become ever-blind
And compelled to be a part of a story-
Conceived and written by a non-sporting hand.