Each who has wronged me does deserve to be abhorred.
And so, not once will I ever want to think that
No one’s my foe and that world’s friendly, lovely, great.
For I’m quite strongly of this sound opinion that
There’s no mates in the real world that we dwell in.
I saw thy awed eyes loudly doubting me
Isled, raw thy flawed sighs howled, in silence yelled
Eyed flawed, awful lies ruining me, thee
Thy augured thoughts then soundly themselves quelled.
On top of me life’s comedy- those jokers
in the deck that wreck our focus,
off my centre, miss the locus,
that’s the way they think they broke us,
propaganda from the POTUS,
all the things they think that ‘woke us
don’t mean shit to laid-back smokers.
The author, who can speak a bit of Spanish and Welsh besides swearing in Punjabi, thanks to his Indian friends at school, also stresses while accepting the reality might be hard, if one does accept, then it will take the sting off the inevitable rejections and negative reviews that all authors get. ‘With rejections, try to be level-headed when they land. First consider whether they are sincere, or whether they are just a form rejection with little thought or substance behind them. If they are sincere, then study them carefully, take on board the comments and try to learn,’ he explains, adding, ‘This is especially important if those rejections go into specific detail about what did and didn’t work. Try and see this as honest advice from top people within the industry, which, in any other scenario, you would probably be paying good money for.’
I clutch little baby hands, his body wrapped in a hospital sheet.
It’s blue and red – much like his skin; my baby.
His face is the image of peace, but there’s something
not right in the silence of it all. They take him and hide him
away from my desperate eyes, but it’s a loud silence
that has my whole chest-bursting at the ribs.
I beg every god I know that he might breathe.
Soon enough we did notice some huntsmen with arrows, bows,
Who looked keen to put rollicking, glad deer yon day to death;
So like soldiers who safeguard the borders, we formed two rows
In hope we could stall each man that did tread with baited breath.
He does inhabit rooms that oft look like glooms,
Oh! But he prizes all he’s got, come what may.
He visits us with brooms, helps each man who dooms,
But I find it sad that he has got no say.
The few months that we were compelled to stay home,
He came, collected our dirt, greeted all in warm tone.
What transpired after resembled a movie scene in slow-motion. She was running to the end of the cliff, and he was standing still at first, for there was nothing he could do that would stop her. She was going to take the deadly leap to end it all! He gathered the strength to run after her like a lion chasing a deer. She though had already jumped into the air. She had widened her arms, taking the light away from the Sun as if she were a cursed angel.
His eyes are white, his hair is green
His nose and ears are super clean
While walking on his fingers weak
He never permits his mouth to speak
He buys books at the garment shop
At garment shops he books a mop
He gets paid just one time a year
And he lives his life in no fear
And when morning was unfurled,
I did open my eyes to sight
Blueness of the sky so deep and grand
That revealed the Saviour’s power and might.
And I wondered then if there was some site
Where His great vision might never land;
I cognised soon there wouldn’t be light
if He left our little world.
Yon day we did feel the nature’s rage
When the city was hit by a storm;
And like puppies in a little cage,
We were locked, confined well to our dorm.
Oh, we heard the thunder’s rowdy dance
That did put us in a wondrous trance.
Time, a faithful companion
provides calmly expected answers.
observe the tiny things near to you,
then amplify your view,
move on with speedy pace,
placing your eyes on the wide horizon.
Alter the vision to comprehend
life’s design is never defined.
My failing to punctuate a sentence is both intentional and inability
Yet times my word power
So limited crept on repeating on the same tree
Like a bougainvillaea
With pale colours
But the critical acclaim but partial yet times
Fuelled my expressive venture like an adventure
Let this year rouse the knight in you that sleeps;
Each moment let the wakened you rejoice.
New days will bring new beginnings in leaps;
Year after year you will attain more poise.
Make wise decisions, let there be no hate;
You will obtain what you desire, my mate.
The excitement of knowing that Christmas was near
A scent you could smell in the air
That innocence of childlike hoping
To reap all your dreams would dare
The anticipation of Christmas Eve
Of waking to the perfect gift
Of music with bells, and Christmas roast smells
Perhaps you may even experience that which transcends our mortal pleasures for one fleeting moment by the one who keeps you warm at night. I have silently accepted I may never. Never have I tasted that of angels. The most I have ever experienced was to have held hands with one for one moment in time, suspended in memory, a memory that partially exists and partially does not. If I were to tell you how I think of you, what I think of you, you’d be frightened.
Carrying gifts, comes the Santa;
He guffaws upon seeing us.
Riddling and giggling, he dances,
Illuded by the merry fuss.
Santa shakes the bag he carries,
Times each move ere catching a bus
Merry Christmas! He hoys cool gifts.
And says, ‘You shall grow happy thus.’
Shouts of elation now, no fuss.
Cyclical are storms of sadness
Starsheen parts the clouded skies
Eternal is the endless ocean
Fading are the tides