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.
Let each thought causing you harm now cease; strong and brave you shall be!
Not brooding on what’s past does sound wise; exactly what we feel.
The acts you do are not done by you; there’s forces you hardly see.
Fruit, therefore, you’ll not seek even once; let’s just term all this deal!
Askew went the planning
Because of our notions,
Caused lots of lamenting
Did soil our emotions;
Edged then were our portions
Facetious was fought fight,
Gone feelings then lotions
Helped both to become light.
The crashing of the waves
Pummels the sandy beach
And blasts the granite rocks
As the spray swamps the realm
You tell me you know best,
That there’s none that can best you;
Shall I put you to test
So I could find out what’s true?
There are days when I oft rue
The friendship we did share
When does come a blazing loo
That tells me you don’t care.
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.
Here’s Pongal, a festival that celebrates the Sun’s glory, might
Observed well by Indians, its epicentre sure being south
In mainly a state that bears those who employ an old tongue to mouth
Their praises and plaudits to yon great and mighty Sun giving light.
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.
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.
Every poet, without a shadow of a doubt, wants to be appreciated and acknowledged. However, little do many self-proclaimed poets know there exist different kinds of poets just like there are different kinds of poetic forms. While ‘poet’ seems to be the most commonly used term to denote someone who composes poems, it is very much possible to categorise poets. After you read this post, we believe you will get to know the category you belong to; so if you’re ready, get going!
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.
Why so special a man really is?
For his feelings, actions, power to pursue, learn and teach!
Feelings of love, a major chunk of human thought;
Eros instils such feelings mostly, modulates sperm to zygote!
Oh, the words to write of love
I think you must already know’em.
Deep desire, heart and soul
Would have to go into this poem
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
Where has the humanity gone?
Have looked everywhere but in vain!
Is it frosted by the winter’s snow
Or washed by the summer’s rain?