good Love measure memories. Poetry

The Father’s Day To Me.

It  is Father’s day

seem to me very different

we had in our days

no such events

yet we loved our fathers

did not tell them loudly

admiration and respect we had  together

nothing into the cloudy

it was a subtle appreciation

we nurtured  secretly in our minds

Father to us was a creation

with much authority in a kind

we nestled close to our mothers

fathers stood a little aside.

Coming to my father

his immaculate white attire

caught all eyes rather

never seen him in any other colour

not very tall in stature

posted a smile always

that  undoubtedly won over

the hearts of many in everyway

a  gentleman to the core

dynamic and impressive in posture

sported a  twinkle in his eyes

could write a beautiful brochure

about his routine and ways .

Anyhow I remember him today

not for his genoristy or love

the measure he adopted  in a way

especially towards me in a proof

had made me what I am today

independent and stern in attitude

let me end with good old memeories

as they alone would make anyone k6094394happy.

farewell. Poetry

The Wish To fold

As years run in speed

the vision of death appears near

feel a full life has been lived  indeed

it is time to pack the bags , my dear.


Recollections lead to a composure

the days gone were lively in a charm

wish to enable a foreclosure

could that not bring no harm?

Reliving the past is a task chronic

the agility has dissapiated

an enactment of the past will be ironic

as the energy has depleted.

Death stares at me for long

smilles at me with a satisfaction

I reciprocate with a song

set to music with  a joyful reflections.


I Am A Stone

Confusion keeps me locked

my thoughts are blocked

my mind is cloaked

my heart is rocked

my voice is choked

I stare at the stone

well, I myself astonem a stone.