mother outburst Poetry smile triumphant.

I Adhere To My Mother’s Advice

Where have you been?

quoth my mother

I go nowhere she knows throughout

still she asks so day in and day out.

A strict mother she was all through

her eyes always behind me

none could escape her watch

quick she was able to catch.

A good taskmaster she had been

rigorous in her coaching of subjects

excelled she in grammar and language

a small tense  mistake was enough to enrage.

Drew she so well and beautiful

taught me the lines and sketch

I proved a perfect foil

her chidings forced  me to recoil.

Music was her strength  and passion

an accomplished veena player she   was

I rose up to a level of  expectations

never did I indulge in any improvisations.

Listened to her always with attention

the determination was her forte

much more did I yearn  to be like her  in all

could not reach her heights  being a call.

The advice I received was not one  in the flow

it was  much idealism I imbibed from her

the most relevant being to be firm all through

whatever might be the course in true.

It happened so on one  occasion

I broke down and cried all the way

unable to bear me crying so bitterly

she  embraced me so warmly.

Never did she ask the reason

kept patting me for long

her fingers flowed through my hair

that way she extended care.

I folded and fell on her lap

only to be cajoled and coaxed all the more

I could not suppress my outburst

out came my hurt in expressions, not the best.

Having  declared as the first rank holder

with a gold medal to deign forth

I came to know there was another one in the helm

being slotted to the coveted status of the realm.

My heart tore apart with a fierce disappointment

so far I was the only one in the field

how did another come up so sudden

left me in an unusual burden.

Hoping my mother would cry with me

looked up to find her reaction

smiled she with a condescendence

a little twinkle flashed with a reference.

She took my arms with such affection

squeezed my hand with a feeling

” buck up my child”mother comforting daughter  she broke the silence

you are still in the race more so in reverence.

Competition is always there in life

win or lose is the game  we see all through

you have won  and you would be triumphant

if you embolden and stay away from being rampant.

I did succeed that entry with flying colours

many more laurels came in my way

why the mother I loved so much turned hostile

yet I pursued  with a diligence and succeeded in an exile.

“I am participating in the #SachchiAdvice Contest by MaxLife in Association with BlogAdda.”

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Many Many Ways

waysThere is a way to live with dignity and pride
There is a way to speak with sense and sequential tide.
There is a way to behave interacting with love and charming smile
There is a way to write penning with substance and style.
There is a way to learn mastering with grace and skill.
There is a way to think deliberating with depth and differential fill.
There is a way to eat partaking with etiquette and delight.
There is a way to walk sauntering with gait and steps light.
There is a way to sit relaxing with comfort and in form.
There is a way to sleep lying down with modesty and decorum.
There is a way to dress clothing decently and without enticement.
Thee is certainly a way to die breathing out with peace and contentment.
There are ways for all things whether they be great and small.

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The New Born

Woke up in the morn,

to the tune of a song.

The sun  mirthfully shone,

amidst the gleeful throng.

There was a mild sound,

which came along.

That expressed in a  lovely tone,

an arrival of a new-born.


Crying in full throat,

the babe made the entry.

Alerting everyone with a short

sharp  notes similar to a sentry.

Revitalising the surrounding

with a charming frenzy.

That brought out  aloud,

the arrival of  the new-born.




The anticipation turned out

to a passionate excitement.

The anxiety converted itself

into a delightful predicament.

There  arose a tranquillity

embedded in peace and contentment.

That delivered in all serenity,

the arrival of the new-born.





Actions Experience feelings Looks smile Speech subscriptions turmoil

The Dimensions Of Half.

The conspiracy  hatched  is half way through.

The dealing is a  half-hearted attempt in view.

The discussion seems to be  half over without a clue.

The outcome is dead, half dead , true.


He enters the scene  with half a mind

He seems to be half awake not totally blind.

He looks half mad without a slightest bind.

He is partially  half dumbfounded  delivering nothing kind.




Half of anything looks good.

Half of anything appears  bad too.

Half of all things describes plenty.

Half of all things  depict a frugality  too


The price quoted is  only half the value.

  Proposing an arbitrary half pursue.

The fixation would bring half the revenue.

Recording  an unproductive reconciliation all through.





The lips curve half denoting a weary smile.

The eyes cast a half look expressing a guile.

The speech is half-baked exposing a frivolous pile.

The gait is half  strained illustrating a peevish style.


 The idea half usurps the feasibility most often.

The thought half pitches every now and then.

The outcome  half delineates an uneasiness in turn.

The plausibility of half directs an unsure  enthusiasm solemn.


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The Dance of Little Meenu.

Little Meenu was singing all by herself.

She was dancing all by herself.

She was the  star performer that day

She was the best dancer all the way.


Meenu was  singing at the top of her voice.

Her imagination extended beyond  her toys.

Nursery rhymes were her best choice.

She set them to her own tune with rejoice.

Round and round she went in  steps slow.

She  danced merrily to the melodious flow.

It was both western and oriental in one blow.

Her singing and dancing made her glow.


Her first line was “row,row,your boat”.

It was followed by “are you sleeping ” in a float.

She went back to “row, row, your boat”

She then sang   “Baa,Baa Black sheep” as an end note.


Meenu covered the  big  stage with ease.

Her movements were  soft as a snowy fleece.

Her melody was like a  soft breeze.

Her recital was an impressive feast.

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Life Is To Give.

Life is to give out liberally.

It is not a reciprocal take strictly.

Live without any expectations nearly.

Life is beautiful with tremendous potentiality.


A child is a gift of God.

She has to grow up with a nod.

It is her life be it odd.

The way to live is her prod.


It is the parental duty to bring her up .

Affection and discipline make her reach high up.

Tending to her is an interesting close up.

No more should be expected than this one up.


Be that with your children more so.

The same holds good with your parents also.

It should be the principle in your life ever so.

Expecting nothing from anybody for whatever so.


Content is King goes the saying generally.

It is for a different context say you smilingly.

To me it is contentment that precedes  others normally.

It is a special enthusiasm that evolves gracefully.









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A Smile Is A Smile.

A smile is a smile to me,

it is an expression of happiness,

It looks so to me,

See beyond it,say many

There would be a tinge of joy,

There would be a trace of melancholy,

it would bear an outline of anger,

it would conceal a violent temper,

it would camouflage ignorance,

it would also hide a vengeance,

If that is so, I feel,

the smile is no longer a smile.