A token of love
a small gift of love
with words of a wish
would extend a bliss
could not be explained
with wordings plain
could only be experienced
with feelings intense.
The plain and frank you are
the stronger you could be
with nothing to hide behind you
you stand a chance to win.
The most secretive you are
the weaker you could be
with almost everything to conceal
you are prone to lose.
Do not think I preach
I say what I do
I move with an understanding
never too short of discerning.
I talk not about others
either in public or private
I have a lot to do for myself
restrict from talking about others.
This way I live
the one fault I find with me
I expect others to be like me
that could not be anyway.
I like not others talk about me
I say not I am above all
As I do not talk about them
I wish not to be commented about.
I like to see the snow
and espy its vastness
white it lies all around
fluffy it looks in the course
enchanting it is to me
as I find in the pictures
fascinating it could be
if I see them in real.
The snow is cold and pure
a skate through the smooth layers
would be a refreshing glide in a slide
a whisk and a whizz through the snow
could be an experience in itself
as a child wanted to make snowballs
the wish is unfulfilled till this time
Would I see snow before I die?
Desperate I am to experience the snow fall
Know not why I have this sensitive call?
Snow, its whiteness holds me spellbound
its softness makes me wonder
this sheet of ice could be so marvellous
fortunate are those who live in snowclad mountains
deem myself to be blessed less from the rest
as I live away, far away from the lovely snow.
In a dilemma almost
being the idea foremost
the way to publish
and to establish
my status as a poet.
I know not where I am
ignorant of my poems’ reach
innocent of how people find it
I keep writing every day
with the hope of seeing the light.
I do not wish to self-publish
as I feel it is not credible
being blowing one’s own trumpet
I would be more than grateful
if any one extends an offer..
Is my wish too greedy?
Would I ever see my poems in a book/
Are they worthy to be printed?
goes on my mind with so many deliberations
Will I? will I? my heart cries.
Rivers are source of strength.
Some go dry almost in tenth.
Some flood most in length.
Others remain even at all fronts.
Rivers dry due to failure of rains.
Their runway turns parched creating a strain
Moss and mushroom grow extensively indicating a drain.
They turn into eyesores signifying a bane.
Rivers are in spate due to rainfall copious.
They cross the path in a speed dangerous.
They overflow with a velocity hideous.
The deluge causes disaster all through.
Linking of rivers has long been in the anvil.
This move would save all from evil.
It is a concept which remains idle.
Certainly this link would evade all blink.
Freaks are too many.
They look uncanny.
They speak high.
They work nigh.
Clean they call out.
They try to find out.
Seeing unclean spots
they create a shoot out.
Discipline they insist .
They enforce strict resist
Shortfalls they desist.
Raking a chaos all out.
Puritan they are.
They take everything too far.
Be it belief or attitude without bar.
They deal with an immediate mar.
Extending directions to the extreme
Seeking to churn out the cream,
they fumble and falter miserably in the stream.
Then coyly they hide their falls with a beam.
It was an anger.
It was a justifiable anger,
directed on those not meagre
who created a disaster
spoiling the environment to a shudder,
destroying the ambience to a bother
causing enmity in an hour
speaking foul with a fervour
disrespecting all with rigour
breaking rules with a hammer,
ignoring discipline in a trigger
indulging in unlawful acts with a deceit clever.
engaged in stealing with a devour,
involved in cheating with a smart demeanour,
accepting bribes with an amour,
conniving and conspiring with a lilting temper,
spreading unrest with a flavour
carrying on illicit trades almost ever,
letting out a smoke of pernicious danger.
