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
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
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 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.
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.
Leaves grow from trees.
Trees come up from the soil
Soil picks up the minerals from depth
Making it a natural sequence.
Eliminating anything artificial.
Poetry is spontaneous.
Coming out in speed at the moment
Jumping out with force from the heart.
Correlating the events to the full
Enabling a read most pleasant.
Words emerge with ease.
Clothing the thoughts with grace.
The rhythm flows gently.
Adorning the tone with tunes lively.
Making it an experience most memorable.
hours of work mount up.
years of labour fold again.
as the New Year embarks.
Each day is new.
every hour is fresh.
all years are delightful
as yet another New Year creeps in.
Looking back brings pain and joy
forging headway shows task and ease
past and present deliver loss and gain
as one more New Year is born.
Fire crackers resound in the sky.
The revelry breaks the placidity of the space,
as they sound a little odd and snobbish.
With that another New Year emerges.
Celebrations create a significant noise.
Partying and dancing take the toll
as expenditure multiplies geometrically
the New Year barges in with a bang.
Appreciating every minute for its value
Accepting every hour as precious
Counts up to admit every year as precious
unmindful of the New Year or not.
Let this be the underlying principle
Let this be the basis of welcoming
each hour and every minute
besides greeting the New year vociferously.