Poetry thoughts

Worth a million

“I do not have time “.quoth he

” I have to squeeze through”  he adds

” I have to rush through everything” he  fills up


I watch him with an amazement

running through all in a scuttle

no time to stand and admire.


Time flies in a speed for him

it moves moderately for me

he a millionaire all the way.


Never do you feel I am a pauper

I am richer than him by millions

I have time  to stand and stare.


Stand and stare I at the rose

their petals unfold in flows

they shine with a glow.


Hear and listen I to the musical charm

the songs open up with a warmth

they resonate with  no qualms.


Read and write I with a passion

look with pride  at my creation

one day they would be a sensation.


I am worth a million more

count all my credits being four

see, hear, write and enjoy to the core.











I Hear Gunshots.

I hear gunshots not in real

 it might sound very unreal
the blasts and firings in my place
 never do happen even in a phase.
I hear gunshots not in real
I hear them though being unreal
I read about them in the news
they cause an inexplicable rue.
I hear gunshots not in real
they thunder all around in real
a firing in Paris all of a sudden
killing many even in a garden.
I hear gunshots not in real
bursts with an onslaught  in real
a Russian plane falls down  unexpectedly
hundreds lose their life momentously.
I hear gunshots not in real
an attack planned meticulously in real
suspicion circumscribes an extremists ploy
fourteen succumb in  the deadliest deploy.
I hear gunshots not in real
I hear them though being unreal
my place being far and away
should never turn insecure in a way.
I hear gunshots not in real
I hear them though being unreal
every place should enjoy peace as such
never  be under fear of terrorism  in much.


heart. Poetry

It Is A Call

It is a call I hear
very close to my ear
all through the year
not one with fear.

It is a call I hear
it is not a call mere
all from the rear
one from the dear.

It is a call I hear
not one from the peers
it is one with tears
comes from near.

It is a call I hear
it sounds very clear
comes from my heart
well within my part.


The Sounds We Hear.

The sounds we hear every day

distract us in a way

the crow caws early in the morn

 could it be a wake up call

 no , even more before you say

 the cock strikes with a cock a doodle doo

 mind you it is the cock 

 not the clock that strikes harsh

 the chirping of sparrows 

 with a twitter gay and musical 

 invigorates the dawn in its rise

 over to the afternoon

 there be a lull of silence 

perhaps a faint cry somewhere 

 the evening resumes the chant

 the birds are in full form

 return they to the nests

 the hoot and shout of the owl

accompanies the darkness of the night 

 send a frightful feel down the spine

with them the animals too join

 though  the orchestra completes a round 

 the men and their gadgets 

stream up to the bustle 

the  rhythm loses its cadence

as the menfolk enter with a bang

 the horn and the speakers 

 decibels range high 

 force a fall out from nature 

harmony is lost cock

 finally Man is the great destroyer










The Haemorrhage.

The allegations at an age
the criticism at a period
the attack at a time
when the spirits are down
cause a havoc unbearable.

Never have seen smooth sail
Never have experienced a flow
Never have heard a kind word
all through the days hay and old.

The scathe and scorn in volumes
scrap the heart of its tenderness
the sore is so ulcerative
it bleeds internally copiously.

The haemorrhage accounts for a stumble
a withdrawal from the kith and kin
might be also from the child too
as it clogs and tarnishes the feel.

The cast away from society at large
the pull away from the near and dear
makes one find solace in the lifeless
that of read and write in design.lonely_leaf_left_alone

The words pop out with animation
laugh and talk with cheer
console with a smothering rhythm
care with cordial solicitation.


Nothing Be There

Nothing there is as much as we imagine

nothing there is as much as we see

nothing there is as much as we hear

nothing there is as much as we feel

there is nothing at all

as time passes into memory

as the impressions fade away

as the scenery gets distempered

as the tale becomes obsolete

as the experience turns outdated

really there is nothing  at all everywhere download (40)


I Do Write.

I do write .
I try to write.
To let me see the world
not through eyes
but through my write.

I do write.
I try to write
to let me hear things
not through my ears
but through my write.

I do write
I try to write
to make me talk
not through my voice
but through my write.
Well I do write
I try to write
to initiate a feel
not through the physical
but through my write.

Yes that makes me write.
I do write.
I try to write.

Actions bad good Poem

Good And Bad.

Seeing through the eyes.
Saw lot of things pleasant.
Saw lot of things unwanted
Hearing with the ears.
Heard lot of talk cordial
Heard lot of talk rude.
The good and bad live
in peace andgood and bad serenity
unmindful of the surroundings
It is for us to take
that which is apt.