Tuesday, 24 April 2018


Truth cannot be eroded;
Iron nests in concrete foundation
Choose to be brown, time passed.
Moisture junks on surface,
None has, it is reported, any origin,
Yet living like a king.  
They are picked up for puzzled game,
They do not fond of the coercion,
And they are at moratorium,
Still hope is there:
Truth cannot be eroded.

Sunday, 22 April 2018


A bit of the nature,
A bit of life,
A bit of human touch,
All make light and soul,
A celebration of Earth Day, we follow.  

Sunday, 8 April 2018


Picture Credit: Bluebell Books Twitter Club 
Long ago, there was once love, she was young,
Live with sensation, but his speeches held up,
Line of words, book of openness fell apart,
Loss of spirit, to talk with her became silent,
Lingering, courage demurred, fear got momentum,
Lest she would not speak to him, feeling ignored.

Like prayers, he stood alone like sorrowful morning,
Listening to her words uttered to someone else who
Little spoke, and he did not understand if it was
Large for one’s talks of service above their company,
Long, perhaps longer, he waited to talk with her,
Lying alone, on shore for holding everything in
Love, to take her as lady of his heart, no jealousy,
Lined up, he preferred to promise for journey,
Life’s partner for all time on utterance of priests,
Letting values of a husband to say wisdom honor.

Long time passed, and now she is sitting, before him,
Leaning in a sofa of the banquet hall with her daughter,
Looking at her, he thinks past is a brief moment,
Loving someone for all time is pleasing and forgiving.

Thursday, 29 March 2018


Photo Credit: Hyde Park Poetry, Thursday Poets Rally week 86

I am waiting for her, a lady-beauty, to meet first,
When evening is emblazoned with flood lights,
The street is busy, cars, taxies, AC, non-AC buses,
Pedestrians make way through running vehicles,
And at the time of meeting in this road-crossing,
One young lady just appears before me, from crowd,
And says, “Madam will not meet you, Sir,
She is frightened; you have such a big tummy,
Odd looking against odd looking, so sorry she is.”

I return home, look at my body in the mirror,
Geometrical figure is not shaped, curved like the very
Alphabet ‘a’ with short legs, not attractive, disgusting,
I cannot control the pant, fitted with belt, not to slip out,
I go to doctor for working out how to shape, to build
A figure with manly curves, muscles, no pot belly,
It is to be a painting work on canvas by an artist.

Doctor just advices,
“You have to take small quantity of meals, two times,
A little tiffin, snacks, all to be nutritious, balanced food,
A cup of rice, veg curry, a lot of fish, salads, one apple,
One pomegranate, to be included in menu, and a little exercise.” 

Most food to be prepared at home, no restaurant food,
Not to eat from foot-path eateries, not to take much
Carbohydrates, only living protein to be eaten in home,
It is not easy to shape body like painting work of artist
Such body I do have immerges into breathing problem,
And it is like calling death before time that bears natural.

I am at a crucial point to break my body’s drowned fitness.

Monday, 26 March 2018


Picture Credit: Blue bell books.blogspot.short-story-slam-week-86

Kids are gentle in the morning light,
Being innocent, they enjoy every moment,
While playing, keeping mind pure as light,
In their endless searching and learning with
Elders who help them to train nascent minds
To know the truth to find plucking of apples
In the orchard is like gathering knowledge
About life and nature and bees, altogether,
Those hold history, story, poetry and
Thus they move into speeches of God’s men,
And know good persons, who say about truth,
About light, day and night thus created for
Distinguishing what it is good or evil
And they learn talking about good things.

They will sacrifice for others who love them.

Sunday, 11 March 2018


                                                Photo Credit: Blue Bell Books Twitter Club

There are two little children - one boy and one girl - both are of six years’ old, playing in a children’s park in a spring afternoon, some conversation is there between them from innocent talks, to know each other’s pretty minds:

“Where do you live?” says she, “Far away in that direction.  We go by auto-rickshaw.”
He points out little fingers towards east.

- “Who takes you here? My mother is there.” she points out to one beautiful lady sitting on a lawn- chair a little far away.

- “My grandpa comes with me.” says the little boy.

The little girl takes a glance at the old aged man with silvered hair, standing nearby.

- “Where is your mother?” She said,

- “My mother goes on a long duty, she cannot come. She will return home next day after four mornings.” He says.

By this time, mother of the girl calls her daughter and takes her away from the children’s park. The boy stands stoned with a glance on the way they have gone away from the park.

Every playing is sweet,
And everyone plays a part in it.
Parting away isn’t pardonable,
Flower shreds something
We have touched,
Perfume in deep sensation
Left behind by flower’s kindness,
A gift we receive with warmth of heart.
It reminds us a paradise
Where we feel warmth and kindness
And leave it with some
Sweet memory, the little boy perceives.

Monday, 26 February 2018


Poem - 12

The sun promises to appear, crimson red,
Cool, round, vivid, pleasant, vibrant, stoic,
Everyone on the beach picked phone-cameras
To click buttons to picturize the entire scene.

The young couple stood close face to face
A little space between for taking snap of her,
He took phone-camera to clear her full view,
Positional crave on the phone-monitor, for

High definition resolution output, turned on,
A short-lived posture, worth much, pieces of
Strong memory, to be picturized for love, and
Created by him for song of love, on beach.

By the event for loving hearts, she is quiet,
And leans to photogenic position, like wonder
Of water flowing and seeking way to stratum
To see more, to feel more, and to learn more,

About him who waves changes in her eyes,
Where she finds noble performance, and
He goes without a word with her terms of
Dedication and someone takes him for her.