Tag Archives: poem

The Sea

Poetry has been a consistent part of my life, first reading and then writing. Though if someone would have said that I could try writing poems, a year back, I would have rolled my eyes and said, “Yeah, right!” Not that I have become very confident of my pieces, but I have come as far as trying to share them and be judged.

So, judge away a small poem that has been accepted for publication by Indian Periodical:

The Sea

Do share with me what you think about this. It is always amazing to hear from you, and helpful to hear an honest opinion.

magic

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सूरज से गुफ्तगू #7

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क्या यार तुम आज फिर चुप गये
देखो ये रोज रोज का रूठना मनाना नहीं चलेगा
तुम्हारा रोज यु हमसे दूर जाना नहीं चलेगा.
हमने तो कभी कहा नहीं की हमे बारसात पसंद है
हमे तो तुम्हारी वो दूर से भेजी रंगीन आहट ही पसंद है
हमने कब कहा की हमे वो पेड़ से टूट ते पत्ते पसंद है
हमे तो वो ढलती शाम के बेहतरीन बादल ही पसंद है
हमने कब कहा की हमें वो कीचड़ में छप-छपाये पैरों के निशाँ पसंद है
हमे तो तुम्हे देख कर शर्म से लाल होना ही पसंद है.

 

थोड़ी और गुफ्तगू: सूरज से गुफ्तगू #6

 

Illusion or Authenticity!

I dreamt

I dreamt of beautiful things

I dreamt with open eyes.

All my life I was taught

To dream big

Fly high

And so with open eyes

I dreamt of open skies.

Of peace, calm

And of little love.

I have dreamt of inane faith

And believed

That everything will find its way.
Oh- I pictured everything

Of what I wanted

Of dreams that kept me haunted.

What and how and why and when

I thought of everything

That will in reality

Happen again.

The smiles

Engraved

The twinkling eyes

Unscathed

Like a novice, I was in my imagination,

Engaged!

I dreamt of everything

Didn’t leave anything.

Every tiny detail

From today, tomorrow,

And yesterday.

Oh- I sinned.

Oh- I dreamt big.

Dreams don’t come true

Now reality will

Teasingly bite on you.

But wait-

It all came true.

It all did.

What and how and why and when

Every magical kiss again

Everything the way

My open eyes had engraved.

No detail left

And love no more bereft.

Only, there was a little alteration

Everything happened

The way it was meant to be.

The way my heart wanted to see.

But for that one little thing

A tiny little fling.

The dream did come true

Just the way I had thought through

Only-

Only when it came to reality

The dream was not meant for me.

The what

The how

The why

The when

All became a living reality

Only not for me.

Someone else came in a swift

And lived my dream

Instead of me.

Was it not

My dream?

It all happened

Just the way I wanted

But I did not live it.

Jealousy and anger- My sin

I am only human after all.

For years I pined for those wings

And just as I was about

To touch them

Someone came and plucked them away.

My dream

Shattering into million little pieces

Tears brewing in my hollow eyes

But I can’t move.

The dream is all I had

Towards which I slogged

And with that gone

I am nothing but a meek fawn.

I am only a human after all

Succumbing to a painful fall

Lost in an empty desert

Where, in darkness

I howl, “It hurt.”

The Mystical Pishogue.

I am meek

I am mild.

I am an emblem of docile.

 

I am innocent

I am polite.

I am an insignia of comply.

 

I am submissive

I am conceding.

I am an image of yielding.

 

I am sweet

I am honest.

I am a metaphor of a lonely forest.

 

I am kind

I am tolerant.

I am of all these, a conglomerate.

 

I am I.

I am what I am.

A fable in a flesh.

 

I am I.

I am what I am.

A conceited allegory in oneself.

 

The Crazy Woman.

I am loving this amazing American poet/author, not to forget her amazing works of literature. This is a poem I had a chance to read and once again my heart cheated on my other favourites. So, I daringly declare that I love this crazy woman too. 😀

I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I’ll wait until November
And sing a song of gray.

I’ll wait until November
That is the time for me.
I’ll go out in the frosty dark
And sing most terribly.

And all the little people
Will stare at me and say,
“That is the Crazy Woman
Who would not sing in May.”

Gwendolyn Brooks.

A new poet, and a new poem for me.

Do share your views on this poem.