My Mother

Posted on Leave a commentPosted in Poet's Corner

MY MOTHER IS A LIVELY LADY,
AND A LADY SMART,
HER LOOKS ARE DAINTY,
AND SHE LIKES TO GO TO THE MART.

INSPITE OF BEING A TEACHER,
SHE IS ALSO A HOMEMAKER,
SHE HAS GOT A WONDERFUL PERSONALITY,
AND ALSO A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOUR.

HER VOICE IS LIKE LATA,
HER FACE IS LIKE THE CRESCENT,
HER HANDS ARE PRETTY MAGICAL,
SHE IS, FOR ME, THE BEST PRESENT.

SHE LOVES TO HAVE CHOCOLATE,
CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT TEA,
IS FOND OF MOVIES ‘n’ PARTIES,
SHE IS THE BEST FOR ME.


A Poem by Devika Sapra(Aged 12 years) dedicated to her
mother 
Neetu Gandhi Sapra

Reborn

Posted on 1 CommentPosted in Poet's Corner

There are paths we tread
that dispel our gloom
cleanse our hearts
bring brightness anew
people are memories
sweet, true and gay
mistakes we made
redemption and amnesty.

Life gives us a chance
our soul is reborn
reborn to live and laugh
reborn to soar the skies.

By Rhea Singh

Scope

Posted on 1 CommentPosted in Poet's Corner

They told me it is a beautiful world,
And this is a beautiful dream.
Eyes painted with hurt,
And I heard them scream.
What’s the scope?

Father tells us tales about good,
The bad were never understood.
Then I wondered why he told us about good?
When the good is so far away from where it should.
What’s the scope?

There she was,
Asking me to lend her a black dress.
Her fiancé lies in the room,
In the casket, he died a wonderful groom.
What’s the scope?

I hope they find ink somewhere to write,
To complete their incomplete stories and fights.
Because we stood together for all of them.
The achy voice and the fearful glum.
What’s the scope?

Staring at the ceiling,
Fighting with the feelings.
City imprisoned by fear so was I.
The city fell asleep crying so did I.
What’s the scope?

What’s the scope?
The hope and the faith,
The love that never fades
The time that is worth a while
To end this and wrathful night
What’s the scope?


Poem by

Anonymous

Featured Image :

Neha Sharma

I am your Poem

Posted on Leave a commentPosted in Poet's Corner, Story

I am the sketch of your thought,
The ink of your heart,
The carrier of your words,
And the synopsis of your belief.

I am created
from the array of emotions never made public,
The phase never spoken,
The parallel thought that made up half the reality,
And the weirdos you call realization.

I am the companion during your swings,
The keeper to your memorable memento,
The safe to your tears,
And the backer to your smile
as you grow.

I am the one you rely on
to relieve you of all the burden and pain inflicted,
to guide you through times tough and demanding,
and to hear you when no one has ears anymore
for you’ve grown up a person now.

For time might’ve settled for a smaller pace,
The world knows by now and so do you.
It’s here, Yes it is.
I’d still put up a face brave and tough,
I’d be your last breathe,
They call it the final expression, the last words.

It’s been a while now since you’re gone.
People say you’re dead,
I refuse to believe so,
I know you’re still there, somewhere inside me,
Inside the compilation of your life- The Told and the Untold,
The page never seen, the side never considered.

I am a poem,
I am your poem,
The casket of your life,
And I live on, so do you.

A Random Thought

Posted on Leave a commentPosted in Poet's Corner

A random thought, as it may have occurred usually,
Lend me your attention for a min or two.

Have you wondered how this compilation could’ve reached your attention and it’s field of view,
When it may have got nothing much to do with you.

Ever wondered how some randomness of some random words from a random brain,
Could do great, or could go down easily in vain.

Well, randomness here and how can someone forget this world,
Yes, in a world where every second brings up a random domain,
And with it, some random happiness and some pain,

A dozen old ethics and duties to commit,
Whether in bright sunlight, or rooms dimly lit.

You live random, move random, speak random,
To find nothing but a random trend to follow, which you term as your daily pick,

Where you face a random bastard many a time,
And still perform him a smile, and throw him some sweet words to lick.

Where you love the ruby, and throw yourself in a nascent valence band.

But before the ruby’s taken up, clap for yourself,
As there may have been no glitter in it, if there wasn’t you – It’s constituent sand.

 

Bring out some time,
From your so planned but still, in at the end of the day – a random life,

To praise the breathes you take in,
To honestly praise your losses, your wins.
To praise the load you carry so far,
To praise even if any wreck you are.
To praise your feelings, praise your emotions,
Praise your existence and in the end praise and pass this random notion,

For much said and maybe still many more things to include,

Applaud the randomness of this line or not, I hereby conclude…

Breeze

Breeze, It was just a Breeze

Posted on Leave a commentPosted in Poet's Corner, Story

Breeze,
It was just a Breeze
That struck me one day.

Dawn
Was all I could make out
From my eyes just opened.
For I had a whole day that lied ahead
Journey was its name I coined.
Inexperienced, ill-trained I set my eyes on it.
From a side, extended a hand
Emotions played their part, I stood up and joined.

Hours passed by,
Noon came too soon.
My legs were weak, but fit enough for the streak.
I saw the breeze tremble a hundred times, but never failed to fit my old rhymes.
I saw it stop altogether, later flow again,
Again it stopped, flew again,
And again and again.
I ceased to count.

Dusk
Was all I could make out now,
From my eyes tired and teary
For the day that passed by
Journey was its name I coined.
Experienced, well-drilled now, I glanced back at the day.
I saw the hand retreat and depart,
Emotions played their part,
I fell down.
My legs, both of them dead.

Breeze
It was just a breeze,
That struck me one day.


By Lakshay Dhupar