Tag Archive: Poetry


Doors

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An artist he was, his art was doors
Everyone preferred them, to protect their floors
Everyday he made one, using some colour new
Rahim preferred green, Ram preferred blue
The door-maker created beauty for all
His art was universal, adorning every wall !

Block

A writer’s nightmare – am I?
A pain on the roads – am I?
Sign of disruption – am I?
An end to consumption – am I?
Not sure who I am
Confusion at best
Or perhaps just an excuse for some rest

For you writer, I am a hindi movie villian indeed
To free your heroine – your imagination from my cluthes, you plead
Cause fighting me is no good, you know that well,
Just adds more moments to your personal hell
But I am just a mere block – to each his own
Seeking solace everywhere, but eventually disowned
Wouldn’t it be nice to be acknowledged not ignored or hated for a change,
if only my thoughts too someone can express
Just try writer, perhaps this will help you come out of your mess

Ignorance

Common friends were many,
Yet they noticed each other’s face.
Ignorance was mutual,
Still heartbeats increased in pace.

An incomplete tale was their past,
Feelings they thought would forever last…
But life had its twists and turns all along,
Soon the right choice faded… the relation seemed wrong.

"Mutual Breakup" was the diplomatic answer for friends,
"Moving on" to new beginnings leaving behind broken ends.
Both were happy in their own worlds now,
Yet social gatherings like these were still awkward somehow.

Ignorance though was a game well played,
Filmy situation it seemed, a Bollywood moment so swayed.
Background music was lacking, but drama persisted,
To even say a "Hi" – seemed a crime that both resisted.

And so went on a silent night…
Lovers had moved on, but two friends missed each other yet continued the fight 🙂

Lets start a brand new story !

Lets start a brand new story
Fresh page – blank, no past worry
Lets start with self, and weave a tale new
No baggage from the past, not even snippets few

Meet new people, make a new start
On the canvas of life, make some new art
An art focussing on self … listen to your inner-voice
Choose your own colours, don’t let others influence your choice

Not everyone can be pleased, nor will everyone leave
What matters most is that in one-self, one must believe
With self-belief, move ahead and live your new tale
It’s still a vast sea out there – unexplored, just reach out and sail

Sometimes the map proves wrong

Sometimes the map proves wrong
Distances short, are eventually long
Planned routes, may not be right
Destinations sought, may not be in sight

Waters shallow may turn deep too
Ships may steer on a course all new
Direction less and lost one may be
Caught in a journey, never to be free

Still the journey has a purpose, and that it will fulfil,
Wanderers will find ways ofcourse, there’s always a will
For maps may be faulty, directions wrong
Still every journey has an end, no matter how long

The travel then will be a tale to narrate,
Of experiences new, unknown to the world till date
New maps will be made easing wanderers new
The wanderer who survives the journey will help others too

An ode to Gautam Buddha

A prince in south Asia once,
Craved answers to questions many, didnt get a chance
Kept away for years from plight and sickness of many
He grew up, oblivious of troubles any

Until one day he saw sickness and death
Saw tears everywhere, old people he met
It troubled him a lot, what use were riches and pleasures of life
When death was an ultimate… old age and sickness for all was a common strife

How will then one find peace ?
How will one put a mind at ease ?
Bothered with these questions he left home,
In search of answers he began to roam.

Found renowned teachers, learned a lot
But still more answers he always sought
Atlast he meditated under a tree
Over there he was able to finally set his mind free

Won over his desires, was free from them all,
Jealousy, Anger, Greed, Fear, Lust and every troubled thought that could lead to one’s fall
A changed mind then.. led to a changed man,
Who changed the world around him, helped whoever he can

“You are.. what you believe you are !”, he said
Simple words, but profound effect they had
And so was born a messenger of peace
A saint who helped people put their minds at ease

Revered as a God, he was the best psychologist of his time,
Molded minds many, made even a killer shun crime
His teachings to this day are relevant infact,
Best practices always have the same impact!

And so ends a tale of the man who mastered the workings of a mind
Leading many ahead on the path to peace, losing all their pain behind !

An ode to Gautam Buddha – A prince, a warrior, a saint, a psychologist, a leader, a philosopher, a religious preacher and also a God !

Cranky Old John

Old man John worried a lot

Cribbed about life… never peace he got..

Cranky as usual.. he went on a walk,

And there in a park he heard someone talk..

 

" Life’s like that.. neither good nor bad

A coin’s two faces – one flip happy, one flip sad

Then why take stress in the happy phase..

Rather live high in the worst of days !

Don’t search for a meaning to life

Rather add one every moment.. That’s an easier strife .."

 

Cranky old John had new thoughts in his head

He never met that stranger.. but on the path shown by him, he now tread..

The Wanderer’s Peace…

A wanderer once travelled to find…
Through new experiences his peace of mind
Distant places he explored new..
Adventures too…he had his share few
But all awhile his goal still remained
Through experiences many…peace he hadn’t gained
He returned to his homeland…found estranged family, separated old friends…
Patched up relations…mended broken ends..
And so in the end..he found his peace..
Travel was terrific…but home was his final bliss !

Hope

He walked and kept walking all night,
In search for the fabled divine light..
No light shone.. darkness everywhere..
He couldn’t track his path, was lost amidst nowhere..
Yet it was his hope, that made him move on his way…
The darkest night of his life was the first step to his brightest day….

And so a tale ceased…

He flipped through pages reading an old book again
A tragic tale, he knew, ending with the protagonist in pain

Why re-read the same till the end, he thought
Only the high he got half-way in the tale, that’s all he sought

And so now he left it there, a book half-read
For better leave a good tale incomplete, rather than eventual dread

A tale till the time when things seem in place
When an ending isn’t sought, no need to increase the pace

He stopped flipping pages thereafter, leaving the protagonist at peace
A half-story was successful, and so a tale ceased…