Author Archives: Rahul Aithal

About Rahul Aithal

I am from Mumbai, India. Composing poems gives me immense pleasure. Few poetic sites I write on are - poemhunter.com, poeticvoice.ning.com, poetfreak.com and, recently Avant-Garde-Writer's Haven (on Facebook). You could browse my other writes on my private blog, rahulaithal.blogspot.com. I am glad to have joined this site, thanks to Louis. I hope to add value and get the group going.

Image

You cannot digest what speaks the mirror,

and feverishly search to mend the damage.

You blame it for it reflects your errors,

and portrays not your new made-up image.

So you snap, click and edit your photo-

colours to present a different picture.

Camouflaged with layers from head to toe,

hiding the soul but flashing the texture.

You caption this frame to further enhance,

peppered with a sweet voice to go along.

In hope to upraise the societal stance

but unaware where you truly belong.

But soon this drama and dice go backstage-

you call the mirror for a pure image.

Butterfly And Bee

I would want to be a pink butterfly

basking in the yellow morning sunshine.

I would flap my colourful wings to fly,

and hop from flower to flower to dine.

Or rather I live as a honey bee,

and make the golden liquid of pleasure?

I will disguise it from those eyes greedy,

and shall use my sting to guard the treasure.

But a honey bee buzzes all the while-

for people like us who steal her nectar.

And the poor butterfly is so docile

that it lives to please us like an actor.

If ever fate gives me a choice of role-

I would not know on which path I would roll.

Things Not Said

I often lament over things not said

even when many thoughts have reached my tongue.

Some had the lustre but courage unfed,

and some with a fine melody unsung.

Sometimes few words can bring a little smile.

At times their echoes stir up a yearning.

Often they utter for a sweet long while,

and hope to express a deeper meaning..

But my vocals sought no flattering tune

yet struck a few chords though silently played.

And the lyrics were haphazardly strewn,

but found those ears with a spiritual aid.

I lacked skill and fancy for eloquence.

All I could offer was my long presence.