Author Archives: Sangeeta Suneja

About Sangeeta Suneja

Sangeeta Suneja is a science graduate from Maharani College Jaipur, holds a Post Graduate Diploma in Sales and Marketing from YMCA Institute of Management studies, MBA She has been working with Air India for the past 26 years at New Delhi. She has written more than Seven hundred poetry pieces on her poetry blog. Her work has been published in many international anthologies, She is a motivational author at Featured poet at many online magazines like Angies Sangeeta Suneja also loves to paint, has her own illustrations and abstract paintings to complement her Poetry. She writes in Hindi, (Punjabi and Urdu in English script), and has also written a few short stories and flash fiction in English.

The performance

I am the background
I  am the music,
I am the sound,
                         I am the ash,
                         I am the attire 
                         I am the bash.

I am the time,
I am the happening
I am the prime,
                         I am the frame
                         I am the experience,
                         I am the remain.
I am the past
I am the future
I am the cast.
                        I am the grass,
                        I am the hunger,
                        I am the glass.

                                                            When, I know the norm
                                                                   that, ‘I’ am not,
                                                                       when, I perform._MG_2195

Poetry by Sangeeta Suneja
Picture Bhavye Suneja

Father, what is the color of your affection?


the enthralling captivity,

Of the creamy white, cocoons,

What does she know about

The colors of your affection

On her wings,

When the flower blooms.

She picks them all

Among the leaves,

On your bough,

The bright red ladybird,

Is dyed deep,

in those,

Her shades, of your affection,
She hardly knows!

#Sangeeta Suneja

The molecular theory

This molecular theory,
Their moods,
To move on,
Big bang,
So on,
Turns table
Exchanging ideas
Like electrons,
Reactors, fusion reactions.
Explode on,
Energy! Energy! Energy!
Runs in your blood,
To create on.

Harness it, to sing it on
Listen to it, to
Feel on,
A prototype of a poet,
Bring it on!
In your every proton.

Sangeeta Suneja

The dream, the delusion and the deception

What are you?
I ask!
The dreams move into the future
Drawn on the wall,
Sketches of the past lives
yet pulling the carriage the cart,
The delusions are the false ceilings,
That I see above me,
The deep blue sea,
You and me,
I often call for your name,
You stop,
Then a wave washes you away,
The deception is a paper
As a fake silk fiber
As soon as I begin to drape,
It tears apart
the dress of my dreams, the delusion and me!

The morning

deep night

An artwork by Sangeeta Suneja

The dark of night awaits,
Playing its calm carousel,
Draping the damp dementia
Of the late last evening,
When the part of the particle broke,
Into two, the bright bismuth and midnight blue,

Rest resulted in a sleep, slumbering in a shallow cloak,

The stream of a running light,Tapped against my door,

The dog rubbed its paws,
Wagging the tail,
for a few moments, in hope,

The morning today again is slow,
It kicks me left and right,
But the day is dumb,
as much, the night was neatly numb,
I opened the latch of the door,
The morning stands, hesitant, out on the floor,
My wish to call her in,
She understands, but I do not speak,
why?  The God only knows!
The morning, in me is the sand, awaits, away at the shore,
We never meet indoor,
She pays me a visit at the gate and goes,

Back to the back waters,
My abyss misses again
an admirable acquaintance,
As she posed, to say a goodbye,
Was wanting to be the sea,
The Moon of monotony moans,
I hang like a broom stick in the corner,
Ready, lazily for the chores,
The morning, without waking the waves,
Once again it goes!

Drowning the dialogues

The dialogue
Artwork by Sangeeta Suneja  (c) copyright
It is only a dialogue,
between the fragments 
and the whole,
One at a time,
plays the role,
the day destined,
to be in a perfect synch,
Only one voice, being,
losing, ‘The you and me’,
it would be the day,
there would be nothing to say,
only, the camphor smoke,
would sublime in a silence,
pure white,
to pray,
   the prayers,
the notes,
to be in a beautiful
ringing word, 
to be the sound,
a consonant,
the ethereal wind
to take you,
a world
to go
drowning the dialogues,
between  You and me!

Nothing remains to be done

The hiding

Artwork by Sangeeta Suneja.

When the stream of snow melts.
falls, in an unconditional love,
from the heights, like a small spring,
Sprinkling, celebrating, gurgling, loud roars of laughter,
echoes in the silent valley,
surrendering to give,

What else remains?
The fear flows into faith,
the rover, the river, wriggles, on the surface,
The brook, the beck to bathe,

the dry, cracked stones red with lichens,
turn green with life covering them up to the brim,

giving away what all it had,
Afloat, lightly, the life swims!!

A fond fiddle

The wind is playing a Violin,
The classical music of the high sea is on,
Leaves and the branches are roaring up as waves,
Splashing across its mass of clarity,
it shakes,
the tree,
as another fiddle,
percussion being played by the wooden door,
which rustles and bangs itself across the frame
to be in synch, thumping and banging over the once silent, a creek,
creating symphony in a waving, windy evening,
 A rare, dry flying leaf touches my cheeks.
A high tidal note!

Those silent Promises

Understanding, loving, and giving go silent,
A Promise, a primrose,
a yellow, a quite declaration of a spring,
Unspoken, seals, of a day, a night,
A Sun in the sky marks and
Sketches with an orange stroke a cusp,
before and after a black and white,
The bud promised a flower,
it paints its petals and spreads, laying a table,
The seed dried, but kept its promise of a tree,
in years it grew tall and green,
A promise it did not deny,
A mother became a promise of life,
to give and yield to a joy of giving even after
cutting off, the Umbilical cord with a knife,
The promise if kept,
as promised
has a speechless premise!!