Category Archives: Poetry

The place for all your poetry to be shared with the world

Hoping

I have always watched from a distance
Hoping

Hoping that one day
Someone will blow
A little smoke
Towards me
I will inhale
A little will be enough
For me
To lose myself
In the hope
And the hope has been my dope
All this while
Keeping me high

Higher than the sky
I float
Hoping for a little smoke

Smoke
Has no wings
Just a few rings
In which you dissolve
And in you
The smoke is lost

I am left with the stub
Cold
At times half lit
Sometimes even good as a cigarette
Unreachable from my sky
High

Lakota

The bitter dusts of war

the bitter dusts of famine,

pierce men’s skins

swirling in their hearts

with a coyote chorus

of forgotten words,

forgotten peace;

The Winds of corpses

and the Winds of souls,

howl with their forgotten promises

across our empty hunting grounds

where the promises of Buffalo

gave way to certainty of steel;

The blood of our braves

and the blood of heaven,

moisten barren earth

placing a veil of green

on the lamentation of widows

and their inheritance of dreams.

 

Natural code breakers

Sometimes, when I sit on my couch,
Enjoying an aerated drink
And enjoying at the flitting and fluttering
Butterflies of a dozen captivating hues,
I think of the two-humped camel
Plodding its way on the desert dry
And the beaver making the dam.

My mind becomes transcendentally pure
And beautiful like the Taj Mahal,
Epitome of beauty, love and craftmanship.
I start seeing the world, not as it is
But as I want it to be like.

My feelings start revealing more
And parading less.
Everything evens itself out.
The false promises of the metaphysical world
Evaporate like water on grass
And from the crevices of my heart,
I dig out pearls of wisdom
Which turn out into
Natural code breakers.

pramila khadun

Oxides of Iron

Chance with perfection
the heart, that
beckons on you
Let not trickery; comes
to bait on you

There is much
to do at our bidding
Just line your heart
with the other
Where two ends meet

Trump your highest bridge
And traverse
Winning a trick
Not always the blood is coated
with the oxides of iron

Pax Vobiscum

I.

As I write this, somebody somewhere in the world is laughing,
crying, hoping, suffering. At this moment, a woman is giving birth.
At this moment, surrounded by friends and family, somebody is dying.
At this moment, somebody is achieving his loftiest ambition,
and somewhere also, somebody is healing wounds of humiliation.
Somebody is staring at a photograph, a memento of youth.
Somebody is gazing at the sea, searching for the truth.

II.

There are moments, when, unbidden, I felt at one with the universe.
I am blessed, as I became witness, when a deeper layer manifests,
in intellect and spirit, in heart and soul, as I soar to a higher existence.

III.

There is peace in moments of serendipity:
a kiss from a child, a perfect shell on a beach, a glorious sunrise.
Beautiful moments I have known, and have known well,
perhaps unlike my shadow, unlike a constant companion,
but like a bird on the window, to alight, to sing, to delight,
but only for a moment – then she soars once more in flight.

IV.

Peace I have found, brief moments in time, they glimmer
like fireflies on a moonlit night. But to Man, grasping for hope,
a morsel, alas, is not enough. There is more to this world,
in our lives, than Mammon’s lot; there is to be found
the nature of angels – joy, serenity, peace and love.

V.

Not the peace of the desert; there is solitude, but only wilderness,
not to commune with nature, but to fight for your soul for eternity.
Not the peace of the grave; hollowed ground, but filled with emptiness,
for our time on earth is but a spark, a glint, in the blinding light of infinity.

VI.

To have peace, some say, is to call for war,
for only in eternal vigilance can peace, like freedom, be defended.
Yet for peace to grow, like a lovely flower, the soil needs not
the blood of a martyr; the altar of peace needs not
the lives of the brave, the righteous and the just.
The cries of widows and orphans shall pass,
as all things pass, but a peacemaker, he who lights our path, is forever.

VII.

There is finally, divine peace, for, at the moment of our death,
a vision opens the eyes of the soul, an awakening beyond understanding,
and that, my friend, is real peace, and peace be with you.

She came

She came all undressed
And stood infront of him
To tempt his senses.
He looked at her for a long time,
Her long legs, her fair skin,
The curvatures of her thighs,
Her cleopatra nose, her rosy cheeks
And eyes blue like the ocean.
He asked her to come close
To him, held her in his strong arms
And softly said,
‘Put your clothes on.
Let us get to know each other
And then, the clothes
Will fall on their own
Like petals do
When the fruit is ready.

pramila khadun

Together

Every evening they sit by the lake
remembering those sylvan days
when hand in hand they loved reading William Blake
together.

Recalling how they walked among the lilies,
as their hearts did ache,
thinking that they had only a couple of days
together

before he flew to an alien land to study further
and they could no longer dance and shake
a leg
together.

The wind crooned, softly, ah so softly.
The notes of a song; soft and tender, like a snowflake
laden with memories of yore
drifted towards them,
as they sat hand in hand on the bench by the lake
together.

And those wonderful times,
standing side by side when they loved to bake
together.

Embellishing the home –cooked delicacies
with aromatic spices
and year after year after year
trying to taste the marriage anniversary cake
together.

More than sixty years have passed
but the octogenarians still sit by the lake
holding hands
together.

Their high- powered glasses, perched on their noses,
they still pore over the poems of William Blake
together.

“Piper pipe that song again-“
With quivering voices, they still sing the same refrain
sitting by the lake
together.

The Inevitable waits in the shadows;
watching them closely,
as they sit hand in gnarled hand,
looking at the ducks and the drakes
in the lake
together.

“Namaste Uncle Ji…”

It came from my depth, and
to deep it settled down –
A thought
That
I kept on gasping the meaning
out of my wheezing heart, that
He is no more, now
to attend to my voice
My invariable greeting to my friend’s father
as and when I used to meet him saying: ‘Namaste Uncle Ji. How are you doing in health’,
Praising him with respectful eyes and folded hands.

Today
Only this hospital morning
at wee hours
He breath his last.

“Namaste Uncle Ji…”
Tears flowing

Balloons, bubbles and bonhomie

 

Blow the balloon and let it soar high

Blow the bubbles and let them float by

Ah, it feels so good to let go all

It’s like you throw tensions away far

Strange, you become lighter filled with air

Instead of raising weight that impairs

Only a child has this bonhomie trait

As you grow you incline to frustrate

So, consciously shed loads from your heads

Lightly tread on silken strings ahead

Be carefree like a child, celebrate,

With balloons, bubbles, bonhomie lightweight

©®Sunila – 04/2018.

Life and Beliefs

 

This life is a movie which changes scenes,
You are a part of it at most times,
But at respite, you are just a witness,
In fact, you glide as time takes its ride!

It’s funny that you don’t control your life,
But your circumstances, dogmas and style,
Your beliefs that form with your perception,
And your vision that could be erroneous!

It’s too late when you realize your choices,
Your decisions have not been what should be,
It’s trial and error that teach us lessons,
Often it’s late to mend what is broken!

Plans of ‘what I’ll or not’ robs valuable time,
Your life is short but your beliefs outlive!

©Sunila…