Category Archives: Poetry

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

After what…

After this…
On the turning point, we now gaze back on what we left.
Talk is enough for where and who we are…way to much for us to cope.
Looking frail is what’s waiting for us in the not so far distance of existence
After Earth will be libarated, cleansed by Earth’s big swipe.
We stand stopped, we stod on remain’s and tread on our grand theft.
Under a barely recognisable sky, those below gasp for air and hope.
Over the peaks they see us with their twice stung shoulder’s and
gold-woven sixpence. After the last change in codes, they make sure the cure is ripe.


After what, comes after the next after…
What comes after, after all is gone…
after we see it all fall…

These day we learn to let go and say goodbye.
Speechless we stand here without any word to say.
After all is gone out of our hands, what’s left is the true lie.
No one left to feel and descripe the feeling of the Sun’s warm ray.
Mostly we miss the close touch of skin, feeling the warm pulse of blood’s rush.
We are born with imaculate dreams, attached with strings we never even known.
The changes is not for those who can,
it’s for the few observing.
After the never seen sunrise, who see the sun melt into the golden sea.

After what, comes after the next after…
what comes after, after all is gone…
after we see it all fall…

What will happen when life is faded and our monument’s crumple by the touch.
Like a sky we never seen here, alternated version’s of reallity roam
and never ever shown.
It’s sour indifferance in what we choose,
it’s all going round in an
everlasting ring.
Maybe we are ment to go blindly without the knowledge and never really be free.
These day’s we lost grib of our control,
if it was ever there.
Tired, we give in for the everlasting sleep hiding the imaculate dream.
After the curtain’s fall we feel the real tear of culture.
Day’s end up in a depived world where only emptyness send it’s lonely scream.

After that…

After nothing…. is nothing.

You dead or what?

You dead or what?

“There are the dead and those who claim to be dead”,
he opined;
“For someone who’s supposed to be
 dead you seem to be doing a lot of
moving around”,
he said arching an eyebrow;
“Not that I would question your right 
to identify as dead”,
his lips dripping with irony;
“Merely that your present vivacity
doesn’t immediately convey to others
an impression that you are indeed dead”.
Hearing this mortophobic prejudice,
the one identifying as dead slid back
into the coffin muttering,
they’d wait until someone sympathetic
to their lifestyle choice comes along.


The blazing sun adorning our blue skies,
Amidst the chilly wintery breeze,
The comforting music playing
On the radio, accompanying us on our trips,
The warm smiles of our neighbours, our friends,
And even strangers as they meet us
All around the island,
The soft scenery that the island sculpts for itself
All of these,
Speak to us!

Open the heavily locked gates of your heart
And listen,
You shall hear the island as it hums
Of how gratitude is of crucial importance
Even if we live in a world
Whose essence flows and slips from our tight grips
As easily as would water!

Yes, you shall hear the island sing,
Of how being adaptable and stoic in this difficult
Time that we are going through
Is necessary and of how
Amidst this pandemic pandemonium,
We are to keep our gaze held up
Towards the silent skies and
Tell them that we acknowledge
Of the fact that we are in the Kali Yuga
And that we accept the load of our karma
As it weighs upon us!

If we open to the island,
Our own inner secret garden,
There where we can be ourselves
Without having upon us,
The imprint of a fake society,
We shall tune in to the island’s symphony
And by merely listening to it,
We shall yearn to sit,
In front of mirrors
Just to watch life go by,
As capriciously as it would will to
Because we shall understand
That our essence is of futile nature!

We do exist for a cause, and
Even if we are confused about that,
We should be able to come to learn
To accept that
We have no control over anything
That makes us who we are!

And while we exist,
We should make it a must,
To be understanding
And to filter out those impurities
That can pollute our inner oceans
As only when we shall get cleansed
Shall our energies synchronize
With that of our monumental little island!

(Written for my country – Mauritius Island)

Reality or Imagination


Oscar Wilde’s ‘The picture of Dorian Gray’

Has had a continued impact on my mind, nay,

Held my imagination captive,

Not that I am too naïve,

But well, somehow my imagination ran riot,

With the story’s plot.


The other day, in a ceremony, I stopped by grievously,

Looking at my friend’s picture with a sigh, heavy.

But to my relief, the picture seemed to convey

Something unbelievable; She seemed to say,

Why was I grieving for her, that she was happy,

With not a thing about which to worry,

Far from the mundane world’s burden,

There up in heaven.


Was it my imagination fretful?

Whatever it was, that she is blessed plentiful,

Somehow convinces me that really,

We might experience this state of mind heavenly,

When we leave this corporeal frame,

We call our own, ever hankering for name,

Working like donkeys to achieve fame.


©Pushmaotee Subrun

My prayer and Gratitude to the Lord

My Lord, it’s high time to show my gratitude,  

My appreciation, dearest Almighty,

For bestowing health, hope, faith and plenitude.


With the pandemic ravaging terribly,

Thinking that our time on earth is limited,

Despite hope, great panic is there really.


Offering my obeisance, dedicated

To you eternally, I humbly prostrate

Myself, heart and soul by you wholly gifted.


My Creator, please, make thanks become innate,

At your feet, I again quite humbly prostrate.


©Pushmaotee Subrun

(A Terza Rima with an eleven syllable count in each line and a rhyming scheme of aba, bcb, cdc, dd.

Candles speak to Me

Diwali Night
A million Candles compete
With earthen lamps

How time passes
Watch a candle burning
So goes life

The wick burns
The wax weeps hot tears
Living, dying

All Souls Night
Candles burning bright
In the graveyard

Shab e Baraat
Eating in the Kabristan
By candlelight

Silent Chapel
Lingering scent of flowers
And wax candles

A white candle
In a sacred space
My Grandma’s face

( ASA )

Breaking free from a mouse wheel

Aren’t you tired of this perpetual circus
Always în someone else’s narrative
Ever since that time
When shadows were dancing on the walls of the caves
The narrative took the shape of a circus
Life narrates itself but
The script is written in someone else’s ink
The wise man said
Keep asking questions
Question on questions
If possible
Put your life on permanent scrutiny
Don’t allow others to spoil your soul
The wise man said
Think the good thought
Do the good deed
And your soul will elevate itself
From the shackles of this circus
The wise man said
Make an every day ritual
From thinking the good thoughts
From admiring every tiny details of this world
Learn the world from inside towards outside
Take your time, don’t rush out the peace that grows in your core
It is the ember of the force that will strip you out from the serpentine of this circus
Those bulls were drawn on those walls
You know, the cave’s walls
To keep the show going at all time
The narrator needed your complete addiction…
And after you worked on yourself
Liberated yourself from the mouse wheel
That this circus is
The wise man said
Love thy neighbour as you love yourself