Tag: Poem

Streaks of crimson, hues of gold,
Like molten fire, the heavens unfold.
Flames of orange, kissed by twilight’s gleam,
A mesmerizing spectacle, a heavenly dream.

Clouds painted with a passionate stroke,
As if the sky itself began to evoke,
Emotions untamed, a burning desire,
In this cosmic inferno, nature’s own fire.

Silhouettes of trees against the blazing sky,
As daylight surrenders, stars draw night.
A canvas alive, with celestial might,
The sky on fire, a celestial delight.

In this fleeting moment, we stand in awe,
Witnessing nature’s grandeur, unblemished and raw.
The sky’s fervent embrace, a sight to admire,
As it sets our spirits aflame, with a celestial fire.

Apparently, you aren’t to make homes out of people
They say it will hurt when they are gone
But what are the pounding beats of heart good for,
If not to be a place for people to belong?

My heart is a home with tons of rooms
Which lets everyone stay and go
While with some, you just wouldn’t want to let them go
And missing them makes you feel Homesick.

Being aware of the fact that people come and go,
yet your heart finds solace in being with them
that you let your heart take over your mind, knowingly but still uncontrollably,
while you hit your reality and look around
they are no more with you and that makes you Homesick.

Dirty Are My Nails

Dirty are my nails,
Looking like my hand tails.
They are as huge as a monster tail
But I will cut them off today without fail.
The germs smaller than a rat,
Walking on my nail’s dirt mat.
All the diseases in the world are because of these germs
That is why our elders strive to keep us clean in all terms.
At the end of the day, I had to cut my nails,
Now they are not looking like my hand tails.

I Am All Alone

I am all alone in the junior wing
Just sitting on a swing.
I am all alone just collecting stones
Sitting near the swimming pool in my school.
Its water is very clean and cool.
I am all alone, running on the football ground,
I fell down and got a wound.
I was vlogging with my camera without a phone,
Sir saw me with the camera and scolded me in an angry tone.

The poem is based upon the revival after World War II and the formation of the United Nations.

As the foretold unfurled
The portentous battle hurled,
For hearts, wrenched in blood and woe
The graves held bodies to sow.

There came a genocide to follow
To live, was unclear ‘morrow
With ominous winds came a question,
Who escaped this intervention?

An ardent cry was cornered, ignored
As the pleas for help groaned
In a battle where nations sundered
A question for the masses was left unanswered.

The rumbles of fear intoned,
In a battle where hell mourned,
Staggered stood the pleas of martyrs,
And thus came into being the UN charters.

The holocaust had deepened
As the denouement neared
The Fate Weavers of the Day
Had drifted the fiasco away

With prophecies of dawn in array
The UN was the change which reformed the century
The one that drove out penury
The one that drove out treachery…

I march down the woods,
Riding the magical being under the hoods,
Crossing the snowy mountains and the dry deserts,
I find myself in the lap of death with all my efforts.
While the dark lord is nowhere to be seen.

Searching the forest of darkness as a scout
Hunting for the Fortress of Fear,
As a find even the dainty green leaves a doubt,
The roots of the trees wait as I tear,
While the dark lord is nowhere to be seen.

The Moldy Mountain up my sight,
Was awaiting the search tight,
The climbing was tricky,
But as were the screeching sounds of something sketchy.
While the dark lord is nowhere to be seen.

Amidst the sounds, came a frightening touch,
Was it a silly branch or ghosts in bunch,
I stood there, feeling someone,
It was the Petrified Phantom, the servant of the dark one.
While the dark lord is nowhere to be seen.

The phantom was ready to swallow,
As my help’s cry went hollow.
Nature heard my yelp,
And sent the best help.
While the dark lord is nowhere to be seen.

The charm of the nature was a shooting star as a flaming stun,
It landed the ghost on its back, and we won.
I embarked upon my journey again,
Only to meet a spider in the glen.
While the dark lord is nowhere to be seen.

The spider shot a web of bones,
But the nature yet again called some gnomes,
To protect me as I marched along,
Still wondering long.
While the dark lord is nowhere to be seen.

Finally, as I reached the fortress of fear,
I cared for my dear,
I left him by the side of the castle,
To avoid the further hassle.
While the dark lord stood above to be seen.

The dark lord smirked as I lurked,
He held out his wand in the moonlight,
Only for me to have been reworked,
I too held my wand tight.
While the dark lord was in front of my eyes.

Spells shot from my wand,
The dark lord was ready with a response.
But, ultimately, he lost,
Forgetting his boast.
While the dark lord was in front of my eyes.

The final blow of my wand’s spell,
Took the life of the one who wished nothing well,
The dark lord lay dead,
Bestowing peace as the prophecy had once said.

“Surrender,” they said; I ran away.
Ran until I couldn’t breathe, my mind led astray.
I ran until I couldn’t, the inevitable unawaited;
Looked back to find a mind in pain and a heart sated.

“Power through!” She yelled, “stay with me,
You must, for me,” and she set me free.
Braiding my emotions, she looked down with glee,
Painted the crater in my chest and handed a heart to me.

She took it back and filled it with light,
“Don’t worry, love,” she said, “Ignite.”
She gave it back, with joy for me to see,
But it belonged to her, I knew with all in me.

Her eyes were the ocean, sultry and deep,
My own welled with tears, and emotion I let seep.
She picked off the crown, the crown she wore,
Her heart the sky; with stars galore.

“Take it, and find your way,
Leave all those who hurt you at bay,
For your worth shines brighter than the moon,
Remember why you started, and don’t change your tune.”

“Who are you?” I asked, a storm awake in my soul;
“Mother.” She said, her voice keeping me whole,
“I am who brought you forth, and so I did for you,
To not doubt yourself and bring glory anew.”

“I create, I destroy, I strengthen and allay,
I am nature,” she said, and walked away.

I clutched what I held and pressed it to my chest,
Wondering who she was, who left me at my best;
Opened my palm, and gazed far like a dove,
Into the heart she left, the heart filled with love.

The phase of Earth, when we think, the Sun goes far,
The chilling winds cover the precious hours,
The beauty of white is seen in the midst,
Of the phase when the Sun goes far.

When the dinings are embroidered with soups,
Insects are on a hiatus too,
When people wear their colourful scarfs,
It is the phase when the Sun goes far.

The days are short and the nights get long,
The children roam with hot chocolate mugs,
When Christmas Carols are on guitar,
It is the phase when the sun goes far.

It starts from Diwali, decorations at peak,
Goes through Christmas, where trees are adorned with stars,
When it is the period of darkness and cold,
It is the phase of earth, when we think, the Sun goes far.
Or does it really go far?

Slant down the snowy sward,
Binya ran forward,
Calling the names of the beaut cattle,
while her intellect was unsettled.

Three strangers sitting fit,
beyond the meadows of snowy wit.
Dumbfounded by the smiling beauty,
actually it’s just a silly blue parasol of great money.

The parasol was blue, silky and dainty,
there stood Binya giving them her lucky claw in the sunny.
In turn she got the parasol that she fancy,
She came anon to a shop to buy toffee with her only penny.

The owner of the shop, was an old man who worked sometime,
his name was Ram Bharosa and he belonged to the bygone time.
The old man got enticed to the silly thing,
its presence made him feel like the king.

He appointed Rajaram to carry out the task.
Rajaram seized the priceless entity.
And started running, only relying on destiny,
as speed was his only ask.

But Bijju, her brother, caught up to the run.
Rajaram had might, but Bijju still won.
When the villagers got to know,
Ram Bharosa sat in his shop gazing the meadow.

Looking at his pathetic plight,
Binya came to his shop with all her might.
Leaving the parasol there inside.
for the old man to find.

Ram Bharosa rushed outside,
to return the parasol for he decide.
In that moment alone,
it belonged to both of them as shown.

Sunrise
It’s time for sunrise.
Time to go to bed, my owl so wise.
The ball of fire rising from the east
providing sunflowers with their favorite feast.
I want to fill my eyes with the sun peeking up the horizon
before my age will wisen.
The sphere, billions of years old,
still shines like a liquid hot pot of gold.
Brightly shining sun rays
foolishly I try to gaze.
Sadly, it’s just a small phase.
It’s time for sunrise.
Time to go to bed, my owl so wise,
my owl so wise.

Trust
Even your own shadow leaves you in the dark.
Even the fire lets go a spark.
It’s hard to gain.
Gives you and me a lot of pain
I might be going insane
About the amount of energy it will drain.
Who is going to quench my trust thirst?
Cuts and scars make me feel cursed.
It’s so hard to get and give
The sob story I am going to live.
My heart got stomped on and broke
It hurt me but I never spoke.
So remember even your own shadow leaves you in the dark,
Even the fire lets go a spark.

Boon or a Bane?
Was it all a boon or a bane?
Were we in the same vein?
Did we undergo the same pain?
When all was clustered and twisted,
When all my time was wasted,
I stood and remained subsisted.
In this dark time,
Is standing up for myself such a crime?
The truth is hidden by a lie,
The truth is hidden by a sly.
No wonder, you wonder why;
Wouldn’t repairing a bond I broke against my will,
Two received sorrow, one received thrill.
But karma will hand them over a bill, hand them over a bill.
Was it all a Boon or a Bane?

Music
The best way to hypnotize your ears,
when you don’t care about what anyone hears.
For you, it’s maybe just a bunch of notes and keys,
but for me, it’s a cup of hot coffee in the breeze.

Without music, the world would be a queer pantomime.
In my opinion, it seems to be a crime.
From pop to rap,
without missing a beat or a gap,
it’s a medicine for you to relieve and relax.
Trust me as I speak the facts.

The pyres of agony, they ignite a roaring fire with their blaring screams in the roots of my crestfallen heart
My astray soul seeks the shelter of a distraught piece of thought
My eyes, lined with a downcast aura of pitch tenebrosity
But even when I stand meters away from the brink of obliteration,
My pumping heartbeats dance to a rhythm of boundless zest.

Gently, like a mother cradling her baby to sleep,
They caress the stems of my restless mind and friskily whisper the secret to a beautiful life.
Bloom, they say, bloom like the rose that stands upright even after a deplorable storm.
Nurture the youthful sapling of your mind with a colossal plethora of hope.
For it is hope that applauds every essence of one’s existence
And motivates every sense of a depressed cognizance.
Effortlessly showering every inch of a disturbed heart with delicate petals of provocation,
Serving as the aim to live a life adorned with thorns.

For even when fortune abandons you to drown in the unfathomable oceans of misery and melancholy,
Accompanied by a state of nothing but the suffocating weight of sheer disenchantment on your shoulders
Hope drives you on the road of pursuing your dreams
The same dreams crumpled under the spell of wretched circumstances

The same dreams, ruthlessly burnt in the pyres of agony.