by his sheer politics
Yet he rules stupid
as well as who is excellent
poems of some poets are
rare with high quality
by their sheer politics
they are read by all
but poets with rare talent
are taken seriously by none.
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The neighbourhood boy
We all called on himSuddenly I heard a cracking sound outsideI came out to see what happenedNothing I found, only a crow flew cawingInside of the roomLoud sound of cryingIt is merely a co-incidenceIf you believe it, you believe a superstition.
The leaves fall on the ground with wonder grace
In a light mood and with the children’s rhymes schemesImportance of life can be written with out grim face.No bombardment of words to say something more or lessWhatever it is, life is life can be told with a smiling faceHow a bud blossoms, flowers laughBees hum and never think life is toughKeep singing and treat…
Back from battle field, safe and unhurt
I won the struggle of meaninglessnessWithout a stroke or without a killA bag of pleasure and few bottles of delightFrom the world of valuelessI carried them like precious pearlsJam packed and tight in the wagon of my headIn this harbor of stupor, lazily, I spreadWith much effort and hard laborIn the bank of tranquility I…
If life is a fine string of a musical instrument
The sound you make could be either a tune greatOr a dull noise with the push or pull by your fingerThe choice is yours and the ball is in your courtIf love is an inexplicable enigmatic floating cloudThen the space in which it plays is your chestThe color you make could be either black or…
I forgot to express gratitude
As the seeds which I planted were of lackThough gradually the trees grew big and tallBut did not bear any flower or fruitThe feeling of lackAnd the feeling of gratitudeCan not go hand in handSo had I grumblingsAnd began to complainThe tress shed their leavesAnd I went restless and became paleBut when in despair I…
This poem too is going to fail me
That this poem will take me off and I will float on top like a chunk of creamBut it never happensI gyrate and the water inside a poem gets muddyAnd the poem remains below the lineHidden under the surfaceAs I could not use metaphor nor could I use expressionThat can hit the heart of modern…