Mother

O mother, I wish that you could see,

all the love, I have for thee.

How distress palled me, made me vain

so calmly when you embraced my pain.

No crease I saw , nor heard a sigh,

your divine face all worries defy.

And in your arms what treasure there is

away from maddening crowd, just peace.

Seeds of bliss for me you’ve sown,

In your presence no worry was known.

Wondering which heaven men have sought,

I smiled, for my own in you I got.

Alas, now leaving this haven secure,

I’m alone in wilderness, so obscure.

But if your virtues guide my days,

free from sorrow , I’ll find my grace..

I SEEK

Often I wonder what my life would be

without your angelic radiance,

Your sublime form beside, guiding me

through alleys so dark of deafening silence.

All transient cares that cloud my mind,

unvanquished when mountains of woe.

Like the brave Knight of yore always you find

me, bring kingdoms of bliss so new.

Bereft I am when you are not near,

Wish to call you, choked can’t speak.

This crowded stage grasps me with fear,

even in solitude it’s you I seek.

You’re my light, you’re my day,

my strength, hope, destiny, my way.

I sought you so long, I seek you today.

My prayer you are, to only you I pray.

RAIN

Here the monsoon’s first rain, heavenly drops of pearls fell,

Making fields jade again, breaking summer’s parched spell.

Now the cracks are things of past that hagged the face of earth,

Youth came back at last, splashing puddles with puckish mirth.

The piercing rays of sun, won’t hurt the farmer’s back

Ambrosia made them drunk, served by messengers black.

Thunderous roar of clouds, with frogs that chorus sing,

This nature’s melody loud, oh what wondrous joy they bring !

One by one, through my hands,

Slipped away all my dreams.

Like the eluding golden sand

Carried away by streams.

Oh ,many times I’ve tried

Gave all an’ sought to reach.

In the silence oft I cried,

Prayed an’ hoped an’ beseeched..

Yea, an unkind endless pain

Within my heart I kept.

Bathed in tears like in the rain,

Silently as I wept..

No voice did once console,

None’s understood me or known.

A friend who’ll make me whole

I found in the mirror alone.

What is joy and laugther

But fairies in unreal tales!!

In futility did I run after

In search of Holy Grails.

This mortal body now hurts

Hazy is all my view..

Who’ll heal these bleeding cuts

Before I’m gifted new…..

IDEA OF A UNIVERSITY

The place which towards itself draws me

Is a dream I am working to realize.

The temple of excellence that sets one free

From the night of ignorance with sapient sunrise.

The thirst for knowledge that within me burns,

Has brought me here to help me find

All the guiding principles for me to learn,

An’ be blessed with ignited soul an’ mind.

Like the Mother who enlightens an anxious child

By patiently answering all his questions,

It will free my imaginations to run wild

On roads less traveled, and seek new solutions.

The Ganges of knowledge is this University

Towards brilliant shores it carries in its flow,

It will cast my future and shape my destiny

With the eyes and skills of Michelangelo.

Heaven

Standing at the gate of heaven am i,

Like the puckish cloud floating in the sky.

My mind, horsed upon the sightless air,

Is wondering when angels will take me there.

The picture of heaven that’s in my eyes,

The ethereal beauty of paradise,

To feel its warmth with the touch of my hand,

Like the cherubim of this Utopian land.

Where iridescent flowers will laugh with me,

And the sightless wings will set me free,

I’ll hop an’ skip around with birds,

Feeling the joy that transcends words.

Angels on their blessed harps will sing

I’ll dance to their tunes and feel the spring.

Breeze will fill with laughter this place

And tears of bliss will kiss my face.

The shells left behind as the sea retreats,

I’ll collect, while the waves caress my feet.

Standing on the rock I’ll watch the horizon,

As the water turns gold by the rays of sun.

This is my cradle, my place of birth

Of holy joys, here is no dearth.

Here will I return and forever stay,

When Night’s final curtain ends my Day.

This is my first poem. Like first love, a poet can always point, without a shadow of doubt, which is his first work. That is because every first attempt, in anything, makes you realize that you are capable of something new. A self-discovery. Indeed, how many of you ever thought yourself capable of losing yourself in the sweet memories of a lover before you found one?  My first poem gave me the pleasure of allowing to call myself a poet, if only in my mind…

THE LOST CHILD

He is a victim of hatred, that exists between nations.

He lost all his happiness, when he lost his near relations.

At a young age of innocence , he became like an old,

All the mischiefs of a boy, all his smiles were sold.

He was forced to live in ditches with no one to care about,

He slept without proper food , days in and days out.

No one ever consoled him , no one heard his cries.

His life was full of tears that cascaded down his eyes.

His sorrows never ended, each day they multiplied

Due to all the discards, the poor soul died.

These are the consequences of war, the curse of anger,

The enemy of humanity, to humans, a danger.

http://280slides.com/Viewer/?user=24608&name=Megha%20-%20Lost%20Child&fullscreen

This is my blog. In this blog you will find some verses i wrote, trying each time to be as original as i can be. These are my poems. But i am no Wordsworth, reading whom you will realize his deep love and veneration for nature that guided his life. For, no single emotion can define me. Emotions come and go. Like the ebb and flow of seasons.Even pangs of an unfulfilled love do not last forever , do they? Devdas is a myth. Life can not be as simple as that.

These are my poems. But my poems are not me. Hands, feets, eyes, can not ,in isolation , be the person. Parts of him, yes. These poems are just moments in my life when i was lucky enough to find appropriate words for them. Other times, either words have eluded me, or i was too innocent to understand my own emotions.Or maybe ,i was not, as they say, in a "flow".But really, is there such a thing as "being in a flow"? Think of Shakespeare. 36 plays, 154 sonnets, among some poems and lost plays..All of these produced in a span of around 25 years. Could he have been in a constant flow that induced him to write something every time? Or was his self-awareness so great that he could actually understand his feelings and put them in right words? I don't know.But poetry must surely be a reflection of the self.They just can not be an ingenious play of words, arranged in beautified combinations. They won't be real then.But they are.Indeed, as real as the account of an important event by an honest reporter. Why else then will poetry be of any importance?A bunch of conceited writings can't form a serious genre, can they? You mightt say , "but we have great works of fiction ". But don't we define the characters of a great work of fiction as real ?Isn't it their realism that endears them to us? Realism with which we can identify?

It is this realism- of feelings and emotions- that i will try to communicate through the medium of verse.It is just a beginning. I will constantly attempt to be aware of my thoughts and put them in words.This is a World of my Own where i invite anyone who can make it more beautiful with their support. In this journey if they have some insights to share, i would welcome them with alacrity.