Poetry
Is fire
in winter's snowy evening;

Stoke it
And keep the house warm

Yellow dresses of
Poppies remind me of kids
Standing in assembly

Love
Is the only herb
To cure people of mind and heart diseases

Honesty, if not used, will leave the place
The devil will come and hinder your race

Apology

Is the currency

To buy

The lost respect.

Lie
In the lawn of

silence;

Its music is sweeter
and more soothing

Than the music of love-words;

Feel it, absorb it, be it,

And create new music of yours.

In my temptuos mind,
Always comes a pause
Fetched by the same wind.

The nimbus brings drizzle,
If not, at least the shade.

Nothing is in the ring;
Everything is on the wheel.

I have calmness too.

It's January's fog mirroring all but a murky city;
The sparkling splendour of the day is at rest,
And a dove, lonesome, writhes in the hot gelidity.

The leaves are papers in a file on the glass;
Its plummage shake them, but they remould;
For an asylum it steals under the bench alas!

Who knows it's the poorest in the glacial garden,
And survival is a fierce combat for such haggard
Birds, and solitude, too, stacks sadness, and broken

Morale melts, and a wish for an early death is said;
Oh, I can't serve it with blanket-help, it would skim away,
And sympathy is cipher until fear of harm is dead.

Now it doesn't go on: the fond branches cradle me;
Oh, my wings flit and flap on the au nauteral tree.

It doesn't go on: at meals the guest is served,
And hospitality decants and disdain is much loved.

It doesn't go on: at play the cub shovels snow
While the sow shoots smiles through her ruby bow.

It doesn't go on: in the emergencia habitacion
The patient is cared of and his hurt is bandaged on.

It doesn't go on: the student studies the Fable
With her teacher who recites it from the table.

It doesn't go on: the granny tells fab bercueses
And her grandson catches some kip and stretches.

Now it would go on: the ship sails smoothly whence
It'd strayed and sunk in the all but deep negligence.

Every bird
Carries its song

Everywhere

Volatile moments
never obstruct it

In my voice
I carry thy name

In the air

Coping with difficulties happily
Is itself the best treatment...

Out of commotion,
Let's walk on still water
Like swans, Rejoicing tranquility

It's the illusion of the fool
That he's the captain of twisting the truth

If the change
Forces you to follow it,

Do,
But if not for changing your values.

There's a garden in the wife.
Unfortunately, the husband
Has no time to sit in it.

If someone needs
the complete definition of a writer

It's : A messenger of love

The opportunity
             to talk to poetry is love for it....

Fall
In love

With God

Death will be a humble invitation

The snow blowing fast;
The still huddle of penguins;
Union-survival

Don't ignore the flower
Appreciate its kind nature

When we praise a great virtue
We automatically absorb its beauty

Upon the bough of a bride birch
Perched two doves, their lips pursed
The leaves rustled, they made no lurch.

Glistened the golden glow, rolled their eyes
To break the ice his desirous palm he crept
And hers she withdrew but he liked the rise

Let's go back the evening is widely sable
Anon, the night will open up its massive jaw
And the devils will petrol and we're feeble

Squeal, mumbled she, adultery so heinous,
Irrimissble, frown-fetcher, and then I'd muse
If again living with you forever isn't outrageous

I admit, I bow, I seek your fervour-forgiveness
He stood up, cried and closerly inched to her
followed she, but moved on with unfriendliness

The confession carried out with much remorse
Won her heart, humble, and hugged each other
And flew to nest optimistic of no further woes

O my child, when I'm dead
And you weep at my grave,
He'll listen to your heart, sad,
Sitting in the breezy wave.

O my child, when I'm dead
And you're all the way lone,
He'll embrace you, dark clad,
With Lights that are shone.

O my child, when I'm dead
And if I'm not to care of you,
He'll build silky-leaved shade
For your snug breath in blue.

O my child, when I'm dead
And the fire keeps burning,
His angels will be overhead
And douse the flames, flying.

O my child, when I'm dead
And the guns go on the arrows,
They'll resile them and bloodshed
Will fade and do no more woes.

My branches are my arms
And all leaves my children;
Do you burn up your farms
Where your family is driven

To live a happy life as mine?;
Know and think it profoundly
Ere you saw me and my wine
Oozes and you elude it quickly.

Are you cannibal to eat all?
Are you aliens fully unaware
Of the earth and its deep call
To uphold peace and share

Whatever it yields to everyone
To make their life so beautiful,
Smile, rejoice, and have lot fun
And always give and take plentiful

Don't miss this opportunity;
Turn up, but thirsty, hungry,

And sit and wait till you get
Whichever poem in the plate

I offer myself to you to eat
And it'll be as sweet as a treat.

Don't leave the seat after one;
The next poem will be given

In a new flavour, new colour
And to gobble it you'll be eager;

"Wow! How sumptuous," you'll say,
We've fallen for them; we're much gay".

The candle
Doesn't muse of its self;

It only knows
How to serve man.

O girl, come and see
My love is burning for you.

Your criticism
                Fetches
Perfection in my work;

Kindly keep doing.

It's not the wings of the bird
That help it
To go through the thick fog
To reach its nest

It's its strong determination.

Errors don't create fear;
They're the motivators
That infuse in us a new feeling of
Trying again with improvements.

At midnight, snappy,
A shadow, sable,
Appeared at the window;

Tapping, twisting,
Tapping, gazing,

Like a cobra it coiled
And vapoured

Like the steam
Over a cup of coffee.

Oh, it was my Fear,
In its body,
Of beating a cat.

It had sat in my mind
After I got to know

Prophet said:

"Don't hit the cat."

It was my Fear,
In its body,
Of beating a cat.

Serve people
With dessert of love;

They won't ever forget your feast.

Don't doubt my love,
It's the depth
Of the sea
Of a mother,
Flowing up and down,
But has the flow,
And is forever.

Honey memories
are flyspeck chandeliers,
Gleaming in the mutable azure.

When we're under the shade of sadness,
They shimmer,
And we walk again, joyous like a child
That finds its mother after being lost somewhere.

They are the wheels
on which our minutes move on,
And we sit on them as nonchalant as the pelicans on seats of the ambling animals.

You say forget me
As if you were an advertent-neighbour-passenger,
Giving me little share
Of your jewellery-moments,
And then alighting at the next junction, going into clouds.

Is it easier to let the macaws-perching-on-the-palms time slip from the mind?

And you say
Forget me like a fickle child to its objects.

You were the person
I'd dreamed of since coming into age
And yearned for tying the knot with forever.

My Love,
Forgetting you is like chopping my forefinger myself!

And you don't know
Those memories are not sparkles;
They are you eating next to me,
Sleeping in my arms,
Sipping coffee beside me hand in hand,
Sauntering with your head down my shoulder.

How can I forget you? And you say forget me.

Flute
Thy songs for God;

Joys
Will start pouring endlessly.

Each difficulty
          Is the gate to joys;

Enter it courageously.

I'd stitch up apparels of Give and Take;
Exhibit to those who don't such make!

At get togethers, I'd sport them certainly
And invite their reviews, fairly or unfairly;

Thoroughly teach them the art of seewing,
If anyone grasps mine to wear, bespeaking.

Soon, they'd get it must be the hottest habit
Of stitching such clothes to put on to live fit!

I wandered to and fro,
Seeking moon-love,
In people, for me,
My people, very immidiate,
Others, with various faces,
But no true love,
I have found in anyone anywhere.
Then I looked at the stars,
And they reminded me
Of my guilt
Of not seeking thy love,
Shinning through them.
O God,
Stud a star in my life,
Forgiving me...........

The night doesn't do worry
If the silvery stars shine;
The bad deeds always flee
If the good ones are mine!

It's love
That binds flowers to butterflies,
Though the latter harm them.

Happiness of the family
Lies in the smiles of father
He spills among them

The sound of the fall of a leaf
Complaints of nothing in its brief
Moment in which its all dreams
Die like the snow from the streams
When the sun hammers down it
And I do learn to get it my habit

The light that we need is here
In the passing of a day silently;
We squander it with our sloth,
Craving for putting on joys, cloth,
And it rolls by minus our work, best,
And we cry we haven't got the harvest

If you can't build flyovers
Do footbridges
Between you and others

Meeting each other makes life healthy

Don't wait for someone to love you;
Teach him how to love by loving him.

Nothing
Is there
To boost
Your falling
Confidence
If you stop
Supporting
Your
Disturbed mind

There is a brimming cup of rapture
When the blooms bow for buterflies;
There is a cup for me, too, the sucker
If you let me kiss thy lips of sweeties

Once,
I put little jealousy
into my pocket;

My skin
started sheerly itching.

Then,
I smeared some petals
On the suffered part.

Today I feel fine.

Thousands ways are to change the world,

But kindness
Evinced for people is the best.

Teach your children,
O parents,
Spiritual sciences
To let their souls get electrified.

Love your pains
They make it easier
to achieve our dreams

A light touch of kindness
Is heavier than the weight
Of thousands of thousands