Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Maa
Jab aankh khuli to amma ki
godi ka ek sahara tha
uska nanha sa anchal mujhko
bhumandal se v pyara tha.....
uske chehre ki jhalak dekh
chehra phulo sa khilta tha
uske stan ki ek bund se
mujhko jeevan milta tha
haatho se baalo ko noocha
pairo se khoob prahar kia
phir v us maa ne puchkara
humko jee bhar ke pyar kia

Mai uska raja beta tha
wo ankho ka tara kahti thi
mai banu budhape me uska
bas ek sahara kahti thi
ungli ko pakad chalaya tha
padhne vidlaya bheja tha
meri naadani ko v neej
antar me sadasaheja tha

Mere saare prashno ka wo
fauran jawab ban jaati thi
meri raho ke kaante chun
wo khud gulaab ban jaati thi
mai bada hua to college se
ek rog pyar ka le aaya
jis dil me maa ki murat thi
wo ramkali ko de aaya

shaadi ki pati se papa bana
apne rishto me jhul gya
ab karwa chauth maanta hu
maa ki mamta ko bhul gya
hum bhul gye uski maamta
mere jeevan ki thati thi
hum bhul gye apana jeevan
wo amrit wali chaati thi

Hum bhul gye wo khud bhukhi
rah karke hume khilati thi
humko sukha bistar dekar
khud geele me soo jaati thi
hum bhul gye usne hi
hotho ko bhasha sikhlayi thi
meri neendo ke lie raat bhar
uss maa ne lori gaayi thi

hum bhul gye har galti par
usne danta samjhaya tha
bach jau buri najar se
kala teeka sada lagaya tha
hum bade hue to mamta wale
saare bandhan tod aaye
bangle me kutte paal laye
maa ko vridhaashram chod aaye
apano sapno ka mahal girakar
kankar -kankar been laye
khudgargi me uske suhag ke
aabhushan tak cheen laye

Hum maa ko ghar ke batware ki
abhilasha tak le aaye
usko paawan mandir se
gaali ki bhasha tak le aaye

to be continued ........(next part may be in next week)
Copyright© Shashank K Dwivedi
email-shashankdwivedi.edu@gmail.com
Follow me on Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/skdisro
What happened to the boy I was?
Why did he run away?
And leave me old and thinking, like
There'd been no yesterday?
What happened then?
Was I that boy?
Who laughed and swam in the bund*
I there no going back?
No recompense?
Is there nothing?
No refund?
Prabhu Iyer May 2014
A noon-time beat plays in the head
Tea-time brawl revisited now.
Lisping out a song later. 'Really?'
The fridge is empty. The late cuckoo
tugs at the heart; Summer sweat
on evening's brow. Deep down
glow, inner lit springs shadowed
in the woods. Cacophony birds
returning home. Cook, cook, cook.
Filling up sink. 'Ah, am I that bad?'
Insecticide can; Make something up:
the noisy fan; Lady in hood, rising
from the lake. 'Could I have....just
done it another way?' Walking by
the bund as the sky slips away
veiled among the blinking stars.
An attempt at linguistic abstract expressionism - presenting a persistent pattern underlying a stream of thoughts.
kundan kumar May 2015
chahtein bhi aisi thi ki mai hothon se bayn kr  n payan
jajbat bhi aisi thi ki dil se dharkan tak n pahuchan payan
kuchh guftgun kar rahi thi meri chahtein
dil me lahron ki tarah daur rahi thi meri chahtein
bas us bandh ko tod dena chah rahi thi meri chahtein
lekin wo palkon ko n bhed payan
lahar ki ek bhi bund nayan se n nikal payan
chahtein bhi aisi thi ki mai hothon se bayn kr  n payan
jajbat bhi aisi thi ki dil se dharkan tak n pahuchan payan
Nidhi Jaiswal Feb 2021
Samaj ke bandisho se azad
Bin pankho se urna chahti hu
Pankh tute hai to kya
Khawo se aashaman sajana chahti hu

Hoshlo ki urran hu main
kisi ki muskan hu main
bharat ki anokhi shan hu main
band pare khawbo ki arman hu main

manti hu zindgi ke safar me
Me mil jate hai kuch humsafar
naa hote hue apne
Phir ban jate band aankho ke sapne

Haa main uarna chahti hu
Oos ke bund ki tarah dhara ko susobhit karna chahti hu
khilkhilana chahti hu
Hasna chahti hu
Apne pankho ko failye dhara ko napna chahti hu
apni khusboo se sbko mekhkana chahti hu
apne gunjan se nabh ko gunjit karna chahti hu
kali se ful ki tarah khilna chahti hu

kya thi galti meri
kis bat ki milli mujhe  ye saja
ye Samaj ki bandishe
Pairo m jakri ye janjiro se niklna hahti hu
kuch kehna chahti hai
Khud ko khud se milana chahti hu
kyuki jaise main dikhti hu waise hu nai
Mere hai kuch azad sapne
Pinjre m band panchi nahi hu
aazad bharat ki ek shakti ka rup hu
Ek larki hu mai
Haan ek larki
jo khud apna itishah bnana chati hai
Auro se alag khud ki duniya basana chahti hai
kUch karna chati hai
Apne liye
apno ke liye
Iss jahan ke liye.
Myself...😇
Brent Kincaid May 2017
You should brew a batch
Of a tea that makes you bright
And if it works the rest of us
Can get some sleep at night
Because whatever tea you drink
As you plow your awful road
Is making you a truly lethal kind
Of hairy, ugly poisonous toad.

Tea for the Trumperman
For him and his bund.
Pay for it all with our
Stolen pension fund.
Make special batches
For him and his cronies
Look them up under the tab
High treason and phonies.

Maybe drink the kind of tea
That hippies still smoke
It might make you think
You are a bit less of a joke
But it won't ever make you
Less of a fool than you are;
The highly lethal driver
Of the Republican clown car.

Another kind of tea please
For those who called this fool a ****,
But this time make this batch
Of primo quality hemlock.
The best way is to tell all
Those dim Trumpster finks
This is precisely what der Fuhrer drinks.

Tea for the Trumperman
For him and his bund.
Pay for it all with our
Stolen pension fund.
Make special batches
For him and his cronies
Look them up under the tab
High treason and phonies.
Trump tea dictator phony cheat Republican poetry Kincaid
BW Jan 2018
I loved you in a way I
will never love someone else in
The red dress, red lips, sweating
in the tube kind of way
The hot pants, giraffe top
Carbonara at midnight kind of way
Long walks on the boulevard
by the bund
Midnight kisses in the park
Your blonde hair in the sun
Pillars at Four Seasons

I fell in love with Shanghai
It addicted me
But I don't know if I
Fell in love with the city or fell in love
with the way we were

I returned, years later
Five carat. Hyatt by the bund. Soda at midnight
They say I was drunk, they stare in awe
On top of Shanghai
I finally let you go
I finally got over AF on top of Shanghai and it was such a relieve. Some people are poison, although sweet. I am so glad I am over it
Moon,
You are so cheerful

Looks like
You hate to go back
To the city

If so, then stay
The lake bund is
All yours
Pain stays permanent,
Permeating through time;
The pinch of loss,
Can never be sufficed.

Pain surges periodically,
Often high in tide,
Crashing on shores of sympathy;
Bund that gap,
With all your might,
These sensations erode,
Cutting in the shape of your soul;
Gorging away your sane.

Pain pangs often,
Reminding of the times gone,
But in that memory,
Find inspiration to go on!

Pain pacifies loss,
Whence you derive,
Your reasons to smile,
In memories so close...
Dormant relationships bloom,
An evergreen garden!
Loosing the person you love, the one who matters you the most or a family member is painful. The road to recovery from such a tragedy needs tremendous courage. As we trudge along this trying phase, often we are subjected to sympathy that wanes our courage to face the facts of life.
But to remember our dear one, smile at the golden memories, recall all the sweet bygones and promises made then can serve as an inspiration towards a better and less painful tomorrow.
May be we should try this approach of healing rather than crying...after all pain and the absence of the person we love is permanent...
at earth's smell on the first rain
dust worn wind pause to rest
break slumber the frog again
river show sign of zest.

pride swell the slim creek
pick up steam to race to sea
shore be soon muddy thick
lives be born merrily.

drop the sky darkly low
ripe's time to inject blood
break the bund overflow
awash bank in torrent flood.

might laden is one small drop
hope and not in nervous breast
may it make or break the crop
when planting dream of sweet harvest.
Prabhu Iyer Feb 2014
I want to see some old photographs:
older than those on the computer;
Back when moments were precious,
unveil the shrouded busts,
and see the face of my friend
as he was then;

The best of us disappear
into the fields at dusk,
leaving behind memories for us
of colours and of songs.

Tonight, I will
walk by the bund, and onward
to the land beyond the horizon
where they sparkle at night as stars
our friends here, who have
gone to the far beyond.

I am peace. I wave over
every dawn by your shores.
I sing with the grilles and die
unsung like the evening.

I exist. Sometimes
only as a photograph, frozen
in my smile. Sometimes,
smoking my pipe of joy
fiddling by your side; Some
times, I am a memory
enshrined in your heart.
A family friend died recently: very young, cancer. And someone shared a photograph from 2 decades ago - these are my reflections on the poignant moment captured in lens then...
Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
You’re a smack down
Kick-around, clueless clown
That tells unfunny jokes
And runs with the blokes
That put up with your antics
And your busted semantics
Because they think someday
Things might swing your way
And they can profit by association
With a human abomination
That enjoys investing atrocities
With scarifying velocity
On the halt and the lame;
Running opportunistic games
On those who cannot defend;
World without end, amen.

But heaven forfend
That you might have a friend
Who seems a holy prophet
But does not seek for profit
And acolytes to their cause;
A bogus Santa Claus
Who leeches from the people
In his church without a steeple,
Just microwave towers
Sprouting like ugly flowers
To spread out the message
So we can read every passage
That boil down to a sermon
To send money to this vermin
Your bund proclaims a messiah
When he is really a pariah
Nobody has yet recognized
He’s so well disguised.

But, be aware, polecat
Some know what your at
And what you are doing
I nothing more than accruing
That which you can bank.
You have nobody to thank
For the outcome you inherit
From the outcome you assume
When your calumnies bloom
Into the realities that appear
When the truth draws near
And tars and feathers you
And when your victims do
What they should have done along
Was reject your ways gone wrong
And found a rail lying around
To ride your **** out of town.
Johnny Noiπ Sep 2018
Black Gods come from things w/in the Body & the Heat
of the poet from Space facing the Dead beautiful heady snooch         going to the Earth
in her bare feet;       Queen for years of the Bright White
places
things do;            Young thought **** art Green left big America
said Golden living hereto,                            beauty's mind-poetry
finds the Goddess Sun's ancient money,       Puck City War
hell death
hard *******,         great start to w/ ***** & the future seas ******
skin
calling up her room,           female hands;        
words of the poet's six kids,                               six hairs times six
fire thinking noun street wife lost real call knew the dream baby;
the Middle blue door true to the lives of a better history of the Moon & Sky making the stock boy Igor childless & drunk,
an American told him to open the universe w/ his hands of gold;
heard time English human father ***** water heaven
cold drinks write bad Greek siding w/
what kind of person is born to children, counting three yellow stones
turned inside out     & walking;  
the heart's work full of the truths of the high curves of Medusa,
leaving small Holy widely read books feeling ugly,
son of spiritual stars in the state of nature's walking Hole,
Barbie a gay kid wild in the Brown Year of the red painted cat-lady
writing w/ her mouth; the guy running to her arms is her best friend
going deeper into the century's form of the invisible mother standing
w/ her lips full but keeping the French windows
closed where Ivan's Sweet Secret Society's yucky Russians
                         speaking dogs'                            ****** soul's
brain story's perfect music for girls in the field
of evil voices smoking a lot & dancing;
                         the guy's reading matters
                                           in the mirror
of modern poem,             revolutionary
under the big, big banner of
the Bund, asking reality to talk to her sister-turned-stripper
wearing the walls of the House of Sand sensing
fingers of Christ's career free Clubs Eating School
        Kissing Dead Strippers;
        here the standard ***** waits for the robot to be brought
into the heat of her legs;
she married the pretty Silver Lord's
falling tree;     the       air & land rich w/ the smell of Magic's
powerful science of mom and daughter's **** birth dreaming
on the floor,
                            the painting of prophetic gods
in the garden of language;
unknown & sacred, turning to Alchemy
w/ a friendly blonde sitting beside the wall of Park Avenue,
                             living atop the machine origin of *******;
in bed watching the cops at six o'clock, surely    their eyes
& toes were the genius of Mary's angels   & w/in the meeting
she fell down where the poet wrote of cool,    buried loved
on sight & hairy, leaves on her knees in the windy knowledge
                                                       of angels glass tabletops
asleep
in the center of the burning daughters,
fat so as it is written starting in the flesh of Bettie
changing into a monster in flames;           paradise w/out Einstein's
drinking the news talking about being leather,
pregnant & broken, guns holding her tongue,
the stranger kills w/ his teeth,            naturally
the radio deserted the public                      playing w/ a gun,
he ***** a teenager holding ladies at bay w/ food;
Gypsy wrongs for the smoker's corner,  sounds move waves
                         in the Christian temples her **** is watched,
  ***** stupidly,          she takes Chinese Computer Courses,
reading the lights of Skinny Bob's Muses & kissing him
upon his return to the witch taking the town by
ode enough & she being empty, felt alive & stood
in the plastic south wind;       I Remember
her abstract **** walking through the ground snow
in one stocking, the adversary going to the dance
of her corporate clothes, her bottom met simply on the planet
of Crazy ****,  meaning she understood the Hidden Shadows
every second ever speaking
calling her to bring the ghost beats & feeling her laying
down on knowing Stars Caught in her lover Dawn's
sweaty *******,                          sexually Eve & Jack give
thanks to the cut,                           live & unseen thinking
of the early ****
of the goddesses standing straight     in the single picture
of *****'s ****** on the warm streets leading
to the mad love of mankind's plurality looking strangely
& moving the older Jewish happy faces turning its glory
literally in half,    she began, Hey!                 Mistress of the opposite
                   happening
beneath the much wider falling Autumn leaves
                                  from the Trees on the Hills
Hazel May 2017
Så nu står vi her bare på bunden, vi er på bunden bar,
vi står på bar bund, velkendt sted men ukendt grund.  
Vi er stille for en stund, tankerne flyver rundt
der er kun stille èt sekund, for vi er tabt i det fortabte
i en verden vi ikke kender, men vi skabte.
-Hazel
Sofie Oct 2019
Et lys i et vindue
En hånd på en kind
Jeg mærker varme som kulde
Dit væsens hvirvelvind

Mon mørket lader sig overgive
Når lyset brændes til bund
Når du kærtegner mine læber
Kysser min mund

Et lys fra mit vindue
En ukendt profil
Jeg lader mørket være skillevæggen
Og natten vores mysterie

Du kigger uden at se
Og jeg er væk i et øjeblik
For netop det vi frygtede
Var sådan som det gik

Et lys i et vindue
Et fortrukket gardin
En endeløs nat
Og en dag vi aldrig fik
Moon
Why are you
In so disgust

Is it the *****
of the lights
On you

If so,
Go to the village

The lake bund is
Still so beautiful
anna charlotte May 2021
En dump ham på dørmåtten dreng, som aldrig helt kunne kende forskel på fisse eller pesoir
En pige, som i bund og grund er ligeglad, men ikke lige havde noget bedre at tage sig til, da mødet indtræffende
Parforhold eller et mislykket forsøg på at mærke noget som ikke længere er muligt
Når man giver sig hen, så mister man aldrig rigtig noget
For alt du siger, skal være sandt
Men det er ikke alt som er sandt, du skal sige
Sagde ***
Det skal jeg nok selv finde ud af
Mumlede han

Uforløsligt, men man har jo ikke brug for svar, når man ikke vil høre dem
Ikke sandt?

— The End —