To The new Year (2017)


I know you’ll step in

with much sound, laughter and all.

But not everyone will participate.

Remember that.

Try to bring a smile to every face

if you can.

Let the day have its sun

and night the stars.

Let seasons breathe.

Be kind.




Posted for Poetry Pantry @ Poets United






If I could only gift

my loved ones

a little piece of full moon

that would never wane,

in a little bottle

to be kept on the table and cherished.



If I could only gift

my loved ones

a forever Spring

with never ending blooms

in a clay pot

to be hung on the veranda wall.



It may sound absurd

yet they are my gifts of word

to my loved ones

living in every corner of the world.

Merry Christmas

and a Happy New Year.




Posted for Elizabeth’s Creativity Challenge Day 34; word for today is Gift over @ 1sojournal





I’ve never heard

such a lusterless,

and apocalyptic word

as ‘post-truth’.

This word will never get

capital letters from my end.

Yet Aleppo is happening,

lips are stitched with uncanny silence,

and power lies in the hands of liars.

No wonder such words should surface

from darkness now.

Just to think of the year 2016

has been characterized

with this shadowy word

makes me cringe.

It was the international word of the year 2016.

The word is a marker

of ‘What man has made of man*’

Nevertheless I like to dream:

Truth is never dead.

Facts are never passé.




*From William Wordsworth’s poem  Written In Early Spring



Posted for Elizabeth’s Creativity Challenge 24 and the word for today is ‘Shadow’


shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United



What keeps you ticking

when you feel like dying?

Hunger. It pushes me forward

and lifts me up

from the ashes and debris

of what was once mine.

And what keeps your soul alive?

Music. It converts my tears into joy.

I lend my ears to every note

while picking up

the shards of my pieced self

to restore.


Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ Music @ Poets United

A Rain of Ruin from the Air


Flying machines

remind me

of Pearl Harbor,

of Little Boy and Fat Man,

of Twin Towers and Aleppo

of necropolis everywhere,

of history repeating itself.



Sky-path is for the birds

and innocence only.



* On August 6, the U.S. dropped a uranium gun-type (Little Boy) bomb on Hiroshima, and American President Harry S. Truman called for Japan’s surrender, warning it to “expect a rain of ruin from the air, the like of which has never been seen on this earth.” Three days later, on August 9, a plutonium implosion-type (Fat Man) bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. Wikipedia



Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Aviation @ Poets United



I’ve always found her warm and glowing

tiptoeing with a soft sunny smile,

graceful in her orange breath,

 in cloudless, blue sari.

She talked to me

in exotic bird voice.

Her running steps in cricket field

that came to us through radio

were our heartbeats.

I’ve always loved her for that.

On one hand she held Nabanna*

On the other an earthen pot

filled with jaggery.

Her yellow mustard-field shawl

swayed in the cool north wind.

She has changed with time, sadly.

Now she pricks me with memories

till I bleed badly.

I love her still for all she was.

*Nabanna meaning New Crop is a Bengali harvest celebration. Several music and dance forms have grown out of the rituals accompanied with the festival: Wikipedia

Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – Winter my dear would be cold without warm memories – [37] over @ A Dash Of Sunny


Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United