If I were..

If I were a dream,
in someones eyes, like a gleam,
I would impel their minds to achieve me,
See them walk through their destiny.
how they win, with obstacles, so many

If I were a flower,
I'd hug the bees and give'em  nectar
feel the wind and sway with the other,
spread my fragrance across the borders,
and rest in peace, on the day, another

If I were a tree,
I'd take pride in giving shade to thee,
In bearing you fruits that tastes so sweet.
I'd provide wood to built shelter for thee,
and yet not show pain, when you cut me.

If I were the moon,
I'd rise early, for the sun set view.
A visual lullaby, I'd put you to sleep, soon
I'd tell you, if I captured a hare or a goon.
And i'd see the world go quiet, so soon.

If I were the sun,
I'd start a dream for some,
see the sunflowers bloom at once,
admire the trees grow so awesome,
and bid goodbye to the moon, while I go down.

If I were...

Hear it here

sounds of hunger

amidst the class, about food and culture,
with the longing to eat, my mind wanders.
Its been a while, since i had my last meal,
I thought for myself,I can manage, no big deal!

'food' for thoughts, foods we visualize,
'food' for discussions, talks - none otherwise.
Oh my cravings! please don't die,
Don't call ghrelin and make me shy.

a victim to the stares of my neighbor, already,
for the musical notes playing in my tummy.
Ms. Professor too seems like a lead of an orchestra,
listing all the cuisines and restaurants in the area.

For a project it is, to taste test and comment,
I urged to start mine, that very instance
with her cont'd instructions, it grew more intense,
filling me with the utmost embarrassment.

all of a sudden, the class fell quiet,
Ghrr! Grrr!  burrp! now that's my diet.
heads turned, for a view of the culprit,
but the professor laughed in all good spirits

feeling abashed i cupped my face
i was filled with aw, when they all  gazed,
'Relax!' my neighbor said with sympathy
relieved I was, when she knew I was hungry.

my hungry tummy, the sounds it makes
for I thought, a fart, they all would mistake.


Hear it here

My pen

It's so much pleasure to write my thoughts,

Better than sharing with the friend I walk.

Sometimes moody and some very silly,

 Always noting the muses of its lady,

Never will argue, none will question,

Any color of the ink, when chosen.

Heartless indeed, but a quiet listener,

Who never judges on what I ponder.

Sometimes stuck in my occupied mind,

Words don't flow with the emotional mime.

Yet it's tries scribbling, to amuse

It's lady to whom, gives an idea to muse.

Here I tried to personify a pen. Making the pen a private friend with whom I share the most secretive thoughts, for, a pen - a materialistic thing without a heart or soul will not judge me by my thoughts and will always be a quiet listener. The pen would even  try to cheer me with its scribbles, and when words don't flow, these scribbles would even give me ideas to think