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 

Yeh dooriyaan!!!

Itne Kareeb ho k bhi  kitne door hain hum,

Kyon dikarahi zindagi yeh tanhayi k sitam?

Itni jaan-pehchaan k baad bhi kitne alag hai hum,

Yeh rishta nibhane k liye pyaar kafi nahi hai har dum?

To the blood sucking rascals! :P

Oh dear, I cannot sleep
Without hearing their noisy squeaks

Oh they think, it's a song so sweet,
The shrill tones, only makes me weep

I plug my ears, pillows covered too,
Ain't any good, their songs make me blue

pierced though me their snout, like needles,
"ouch! snap! aah! You blood sucking evils."

Malaria, dengue, encephalitis
mere utterance, gives me tingles

your tiny bites would make me feeble
"Oh Dear mosquitoes! Please don't mingle"

Hear it here

The Artist

Slipped her hands, feeling the anklets' beads,
Tingling sounds, like wind chimes and breeze,

Wearing it on, stood  in a pose,
With hand gestures, a dancer she supposed

the wind, the sky, the trees, the birds,
everything surreal were audience to her,

Opening her doors of imaginations, Spree!
To the sounds of birds, her expressions - glee!

rustled the leaves; and clouds of thunder,
she wore on her face, a symbol of fear

the passing clouds, and the clear sky bright,
concealed the fright on her face, with delight

her sorrowful face, heard the distant bazaar
tampering the peace, of her oneness hour,

evoked now, by the feeling of wonder,
blown by the wind, that  moment of terror,

the musical notes of the anklets on her feet
made her dance, as the expressions repeat,

heroic it seems, her care free mimes,
even to the nature's signs, she rhymes.

as she sequels the eight hues of expressions,
the door ajar, and she showed, the last essence

expression they are, of an emotional appeal,
if  only she could visualize, the beauty of her feel.

The Artist - a poem about a blind girl who portrays herself as a classical dancer, wearing on the anklets and dancing to the natures music,with her profound expressions of the navarasas.

Hear it here

Rakhi ki hardik shubkaamnahein!

ise ek chota sa dhaga hi samjho,
jho ittne saalon mein baandhte chali aarahi hoon.
Kabhi tere tang kichthe hue,
aur kuch baateein haste hasaathe hue.
kabhi  jhagadthe hue, jab tum meri bhi dairymilk  ka jate the
aur phir kabhi teri naraazgi, aakir  maine hi tere books ko ghasetdiye the
na jaane kaise guzargaye hamari masti bhari bachpana,
itne saaalon k baad bhi jab yaad karti hoon,
yeh sab choti choti baatein sochke hi dil bhar jata hai
aaj phir ek bar rakhi k din, hamare yeh  anoka rishhta nibhathe hue,
 mujhe apne yaadon mein rakh k ,meri d hui rakhi baandlena bhaiya.
rakhi ki harrdik shubkaamnaheein.