Do you have any poems you wrote youd like to share

Do you have any poems you wrote you’d like to share?

Here is something I wrote while I was going through a difficult phase:
You pinch yourself,
To know what is real.

The tears don’t stop,
The shard digs deeper.

And all those thoughts,
They keep gushing.

Refusing to budge,
Refusing to die down.

You welcome your old friend,
The one that consumes and liberates.

And when the pen touches the paper,
The ink flows all over.

Creating patterns like blood in veins,
Rushing to fill those gaping wounds.

And they come one by one,
The words, the memories, the feelings,
Like ants in a queue,
Till they crawl all over, and you just can’t escape.

You need to pin them down,
You need to strike them off,
You need to drench them in ink,
And let them lose.

And oh! The picture they create is a beauty,
One soaked with the pain of the creator,
One hiding the essence,
And letting out only so much.

One that tells the tales of fragments lost in the dark,
One that sings the melody of memories that have left a gash.

And the more you write,
The deeper the wound etches,
The more you let it go,
The wider the banks become,
Making way for the river to flow,
Eroding, destroying yet creating.

And then the calm sets in,
Everything goes numb,
The pen stops, the ink dries up,
What was once a memory,
Becomes merely a story.


With the onset of life,
we all started to walk
Walking on our own lanes, the lanes assigned to us
Parallel to us were people on their own lanes –
Similar or different
Some were walking on smoother lanes
Some were just walking smoothly.

Some cried for the bad lane they got
Some were happy even on a worse lane.

Just then, it happened to me;
Why am I slower than others?
Why people around are rushing?
Why is it so? Why me?
Am I weak? Do I not have the potential?
And Just then, I looked around,
To find that I can’t see the lanes –
People around were walking on
I can only see how they walk.

Just then I realised that I can’t see –
Every other person in world
Let alone, their lanes
My world was limited to the people I see.

And Just then I realised,
That we aren’t supposed to compete,
We just have to walk on our lane –
At our pace.

But then it happened to me again,
Why are we walking? What are we heading towards?
What if the road is worse ahead?
What if the parallel lanes, diverge?
Will I be alone?
Then Why walk? Why not, stand still?
Or better, just sit? Stop moving?

What I didn’t realise was,
That I wasn’t the only thing alive and moving,
The lane I was walking on, was moving too.

So even when I stopped, it didn’t.

What I didn’t realise was,
The lane I was on and the lane I will be on
Are not in my control entirely.

But the attitude I walk it on with, is.

What I didn’t realise was,
That the people on my left and the people on my right –
Are not with me.
They never were.
They can’t be.

I was and will always be alone on my lane.

We were just like trains on parallel tracks –
Moving with more-or-less the same speed.

The one – relatively – slower sees himself losing it all.

The faster, winning the race-walk.

But was there ever a race?
Are the destinations same?
Do we even know the destination?
Do we know the allotted time?
Then, why this haste? Why this rush?
We all have our own watches
We all have our own spects
We all have our own lanes
We all have our own ways.

So, Why to compete? Why to fear?
Why to lament? Why to get disheartened?
Why to be depressed?
Why to sit? Why to stop moving?
When all you need to do is –
To walk in your own way.


I just read an answer that reminded me of this poem I wrote, so I thought I would share.

If you’re not familiar with Paddleball, it’s a toy that looks like this:
There's a game you can play
With three very simple things:
Just a ball, and a paddle,
And a piece of rubber string.

And to make it even simpler,
You don't have to find them all.

Here's the string and the paddle;
You already have the ball.

The principle is easy.

You go forward and back;
With a little bit of practice
You can really get the knack .

(Keep the rhythm
 Keep the rhythm
 Keep the rhythm
 Keep the rhythm .
But you have to keep it moving.

You can't ever stop.

You have to keep it moving,
Or the ball will drop.

The laws of physics say
You stop at each end,
But it's just to change direction,
And you're zooming back again
(To the paddle
 To the paddle
 To the paddle
 To the paddle .
When you hit it, it propels you
As far as you can reach
But there's a limit to your progress
When you're on a rubber leash
And you can't even remember
If you like this game
But you keep on trying,
Since it really seems a shame
To lose your momentum
When you've come this far
But you don't know where you're going
And you don't know where you are .

(And you wonder what would happen
 If you cut the rubber string
 While the ball is in motion
 While the ball is in motion .
And everyone admires
How well you do the trick
But you feel a little dizzy
And you feel a little sick
And you really have to wonder
If there's something you should learn
When you reach the end another time
And know that you'll return
(To the paddle
 To the paddle
 To the paddle
 To the paddle .
And you wonder if it's worth it.

Is the price too steep?
And if you are the winner,
Will you have a place to sleep?
(And you wonder what would happen
 If you cut the rubber string
 While the ball is in motion
 While the ball is in motion .
And you keep on going
Just as you've been told
But you wonder if you're growing
Or only growing old .

And you wonder what would happen
If you cut the rubber string
While the ball is in motion
And you try it .
Snip .

When I see
The kids on the footpath struggling to sleep,
the wounded animals silently weep.

The little angels left on the streets to beg,
the heroic soldiers returning with a ruptured leg.

I get involved in their pain which brings glee,
it's the certain kind of sadness that addicts me.

When I see
Barefoot beggars running across and back,
those homeless souls making bed with sack.

Those smiling faces in the orphanage,
those 'for sale' on belongings of vintage.

I let my tear drop and the smile flee,
It's the certain kind of sadness that addicts me.

When I see
A house wreck in the flood devastating everything,
the rich being richer and poor suffering.

Hungry eyes looking for food in a garbage slot,
and poverty stricken body begging even for a death plot.

I pick up my pen and write to change the view I see,
though it's still the certain kind of sadness that addicts me.

-Priya Agarwal
I wake up to the morning sunshine,
hearing a new name at everyone's utterance like a rhyme.

Looks like its something only I am not knowing,
everyone is smiling at me with their faces glowing.

"He is the guy,he is the guy and you'll be soon gone",
my brother says this in a laughing tone.

Today is the meeting decided,mother says,
Father caresses,"Daughter take your own days".

I was scared I was puzzled,
an unknown prayer I mumbled.

Worried about the meeting I had to attend,
nervously I called up my dear friend.

Satisfying myself with the words she spoke,
I found joy with a new hope.

We often met nowadays,we talked a lot,
he gave me a ring and tied us in a knot.

The ring soon decided for us the marriage date,
because the society felt it was already too late.

Everything was being done in such a haste,
I felt I couldn't enjoy the courtship taste.

It left me worried sometimes of my choice,
but I had no valid reason to raise my voice.

I got more and more engrossed in my wedding preparation,
but with time I started rejoicing him and our new relation.

I see sparkles and happy faces all around,
the lights,the decorations and festival like sound.

My friends and relatives from all over the places,
showering on me their blessings and love traces.

Wondering how the time flies,
my mom is near me with her teary eyes.

not even looking at me,fearing his daughter's beauty,
daddy is busy in his social duty.

giving my responsibility to him with all the softness,
unable to hide his emotions even brother does express.

Yes, it is my wedding day,
and I am heading in a new way.

Yes , I am very emotional to say,
but I am scared of the 'what may?'.

Yes, I am going to miss living the old way,
Departing from my parents and going away.

Yes, I am accepting the uncertainty without a say,
and risking my life,like a play,
because at the end and before anything,
I Am A Bride today!
-Priya Agarwal
[This one is for every girl who is tied into a knot of marriage and is bound to leave her comfort zone with a stranger under the norms of the society with least minimal choices.
With no negativity intended it indeed is a risk which with God's grace and hope brings some unknown happiness in people's lives.

Allergic To Wine
I hum if I'm happy
 Hungry or lost
 In my own thoughts
 But at what cost?
 At your wine tasting
 Allergic to wine
 I sit here and eat
 Though you might say, "dine.
 The morning after
 Before morning rush
 You ask why I was humming
 Why couldn't I hush?
 In that social setting
 It was awkward, at least
 I thought I should tell you
 Next time you should cease.

 But I hum if I'm lost
 In my own thoughts
 Or happy and hungry
 Despite all your haught
 I hum if I want to
 I'm not so high class
 So take your opinion

 And have another glass
Family Room
Family time in the family room
 Each person acting alone
 Doing things that are normal
 Normal in this home
 Sister is reading a magazine
 Brother is sketching a tree
 Mother is watching the news
 Father's eyes are fixed on me
 I'm straddling the back of the couch
 Rubbing myself back and forth
 Hoping no one can tell it feels good
 Pretending I'm riding a horse
 My little eyelids flutter
 My trot becomes a gallop
 Then my body collapses
 My head hits the couch like a mallet
 He probably carries me off
 His drugs must work quick
 Family time in the family room
 What a terrible trick
As a child, my parents used food to control us, a lot.
Pre-packaged snacks and the best treats were reserved for my father.
If we wanted chips, we MUST have a sandwich to go with it.
If my sister or I ate ice cream, we were reminded of how fat we would surely become.
At the beginning of my marriage, my food issues manifested in strange and amusing ways.

The pantry door in the kitchen squeaks
 And it is so annoying
 Each time I want a snack
 There is an alarm there
 To remind everyone
 I am a fatty
 I don't put any WD-40 on the hinges
 Because then I won't be able to tell
 When other people
 Are eating my snacks at night

More Poetry and other writings by me: Daughter of Monsters

The Sea
The smell of the salty water in the air
brush through my curls
gently strokes me and pulls me towards the ocean
the first moment my tiny toes touch the grainy brown sand
they hug every morsel of skin, under my feet
and submerge through the spaces within my toes
transporting the love from the sun
by warming my toes
it travels through my spine
as I breathe in the ocean
and hear the familiar sound of waves
hitting the shore
I radiate with happiness
the sunlight reflected upon the glassy ocean
casts dazzling flashes of light
resembling the midnight sky
every inch of the ocean is covered with sparkling stars
I love watching the waves kiss the shore
and over
and over
all day
and night
and I jump in
and run back
and forth
with you
and the shore
Together we play catch
until we collapse
into the green blue waters,
just cold enough
For a warm day,
and I dive and submerge myself
into your
into your
into the deep sea
i get roped into the sea that is you
allowing my soul
to be consumed
by the love
of the ocean
and of my soulmate
Bhavleen Smoot
Love tastes like Sunday morning(everyday), it tastes like the beautiful scent of fresh pancakes and bacon wafting through the air, as you still lie in bed, it smells like fresh dew.

Sunday morning
It’s the how the morning sun cuts through the glass and the air and caresses everything in its way
the ritualistic way the sunshine says hello
by embracing everything in sight in its own beautiful way
I look up
and smell the fresh dew
small droplet as a reflection of the night sky like stars settled on the green carpet grass and on the leaves
droplets look like full mirrors in the disc of chamomile flower
The beautiful scent of fresh pancakes and bacon
fill the air
as you stay in bed,
the warmth of the blanket slowly become less endearing
you look up to see
the golden sea of curls
slowly twirling with the lovely soft beat of jazz
playing in the background
the scent wafting through the air
and the beautiful twinkling stars in the eyes
shining brightly
the smile
melts away all thoughts
in that messy head of mine
the only remnants
is the thought of having a lovely breakfast
in the room illuminated
by the light of the sun
and that of the shine that radiates from each corner
of the face of your beloved
the only remnants
is to allow myself to surrender
and fully be consumed
by the beauty and love
Bhavleen Smoot
Photography: Bhavleen Smoot
BONUS: Listen to Just in Time by Nina Simone
(they both go well)

Here are some of them:
Flowers wilt upon the meadow
As ink fades upon the quill
The night will turn into dawn
As it always will
Memories drift away
And papers shrivel and die
And when we finally part
There is no need to cry
Because even though flowers wilt
And ink fades
And memories drift away
We will be there always
The ones who depart never truly leave
Although you may forget them
The worlds you discovered together
Can never be dimmed
The times together
Are as timeless as time
As steadfast as a mountain
And as inevitable as the hour chime
So even though the flowers wilt upon the meadow
And ink fades upon the quill
We have always been there
And we always will
The city of Hiroshima
On August 8, 1945
The roar could not be heard
And the city was alive
On August 9, 1945
A plane was coming to destroy
It came for the first and final time
With a bomb named Little Boy
When the bomb dropped to end it all
The world started to cry
The rivers started the blacken
And 166,000 people died
The war was still not done however
There was still a price to pay
The next plane on August 9th
Came to bring another dark day
The bomb was coming for Kokura
But then the trip became rocky
The target could no longer be reached
So instead they came for Nagasaki
The plume of smoke was seen again
To destroy the world inside it
The fire lit upon the rivers
But by then they could not fight it
The bombs were meant to end the conflict
And so that goal was met
On August 14, 1945
Japan surrendered without a threat
To this day the aftermath is there
Written on the walls from long ago
The outlines painted by the blast
The everlasting bomb shadows
I'm from leaves drifting down past the windows,
And air biting into my skin,
And clops and clamps as I strut to the driveway,
And vrooms of yellow buses,
(Red noses, vibrant backpacks and Rollie-Pollies).

Crossed arms and frowns,
To yellow-toothed smiles.

I'm from water cooling me down.

From the sun digging into my skin,
And the sting in my eyes,
And the catch in my hair.

Makeshift sandwich
And disappointed groans from the empty riverbed.

I'm from the rare frost upon the street,
And the sight of snowballs crashing apart,
And hot chocolate dotted with marshmallows.

From flashing lights
Staring at them until the pattern is memorized.

I'm from “is driving hard?” and cranberries.

I'm from books in front of the TV,
And pink hats.

With tattletale sisters.

I’m from the pitter-patter of rain on the window,
And the burst of sun illuminating the sky,
And the crinkle and crack of leaves,
And the skid of ice glazing the driveway.

I'm from jumping off the brick tower
From speeding down the hills with whoops and hollers.

From flour dusting the white tiles.

From thunder crashing and water streaming down the street and the sun glaring at the lake and crisp air biting into my skin
That's where I’m from.

This one is inspired by Rumi, I originally wrote it in hindi/urdu.
But I am translating it here in English.

जब वो पूछें तुमसे
कैसे चलाता है खुदा सारी कायनात को
कहो, खेलते हुए कुछ बच्चों को दिखाकर

(When they ask you,
 How does God work his wonders ?
Say, showing them a child playing,
“Like this”)

जब वो पूछें तुमसे
कैसे निकलता है चाँद बादलों से
कहो उनके रुख से ज़ुल्फ़े हटा कर

(When they ask you,
 How does Moon come out of the clouds?
Tucking hair-locks away from their faces,
“Like this”)

जब वो मांगे तुमसे
इस कशमकश-ए-ज़िन्दगानी का हासिल
दिखाओ उन्हें थोड़ा सा मुस्कुरा कर

(When they ask you,
 For the fruits of all the struggles in life,
Smile a bit and say,
“This is”)

जब वो पूछें तुमसे
कैसे पिघलती है पर्वतों से बर्फ
बताओ उन्हें सीने से लगा कर

(When they ask you,
 How does ice melts from lofty mountains?
embrace them with the warmth of your heart,
“Like this”)

जब वो पूछें तुमसे
कैसे कटेगी यह अज़ीयत-ए-ज़िन्दगी
अपने साथ उसको भी नचा कर

(When they ask you,
 How will I spend this torment called life?
take them with you for a lovely dance,
“Like this”)


Some of the short poems I wrote:
I am being Discreet
After 3 years when we meet
Either Stand on your Feet
Or Beg on the Street
I will no longer tolerate your shit
Hope you are feeling the heat
Be ready for the kind of future u want to meet
Show them u still have some meat
Your destiny is calling , Don’t Cheat
Fight like an athlete,
Gather your strength ,compete,
Now the time is SWEET
I dreamt I could FLY,
I woke up, it was a blatant LIE,
But I learnt an important lesson,
You can also fly with wings of passion,
Thats what I call a reincarnation
A friend asked me the key to happiness,
I told him to try to achieve shallowness,
Extract All wants from a Man,
He will feel as light as a Swan

It was a dark night
I wanted to hold her tight
But she was miles away from my sight
Because We had an ugly fight
I yearned to see her face full of light
I desperately called her tonight
But she hung up the phone upright
She showed no mercy on my plight
I desperately called her and wanted to end the fight
But she was immovable that night
I fought hard like a knight
But she was explosive like a dynamite
I realized I was addicted to her like a parasite
I stooped so low for her one sight
I had to end this addiction or loose this fight
I decided to soar like a kite
Some more at maxviv

Yes, and this may well be the first and last poem I’d ever write.
One fine morning, it just came into my mind.
I never had a gift for poetry but this one came so suddenly and powerfully I wrote it within 2 minutes.

Sixty Seconds of Life
Sixty seconds of time,
A special moment of mine,
Where time and space know no quantities,
And emotions know no boundaries.

In this sixty seconds of time,
When nothing else matters,
Not your deadlines for work,
Nor the motherfuckers who judged you.

Because in this sixty seconds of time,
It’s all about you,
And the smiling faces around you,
Conquering the world together.

How ironic it is,
That in this sixty seconds of time,
When you are closest to death,
Do you feel most alive.

In this sixty seconds of life.

Yes, I was doing this just the day before:
I’m the skinny guy in the middle with the black and yellow rig.
Kindly ignore our lack of clothes in the middle of an Australian winter 10,000 feet in the air.

GOD, I love skydiving, this 60 seconds of freefall.

I wrote this poem this last summer after reading Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn.

Make an Objection
As we fight for equal rights…
A girl is kidnapped and her body is sold into her future as a sex slave because her society decided that’s all she was worth.

As we fight for equal rights…
A woman enters the workforce with twice the education but half the pay because her gender automatically demotes her to a lower grade.

As we fight for equal rights…
A girl takes her life after she was told by society that she was asking to be brutally attacked and raped because she chose to wear a dress to the party.

As we fight for equal rights…
A woman spends six months in the hospital because she didn’t respond to a catcall and that’s inexcusable, who doesn’t say thank you to a compliment?
As we fight for equal rights…
A girl is taught that instead of learning science and reading she should learn that she is simply a piece of property and a commodity.

As we fight for equal rights…
A woman is denied a raise to gain equal pay because the only thing women should be asking for is permission to their own bodies.

As we fight for equal rights…
A girl pursues a career in film, and even though she can direct, act, and write, her most useful asset is her body because sex sells and films by women don’t.

As we fight for equal rights…
A woman is told her worth is determined not by her thoughts, feelings, or achievements; rather, her worth is up to her husband and father.

As we fight for equal rights…
Someone undoes all progress made because of their ignorance, arrogance, and inability to see its importance.

Let us ask a few questions and maybe by the end, you’ll be willing to join in our objections.

Please tell us how we deserve less?
Please tell us how it was about the dress?
Please tell us how the catcall is a compliment?
Please tell us how we were asking for it?
Please explain how our bodies are nothing more than commodities.

Please explain how our education is less important than our workstation.

It’s time that we no longer just fight, but also protect, inform, and rewrite.

Stop considering this perfection and make an objection.

ख़्वाबों के परिंदे
बस की खिड़की से झाँकने पर.
इक हुजूम नज़र था आ रहा
हज़ारों गाड़ियां,उन पर सवार लोग.
पूछने को उनसे जी था मेरा चाह रहा :
(है कौन सी मंज़िल ऐसी, जिसे पाने की चाहत में हर सुबह निकलते हैं सब
दिखती किसी के चेहरे पर मुस्कान.
किसी पर थकान.
वो लौटते हैं जब)
बस का शीशा ताकने पर.
दिख रहा है अपना अक्स जो
खो गया हो इस हुजूम में.
लग रहा है ऐसा वो
है धूल-मिटटी, शोर-ओ-गुल भी.
और सिगनल की लाल रौशनी
पल भर थमे इस कारवां में.
खोज रहा हूँ ज़िन्दगी
खिड़की के उस पार आसमाँ में.
हैं उड़ते परिंदे कुछ दिख रहे
उड़ चला है.
मन ये मेरा.
संग उनके हिमालये
हैं ऊंचे ऊंचे पर्वत यहां.
चूमते हैं वो गगन
हैं गहरी गहरी नदियाँ भी.
सींचती धरती का तन
दूर दूर तक देखो जहां भी.
दिख रही हैं वादियां
शोर-ओ-गुल से.
दूर बहुत.
मैं और मेरी खामोशियाँ
सूरज और बादल खेलते हैं.
लुका-छिपी अक्सर यहां
सात रंगों का इंद्रधनुष.
करता है रोशन इनका जहां
ऐसे ही कई रंगों से.
कुछ पल के लिए था मन भरा
टूट गया वो ख्वाब मेरा.
लाल सिगनल का होने पर हरा
चल पड़ा हाँ कारवां.
फिरसे अपनी मंज़िल की तरफ
परिंदे भी वो हाँ उड़ गए.
ख्वाब में घर की दिखाकर इक झलक
सवाल जो जी में थे मेरे.
शोर-ओ-गुल में जाकर खो गए
जवाब थे जो ख़्वाबों में.
देख परिंदों को जाते सो गए

Yes Sure
I was raised
in the lap of goddess,
who drank blood
danced on corpses
and destroyed evil
She taught me
Women were allowed
to be angry
to be dark
to be warrior
In the night, when the
rapist slept Peacefully
she dragged tiger skin
over my shoulders and
said to me : daughter
if ever they lay
even a finger on you
you will cutt off their hands
and bring them to me
I will make you a skirt of arms, and I will make you a garland of heads
and together we'll walk
through the fiends
with our new costume.

And when other women
ask you where you got
your beautiful dress from
Tell them it was from
teaching others
to respect
your body
My mind
is 12 million landmines
floating at sea,
you my dear,
are just a paperboat in it.

My heart
is a bed where the bugs
have eaten the cotton away
you my friend,
will just be a meal
for midday.

My path
has never seen
the shadows of light
you my friend
are just a candle
in a stormy night.

I am not scaring you,
but I wish you bought
enough matchsticks to
set the world on fire.

On some nights
On some nights
my poetry can't offer
any hope or solace
to a lost man.

On some nights
My poetry is a sea
that has forgotten
how to be calm.

On some nights
my poetry is a city
lacking a soul
passing by carelessly.

On some nights
My poetry is a child
having just discovered
santa isn't real.

On some nights
My poetry isn't a hymm
But a war cry.

On some nights
My poetry is as real
as reality.


When we were young and not yet full of care
we had the time to stop and stare
where now we scurry, endlessly,
to earn our bread.

Yet when man was young and work was too
standing and staring was the way to go:
poised on the moment, waiting
all the long hot afternoon
for the rustle to become a rabbit
for the flash of song and colour in the green leaves to become a bird
for the ripple to become a fish.

So now among the bustle
and the rush we can but wish
and hanker
for the time to wait
for the thought to become understanding
for the tingle in the spine to become the power awaited
for the word to become a poem.

Then there’s this, which is about the evolution of birds.

Listen to the song of the world's wind
See my children leap up
See my children cast off
Into the sky
Seek my seed – my children were born
In a dazzle of colour
Now they spiral upwards
Feathered with fractured light -
The light of the sun
Streams past the out-stretched hand
Shedding their teeth
To sow an army
Death and the fire of heaven
Cast them down
Shipwrecked in stone, still fringed
With frozen light -
Shall the stones take flight?
Listen to the song of the world's wind
See my children leap up
See my children cast off
Into the sky
Icarus fell, but Daedalus
Sweeps on – the storm
Could not out-pace him
Listen to me tell
How the same claws that grasped the ground
Clutched at the sundered sky
How the great beasts of thunder
With their bones of stone leapt up
And dwindled
Into bones of air
To glitter and shine
Listen to the song of the world's wind
See my children leap up
See my children cast off
Into the sky
Cauldron of changes
Feather on the bone
Circle of eternity
Heart in the stone
See my children leap up
Into the sky
verse beginning "Cauldron of changes" is a traditional pagan chant which normally ends "Hole in the stone".

This is a heartbreaking romantic poem I wrote a few months ago.

(“_” denotes beginning of a new stanza)
A reluctance in his feet, stiff wrist
Deafened by her silence, deafened by the wind
She was the rock
Embracing her loud waterfall.

How a window would become her confidant
Transparent glass, a hunger
Some thoughts, aghast
A window pane and a half widow’s pain.

Two years that resounded misery
Days intertwining her and the ghostly fog
And a pane of hallucinatory pain
Two years beneath a sombre sea.

A desperate breath cleared the mist
A circle of her life, fading again
His still face and silent lips
White and purple, like a dead maple.

Every step she took was the rocks she had been
And the waterfall crumbled
Bare feet, exposed and vulnerable faith
But eyes dry like a dry maple.

A lonely heart, two frozen hearts under the cold moon
She-touching the epitaph, cold marble
Touching the silent sand betrayed by the snow
But never touched her dry, betrayed moon-white face.

A desert, she remembered her snow covered Late confidant
The snow that betrayed the sand, an unfortunate confidant
A ripping heart that ripped the earth
Sweat dripping on the snow
Loaded with buried hopes and early faith
A cold sweat.

Maple wood creaked, a deafening shriek
One teardrop that fell
Cried for an answer to the unkept promise.

Her eyes saw their last moon
Another quiet heart in a silent graveyard
Not lonely anymore, but frozen, not cold anymore
Ensconced in the dark maple wood
She slept as a red maple, forever.

I wrote this one for my friend's birthday a few years back.
This is one of the first poem I ever wrote.

Time feels too short now,
But long in our reminiscence.

Not long ago you sat beside me
That would be a start of a new friendship
Beautiful is not the word I would use
But it was nice and pleasant and lots of fun.

As we think about our past
The happy ones are frozen in time
The embarrassment the laughter of today,
The fights feel silly and sadness forgotten.

The jokes of today might not seem funny tommorow
But as of now they are worth being told
Again and again and again
Till we are out of breath and our stomach pains.

I am different you should know
I am not a friend
That might always be with you
Or side with you without a thought.

But I hope to witness
As you climb the mountains of life
I will not pick you up as you fall
But listen closely now
If there are a 100 people
90 will try and drag you down
Only 10 will encourage you to move up.

I assure you I will be one in the 10
Encouraging you in your climb
And will feel happy when you reach the top.

Oh! My friend, life will go on
We might be far apart
But in our memories we will live
Spotless, unblemished and blazing bright,
Not for yesterday, today or tommorow
But for the infinite eternity and more.

Each year we will grow older
Today is your 18th
Next year your 19th and then 20th and so on
Do not let your life slip into birthdays after another
Do something extraordinary, something stupid
And when you look back
A smile should be on your face
And satisfaction in your heart.

I wrote this poem when I was 17.
It was the time when I had started writing.
One of my childhood friend had committed suicide and I wrote this after a week thinking of a similar theme.
This goes for you, brother.

Last night he had a fight.

His parents had scolded him
which was right.

He had failed badly,
getting the lowest in his class sadly.

Yelling and ditching himself,
he went to his bed.

His face was red.

He wanted to write.

He was good in it and could conquer heights.

Unfortunately his parents did not give him a choice.

He took science without any rejoice.

He failed in physics and passed in chemistry.

No wonder he himself knew no answer to this mystery.

But after being scolded yet again, he felt fed up with these
and wanted to end up in ease.

His story, his passion, his dreams.

He felt as if there was no one who could hear his internal screams.

He knew many would miss him
not knowing how life pissed him.

So, without any fear,
without a single drop of tear,
he ended his story.

Thank you dear.


This one:
Title: Hope
The darkness followed her where she went,
The clouds never stopped pouring
The winds never grew weak
The land remained damp
She had every reason to stop
Every reason to go back
Every reason to lose her soul in the winds
But, she didn’t.

Hope held her high,
hope of seeing again the clear sky
hope to feel again the fresh grass on her feet
hope to breathe in the sunshine falling on her face.

She kept going, going through the mountains, across the rivers
Fighting with all that she had.

Soon, The Almighty doubted his creation,
Her courage was beyond his imagination
He remained stunned and silenced.

Perhaps, feeling weak in front of her determination
Strong enough, hopes led the master stop the storm.

Made the clouds, winds come to halt.

Paved her way with the grasses she want
Crowning her courage and hope,
He asked if she was another lord?
She smiled, and said
I hope not.

I am just another girl who never lost her heart.

The courage of mine held me in the times when you did not.

-Pooja Jain
If liked what you read, you can check one of my other poem here:
Pooja Jain's answer to What is some of the best poetry you have written?
Image: Google

Here is my blog For someone who just left me,
This poem is written by me when i finally decided to move on
Shattered dreams
For someone who just left me,
I was never good enough for you.
You made me feel like complete worthless.

You emotionally ruined me.
You give up on me when I needed you the most.

But let it be its doesn't matter any more.

I don't hate you but now I don't even have reason to love you.

Instead I want to thank you.

Despite it taking me 6 years, I finally realized that it wasn't me not being good enough for you, but you are not being good enough for me.

These words have resonated with me for some time, and I am constantly reminding myself that i deserve better than the distorted perception of love that was handed to me on a
tarnised silver platter.

I deserve better than being ignored, and I deserve better than you.

I know I am not the same girl again who run to you whenever you call her.
I don't even care whenever I see your number flashing on my mobile screen.

I was consumed by nothing but negativity, and for a while I thought you were my only source of light.

I was drowning and every single day I woke up not wanting to wake up and hoped your hand would pull me up to the surface and save me.
I was wrong.

I realized your hand was never there to save me, but instead there to push me deeper below the surface.
The only hand I needed was my own.

You were my darkness and it took me too long to realize this.

I know you are a good person, but next time you ask ypurself what it was you ever did to me I want you to think of a Girl crying every day and night on her bed from last 6 years.

I want you to think of the girl that couldn't sleep because the nightmares were worse than, reality, which had become her own personal hell for years.

I want you to think of the girl who couldn't eat because she had no appetite from the anxiety caused from thinking where she went wrong.

I want you to think of the girl who hated herself so much she had to force herself to get up in the morning, only to crawl back back into bed hours later.

I want to think of the girl who had countless silent breakdowns, hoping her parents and siblings doesnt hear.

I wantyou to think of the girl who destroyed her career, her dreams & desires and even herself in loving you.

I want you to think of the girl who tried to kill herself not only once but more than 7 times.
just imagine the pain that you caused her that she is not even willing to live because she not able to bear that pain.

I want you think of the girl who lost everything just because she believes you.
she believe that one day you will come and take her away.

And now I want you to think of the person I have become, and I want you to know that I am thankful for you to craeting a monster.

I am no longer a monster, and I no longer forcehappiness.
I know I am worthy.
I am thankful you were a part of my life, because you became the best, worst thing happen to me.

I do hope you are happy, and just know I dont regret you.
I would never wish for you to experience the same hell as me.

Thank you for engulfing me in darkness, thank you for pushing me further below surface.
Too many great things come from darkness.

Hope you guys like it any suggestions or updations are welcome….

Updated: 16.06.2019 — 7:45 pm

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