Bijay Kant Dubey Flowers Poems

Flowers of love,
Dream flowers of love,
You see them with
Sympathy and affection.
...

The roses
Red, white,
Yellow,
Violet,
...

The coming of Bhagabati,
Devi Durga,
Durga Puja,
The nights scented with
...

The flowers will burst forth,
The birds will tweet,
The golden rays of the sun will dance,
The moon will shine over,
...

I shall not remain
But the flowers will;
My poems too will not remain
But the flowers will.
...

Think of poetry as flowers,
Why can they be not,
Roses pink and red?
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When I see the flowers,
I feel it ashamed to call myself a poet
As flowers are more beautiful than my poems,
More and more colourful,
...

Wild flowers too can be ravishingly beautiful
Whether we appreciate it or not
And so grassy specks of dotted blooms.
...

Who says
Summer does not ahve flowers?
The red, crimson and florid
Bunches of
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Try to live with the flowers,
Smile and dream with
The tender flowers
Made from light,
...

While working on birds, beasts and flowers,
One carry it forward from Toru to modern times,
From Wordsworth to Lawrence
To Hughes and Larkin.
...

Sometimes plastic flowers
Outwit us
With their beauty, hue and shape
Failing the originals
...

When sad or broken,
Sick or ailing,
Lovelorn or forsaken
Or dejected
...

When they bloom
And when they fade away,
People know it not,
But the shepherd girls pluck they sometimes
...

Who is it who has made the flowers of light,
Light and joy,
Who,
Who is it
...

A.P.J.Abdul Kalam at the Rashtrapati Bhavan
In his thinking hut
And marking the aroma and flavor
Of spring
...

Should I call you the rose
Or the hibiscus,
Should I you the dahlia
Or the chrysanthemum,
...

Who made the flowers in stone,
Chiselled and hewn out of the larger chunks
Or blocks of stone?
Poetry in stone,
...

Flowers And Buds, which appeared in 1984 from Meerut,
With a foreword by Prof. C.Brian Cox of Manchester Univ.,
Is indeed a noble and pious attempt
On behalf of Maha Nand Sharma
...

Flowers are natural poems for me
Rather then the poems
You talk of,
So fast and hued well,
...

Foreigner girls are like foreign flowers
Strangely beautiful,
So colourful and dreamy,
Fanciful and tender
...

Will spring come again,
Will the flowers bloom
With the herald of spring
And the change in season
...

There is love in my heart
You do not know it
The limits of it,
I want to be
...

The flowers made, gave birth to Wordsworth
And he viewed them with love and tenderness,
Affection and sympathy,
Talking and sharing with,
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When I see the beautiful flowers blooming around,
I forget it that I am a poet
And what is it in my poetry to pride over,
The beautiful flowers fail the poems
...

I talk to the flowers, dream with them,
Think and go
Talking and dreaming,
Living in a world of fairies,
...

The eternal flame of love keeps burning,
Burning mystically
And the poet marking it,
The flame going red,
...

Where is beauty, whether in flowers
Of maidens exquisitely beautiful,
Meeting strangely,
Where is it?
...

Poetry as flowers,
Dreamy and imaginative,
Blooming and hanging by,
Catching the eye and luring,
...

When I see the flowers, I feel shame in calling myself a poet,
When see I the beautifully looming flowers,
So radiant, so colourful and fast,
So sparkling and caclking.
...

To seek for the fragrant flower, smell and pluck
And to throw away not good at all.

Let the flower be in full fragrance
...

The clusters of flowers
And the cuckoos cooing from the bunches.
...

I can call myself great
As you too are great,
Which know you not,
Know I it.
...

O, the flower which it had to bloom bloomed it not, hung it not,
Bloomed, fell and scattered on the forest paths,
The flower which it had to outshine
Shone it not,
...

I see the flowers and feel about
What is it that to pride over,
What is it to speak in terms of
Ego and flattery
...