Hardik Vaidya Poems

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Customers always want more.
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Customers always make your ulcer sore.
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It is time to bin an old cliché.
Behind every successful man is a woman.
In front of every fulfilled man is a woman.
It is time to evolve the new cliché.
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What is being creative?
Nature creates, we pro create.
What is being original?
The answer is quite simple.
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Khwaahish kaa kyaa jataa hai?
Uskaa kyaa thaa, jo use khonaa hai?
Is Holi,
Tumhaaree hathelee par,
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Akhono muhorito praan Amaar
Tor boshonter paagol dibha raatree shomaan,
Mor ontorer Aakash, paataal
Dujone sourobhito tor gourobe opaar
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He (oh) Ram, He (oh) Ram, He (oh) Ram.
Son of three mothers.
Kaushalya, Sumitra, Kaykayi.
Son of King Dashratha.
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Dariyaa ne kinaare nadee samee,
Halave halave, vahyaan taa kadee.
Taraa, ane maraa pagalaaonee,
Aaa saptapadee,
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How much is plenty of fuss.
How is such that much is must.
How is must perpendicular to lust.
How is lust at tangent to trust.
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I have never understood this spoil.
I was never raised to ask and soil.
To live through fire and ice, were my choices, my signature toil.
When I was young, and you are always young,
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Walking through a cemetery,
Chanced to see a tomb stone,
Only a head piece,
No grave,
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