Hardik Vaidya Poems

What makes a womans eyes?
In a Jar I am sure they all look alike.
But when set as Jewels,
In the minds of their tunnels,
...

All of us speak our Mothers tounge.
A question has bugged me,
Like a determined bed bug.
What about the Fathers Tounge?
...

The canvass white stares without a blink,
Waiting without anticipation.
The paint brushes have gone idle, and sleep,
In their cozy holsters, dry like dead eyes.
...

Every day, for lands far away
Cruise ships anchor, at the Ballard Bay.
Gentle souls, in sunny coats
Hand in hand take a stroll
...

i may not be good at poetry
i may not be good at relations
i may not be good at speaking
but i am good in one thing
...

Neither you are guilty, nor am I.
God messed up and it was his KPI.
So let him pay,
Why should we bear for his mistakes?
...

When I go for a cup of coffee, at the vending machine.
It grinds the beans, and with every crush
Releases a waft of memory painted with dust
I sip, I shake, and the dust fades
...

It was not the women's day.
Some day in rainy tropical July,
Gloomy, when Calcutta is always wet and clay.
My maternal grandmother lay, with beads of sweat
...

I present you this bouquet,
Of roses red, white and violet.
Philosophy has been a carnation
That has bloomed within me since my creation
...

A despot in Iraq, spun an antique gun,
Shutter bugs went wild,
Uncle Sam lost his usual supreme mind,
Thought it was the sci-fi gun,
...