Mamta Agarwal Poems

Enraptured by the mystic starry sky
Vincent so desperately wanted to try,
To paint this enchanting twilight scene,
But how, Colours in that light couldn’t be seen.
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I don’t want the time to stop
Or long to turn back the clock.

Am happy just where am now
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on a pilgrimage,
to pay homage,
devout come to take a dip
despite the chill
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Am no poet, so I may sound trifle prosaic.
Had lessons in classical music, oh, so archaic
She stood with her slender hands on her slim hips,
Smoldering eyes, a smirk on her lightly painted lips.
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Am truly enthralled by your heroic epic, Sir Pope
A bit of feedback, take in the right spirit, I hope.
Let me avoid in good faith to be circumspect.
The epic was inspired, I believe by true incident.
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The bracelet of fresh and fragile white fragrant
Jasmine buds, its soft feel and sensuous scent,
That you so tenderly slipped on my wrist
And the look in your eyes, and your tight grip.
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I have promised myself to keep my face
Towards the light, even if faint and pale
For it gives me, even if brief, a respite
From despair, grief—human plight…
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A homeless woman squatted on the pavement
Empty bottle of mineral water by her side.
It was a hot summer noon …the stench
Of poverty makes me ashamed as I ride,
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As the monsoon recedes, with vengeance
Sun livid strikes back, but gives up pretence
By mid noon, it retreats and westwards race,
Far from city scape, it slips leaving no trace.
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