I love reading, writing and feeling poetry. And as i am born in India-The country of hearts, evanescent loves and friendship, virtues and beliefs, I believe in simplicity and love. I am a great lover of sports and novels.I believe that there is poetry in everything, indeed every little thing! i am an Indian. India is a very beautiful country given ...
Too pretty are you, my little hurdles, that it seems sometimes as though I am only walking with my little steps upon the fire of your beauty.
You can't dream with closed eyes, You can't dream with open eyes either, Until your heart says, 'I love to dream'.
We can't deny what we see, niether can we move away from it. But we can change what we see and so shall we move forth.
The trouble with Indians was not that they lacked educational oppurtunities or industrial infrastructure-the trouble was in their failure to discriminate between disciplines and to rationalise their choices.
We don't remember people for their immense support and unselfish love but the only time when they don't help us.
The Shadow In My Garden
the daisies of my morning garden,
and the golden leaves of grass that
dance untouched when the wind fills
into their arms, just down the
the butterflies over the rosy nectar,
and the dew over the tips of the
old leaves, and somewhere in the
greenness of the little garden,
falls your absence,
which grows more denser with each
blooming petal of petunia over the
smallest plant that stands as bold
and bright beside that old bench
where for hours, some crows used
to sit and babble,
the brown soil and above the green
grass, falls your absence,
quietly and unknowingly, which
gets denser each falling rain that
falls so loosely and unconditionally.
The cuckoos that used to sing when
we walked, hand in hand, breath in
breath, around that small pond of
lilies and lotuses, don't sing now
even in the spring days when the
fragrance of the flowers mingle with
the cuteness of the air,
Now, even the pond stands empty-
with a cup that seeks water
every time when some dark clouds
hover over it's body, maybe-
this greenness, these songs fail
to recognize your absence which
still falls in my morning garden,
among the lush greenness that
keep asking for your presence.