Rosmin Elsa Mohan
Biography of Rosmin Elsa Mohan
I am a researcher in Physics, specializing in Nonlinear Optics...
I enjoy silence and the woods.
I am passionate about love and all things beautiful.
I hate opportunists.
Writing gives me a personal aura.
I love Physics, the more i read about it, the more I am confused.. but that's whats its all about! !
I love traveling, every travel has highlighted the Me within me..
I believe in a higher power, but am too small to talk about religion.
I think that's it.. (for now! !)
Rosmin Elsa Mohan's Works:
Rosmin Elsa Mohan Poems
I once dreamt of an open field, The bareness of which alone did shield, A shadow so frail, in a shadow as such Silence.
' Diya '
There were these times of my life, when things forever went wrong! . .
** December **
December. She never had been so easy to endure, The hardest part of her, am not just sure.
Life' S Not All A Bed Of Roses!
''When loneliness becomes your forbidden partner, and Trouble knocks and shoots up at the door, of a heart about to crush and wither, with sorrows built up over and more.
A Toast To Poetry
Streams that flow in ink and out Rampant emotions to wilt yet sprout The ode to being the root for change In a world buried, so deadly estrange.
I loved candles. Now I know why. The only sound I could hear was my own heart beat. The morning seemed no longer bright. For a fact, Room No.903, commonly known as the ICCU at AIIMS, had no windows. Morning and nights equally smelled of antiseptic. I had started to forget the smell of my skin. The needle that pierced the epidermal tissues offered no sensation after all. The insanity of the entire room as though reflected on me, as I had started to become a vegetable.
The main star of my story, rather the heroine is Tiffany. Tiffany was beautiful. When kids saw Tiffany, they would fight for her. When elders saw Tiffany, they were reminded of their kids, and when the youth saw Tiffany, it made them nostalgic. Yes! Tiffany was a beauty, but more than that, Tiffany was a tiffin box. Life was forever easy for Tiffany. Right from the time, when the popular plastic company manufactured her, life was very exciting for her. It was very colourful too, as Tiffany had many friends all around her. The box shaped Boxer, the cylinder shaped Cindy and many others. But Tiffany stood out of them all. Now she was a unique shaped one. Well, she was heart shaped and obviously she knew how much it meant to all. Of course, the mortals would never buy the fact of a tiffin box having a heart, after all. But, Tiffany had one. A small cute heart, which now reflected all across her. She was all set when she was molded and cast into form, but most of all when she was coloured. Oh! she was coloured red, well now she would call that - ‘'heart Red'. She still remembers all those envious glances her 'girl' friends had given her, as she was loaded on to the truck to be placed in one of the biggest supermarkets in town. But, alas that was history!
Who Am I?
I thought I was a son My life, when had begun I thought I was the one When I knew I’d but won
The Shore’s But A Sea Apart!
The lonely blue kissed the sea The sea herself bathed in blue It seemed the blue kissed the blue In the air, I felt it too.
On a speck a moment ticks Across dials that decorate Pinpoints of fate Shadows move across fields in parts
Crossing The Bridge
The night seemed long I wished I could fly Back in time Again to the beginning
I looked in the mirror. Two eyes stared back. One was mine, the other… It had been a long night, or did it seem so?
Why … Why Not?
The Why leads to the Why not Answers to, desperately sought. The nature, the source, the outcome One's prejudice to sulk wholesome.
I saw them fly high. Red, green, turquoise and in a rarest blend of living colours. As a kid they were my best companions. I used to talk to them. They did answer too. Wordless conversations that grew stronger with the breeze.
I loved candles. Now I know why.
The only sound I could hear was my own heart beat. The morning seemed no longer bright. For a fact, Room No.903, commonly known as the ICCU at AIIMS, had no windows. Morning and nights equally smelled of antiseptic. I had started to forget the smell of my skin. The needle that pierced the epidermal tissues offered no sensation after all. The insanity of the entire room as though reflected on me, as I had started to become a vegetable.
It was last Tuesday