Sarda Mohan


Sarda Mohan Poems

1. Home Makers 4/24/2007
2. Those Little Hands 4/24/2007
3. My India 4/24/2007
4. A Pearl 4/24/2007
5. Cloudie 4/25/2007
6. Nature And You 4/25/2007
7. Realisation 4/26/2007
8. Sweet Little Me 4/23/2007
9. Snail Pace Pays 4/25/2007
10. Happiness In Green 4/25/2007
11. For Her 4/25/2007
12. On Diamonds 6/16/2011
13. Are You Here? 6/16/2011
14. Together 6/16/2011
15. There They Go 6/16/2011
16. It Happens 6/16/2011
17. Far Away 6/16/2011
18. To Papa With Love 6/16/2011
19. Achievers 4/22/2007
20. Life 4/23/2007
21. Visitors 4/26/2007
22. The Wish 4/23/2007
23. My Little Christmas 4/23/2007
24. Is'Nt It Proud? 4/25/2007
25. My Life - Yours Too 4/23/2007

Comments about Sarda Mohan

  • Kee Thampi (4/26/2007 12:35:00 AM)

    Not of a fugitive trend of a true Indian writes but she writes holistically, regain the gaiety to convey for our Mother India.Where else can you find?
    A lake as beautiful as the Dal
    Or the world’s wonder – The Taj Mahal
    Gir forests filled with lion’s roars
    Or the stretching miles of serene shores
    The Temple of Konark where sculptures speak..
    We know this World then only we know the value our culture

    a gentle writes but little garrulous

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  • Rajaram Ramachandran Rajaram Ramachandran (4/23/2007 4:44:00 AM)

    Your poem is short and well composed. I would like to see more of your poems.from now on.
    Rajaram

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Best Poem of Sarda Mohan

My Little Christmas

There’s a special night – once in a year
To remind when from Heaven came God’s son here.
There are cakes to eat, prayers to say
To the little Babe on his bed of hay.

It’s the time to forgive all errors,
So little faces bloom like flowers.
Off to sleep they dart,
To dream of Santa in his cart.
Who waves to every little girl and boy,
And says with gifts
-“I love you. I bring you joy”.

Read the full of My Little Christmas

Sweet Little Me

I am an onion pink and plump
I love to roll around and jump
With my rich flavour and my taste
I add joy to every face.
When you peel me, I don’t cry
Yet you call me unkind. Oh, my!
I am not to be blamed, Am I?
For bringing tears to every eye