My encounter with poetry was sudden. I didnt write a single poem till 2007. It was the fatal year when I happened to be bedridden for about four months. Obviously I was quite depressed. To while away my time, I started scribbling something and I felt what I wrote made sense and that was my first poem-The Great Escape. It was making myself convinced that my life was not meant to be languished in despair. It had such poignancy and depth of feeling..as it came directly from my heart!
Sensitive by nature, small things can excite me. Nature with her myriad faces has been my greatest inspiration. I am tied down to my family and with moderate comforts, I am happy in life. Retired from a college as a teacher, now I devote a good deal of time in reading and writing poems.
Poem Hunter and the ...
'Jealousy is the outcome of one's own sense of ineptitude. It leads to dislike and hatred and does more harm to those who have it than on whom it is directed!
'Fools hasten to defeat others and establish victory. But they do not know that the greatest victory is victory over oneself... one's impulsive instincts'
' One's true colour comes out not in friendship but in enmity'
'Our words have the power to heal or mar So check out each word to see if they scar Use them never as tools to sneer But as balm for men who wear and tear'
'Know, a true friend has no deceit And a truly learned has no conceit'
Wielding a tool, mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod
He reigns monarch in Fancy's domain
Sketching life in fanciful color and mode
Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On the fabric of words in befitting verse
He steals away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy's mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will
He recounts forgotten tales of yore
Of bloody battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past
He hearkens to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sings of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
He wanders into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast
His ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves
Alone he saunters the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often his heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave
He feasts on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies
All that's lovely meets his eyes
And communes to him in profuse delight
Which he turns into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest
From his harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fueling hearts with vigorous zest
Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the bard, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the facade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul