Vidyadhar ....

Vidyadhar .... Poems

Every morning in the deep woods of the concrete jungle
With my near and dear ones I sing a coarse musical,
Humans raise from their good night sleep with a frown of unpalatable
They call me ‘Crow’ and express their acerbity with a scowl,
...

On the first sunlight I arose,
To see a bunch of rose;
Through my bed room door,
It is my birthday I remember;
...

All along the pathway of life,
There are various ways fully stricken with strife
Filled with the caste, community and religion hype;
Waiting for the deliverer to come and strike.
...

Sitting in her torn draped old cotton sari,
In front of her thatched hut tired and weary;
Watching trees accompanying from her vivid memories,
She often narrated stories of ghosts from those haunted trees,
...

It is your company in solitude I treasure,
Those are the imaginative moments of pleasure;
I long to be within your majestic universe ever,
To seek the creative bliss beyond measure;
...

Since the ancient times away,
Flowing through the night and day;
From the serene hills around the western bay,
Helping all those who came to stay;
...

Life threw the net around of vice and virtue,
I have no other choice than to choose Virtue, it is true;
The triumph of virtue, I failed to prove,
History has shown virtue triumphed,
...

This world has various thoughts of school,
Truth, honesty were taught to me in school,
With honour they were the ones I chose;
And the life told me I will loose,
...

The Best Poem Of Vidyadhar ....

Black Is Beautiful

Every morning in the deep woods of the concrete jungle
With my near and dear ones I sing a coarse musical,
Humans raise from their good night sleep with a frown of unpalatable
They call me ‘Crow’ and express their acerbity with a scowl,

I fly in search of food and material for shelter near and far,
When Lonely On my way in search of food, humans I remember,
For their frown I see whenever I tried to sing melodious tunes, resembling of guitar,
For the dislike they bestow for Black color which symbolizes darkness, which they fear
I am hurt with grief to have born like this without anything of eminent feature;

During the day with birds of colour and voice which are grandeur,
Of the colorful bird ‘winged flame of spring’ called ‘Scarlet Tanager’,
I search for food in a wood, from where a tiny village not so far,
The friendly birds sing in a high pitch note to say we have fallen prey,
In a net laid by the merciless hunter

The hunter from the tiny village had laid his sly colorless nets,
Like a spider’s web, for catching gorgeous looking birds to sell them as pets,
Because of their blissful clour and scintillating voice
the ‘Scarlet Tanager’ says with its eyes wet,

Come noon, the hunter comes and fetches all the lovely birds when the net is full,
Finding no benefits of value with a black bird and coarse voice lets me fly, to be grateful,
To the almighty for making me the way I am,
Because now I know that ‘Black is beautiful & also helpful'

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