Vinod Sharma

Vinod Sharma Poems


I sit wondering in the sun,
Who forged this puzzling one
With infinite poise charm and grace
And many strange and wondrous ways.

A cigarette is lit,
Up in smoke it goes,
It is lit again.

Fading blush of the bottle brush
Green gulmohar all aflame
Summer kisses spring. Again.

To the leaf at him laughing,
Said the broken leaf,
You will too fall that day,
When so desires ‘that' tree.

Black clouds of corrupt politicians
Seem to have swallowed India's sun,
The skies are a weeping at this turn,
But for them this river of tar is fun.

Colour television,
Black veil,
Modern technology,
Medieval jail.

Though we are physically far and apart,
I am in you and you beat in my heart,
Our whispers of love we can clearly hear,
But not the words of those who are near.

Come dropp into my arms,
Shedding all your fears,
Cry much as you want,
I'll wipe away the tears,

There is nothing left of me my friend,
But a battered and shattered heart that bleeds,
Many a wound it had borne with strength
But this last one was just too deep.

For long I lay buried
An average man;
Born into the world
To leave my mark,

Two birds of joy
Perch on my tree of sorrow,
Of a golden tomorrow.


The cloth that rests
On your tender self,
Rings bells of bliss
And happiness;

In the silence of
My room, thoughts
Rush into my mind,
Flooding images

Manmohan says he is Minister Prime and not a lame duck:
Would I have survived if so much blame I couldn't well duck?
Reddy, media or Kalmadi,
They are all in Sonia's rave party;

In the news you are
If you are a star or in a big car,
On a jet plane or in a five star.

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The Best Poem Of Vinod Sharma


I sit wondering in the sun,
Who forged this puzzling one
With infinite poise charm and grace
And many strange and wondrous ways.

Woman called is she...

Pleasure she brings in her fold,
Joy that lasts but not long,
And gives way to pain and song
To sing to who is now a stone,
Unmoved, untouched, silent and cold.

Woman called is she...

Dazzling eyes and tender skin,
Hide the cruel brain within,
Always at work, silently, unseen,
Without remorse to wreck and kill,
Many a man of strength and will.

Woman called is she...

Like a queen she sits and sees,
A stallion come a cripple go,
Writhing in pain and misery,
Pitying the one who waits to go
To the queen of his fantasy.

Woman called is she...

With a smile she sees him die,
With a shrug she moves away,
To charm another fool that way;
No regrets, not a sigh,
Why care for those die?

Woman called is she...

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