Thursday, December 16, 2010

The poetry of an immature poet

I am neither lyrical JOHN KEATSnor the great WB YEATSI have never reached great heightsI am in my preliminary plightsI talk about fundamental rightsor the beauty of Diwali lightsmost of my poetry is immaturebut my friends praise it very pureI know for surethey don't want to hurt my heartand never critisize my artbecause it is the most sensitive partBut I know my own limitsI have got fewer meritsthan unidentified demerits

the moods and needs of a poet

A poet is quite an ordinary human beingWhatever he writes may not be a great sayingYou may read it for the time beingAnd even question the timing but enjoy its rhyming
A poet has many ups and downsSometimes she unnecessarily frownsHer creations are not always the greatest crownsThere may be some laughing clowns
In the poetic garden, all are not beautiful rosesThere may be some ugly wild flowersSome flowers may not have any seedsJust like some poems have no reads
But the poet’s greatest duty is continually to writeIt may be utterly wrong or absolutely rightLike a soaring rocket it may reach the greatest heightOr it may fall flat like a broken kite


We always suffer from strifeThose who love even their foes are great
Love is the best word to hearJesus has created us to have a meaningful lifeThen heavenly Father comes nearJealousy is a double edged knife
Kindness and mercy are the eternal valuesJesus is an embodiment of supreme sacrificeReligion is not an amalgamation of ritualsBut it should keep us away from vice
December makes me remember Jesus ChristHe is undoubtedly the son of GodHe is greater than Mount EverestAnd relieve us of our fraud


Innumerable beautiful things in nature to beholdMany delightful stories have been toldThe sun rays kissing a perennial riverThe buzzing bees sucking a lovely flower
The silver mist on the mountainThe waterfalls like a fountainThe pretty moon in the vast skyMigrating birds flying so high
A beautiful woman taking a shower bathA religious man walking on a holy pathThe melodious cuckoo singing a sonorous songA stern teacher correcting a student’s wrong
The driver’s relentlessly blowing the hornThe solitary reaper harvesting the yellow cornThe batsman’s hitting the ball to the coverWe are indebted to our life giver for ever

The bridge between east and west

The sun rises in the east And sets in the westLord Krishna flourished in the eastAnd Jesus Christ blossomed in the west
Sanskrit is the purest language English is the most popular in the present ageValmiki was a great Indian sageThoreau’s each word is an adage
East is famous for spiritualityWest is known for material prosperitySpirituality without prosperity may be idealProsperity with spirituality is feasible
Colonization may be an evilEven the west was suffered by the devilI want to be a bridge between East and westBecause I can not say which is best