NaPoWriMo Day 8 ~ Flower of Magnificence ~


Poets have been writing about flowers since, oh, the dawn of time. So today, I challenge you to add your own poem to this long tradition, by finding a flower, and versifying in its honor. Happy writing!

Orchids~ the Flower of Magnificence’


     wast thou created for death

    or scented magic spells for lovers

    what color yellow purple is this?

    what lies beneath the tender petals

The Magnificent created the Magnificence

soft silky soothing crown like

pure in silent laughing  innocence

royal in form majestic in style,stay’

O Flower a while while I hold thee

in my vision,rest you in memory  making jealous

cousins lilies and irises,natural is but jealousy

and if you had a voice to speak, would it be soft and silky too

what would you say,Oh lovers of Flowers listen, huskiness

flows as the column shakes,beautiful chimes it makes

that touch the inner recesses of the invisible spirit

restless as someone says…but is short

the colors fade..return to the Magnificent

who Magnificence appear,born again

gone is the pain as purple reigns,same again….

O Flower I love thee as you I find,many I left behind

look not the other way,for soon Spring is hot in May

April away,stay,stay,smile awhile,as I thank’ and pray’




NaPoWrimo Day 7 ~ Tristina ~ For A Bike ~

Day Seven comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who challenges us all to write atritina. The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.

Tritina for Susannah

The water off these rocks is green and cold.
The sandless coast takes the tide in its mouth,
as a wolf brings down a deer or lifts its child.

I walked this bay before you were my child.
Your fingers stinging brightly in the cold,
I take each one and warm it in my mouth.

Though I’ve known this shore for years, my mouth
holds no charms of use to you, my child.
You will have to learn the words to ward off cold

and know them cold, child, in your open mouth.

–David YezziIMG_20151108_170726_584

silent saviour I wonder who left you here so

parked on a stand,once looked so grand,you

still can be and are the survivor in the land

you,two wheeled machine racing so across native land;


though loved ridden wheeled and enjoyed

you help carry foursome family , milk cans

on both sides balanced loaded truck like,fans

wait for the burr,roar enjoy,as cans clank and fans clap;


and so here you stand on lonely road side,silent

brave alone in power hidden inside the engine

with one kick get alive stir all who ride,joys beside

when thrill is joy engine starts,friendly hold beside,race begins.





~ NaPoWrimo 2016 ~ April is Cruel…but the August Partition

“The Waste Land,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and 086

August Partition ~

April is the cruelest month,
bare branches sprouting tiny greens,
life bursting from the lifeless,
A rising,
mixing sorrow of defeat with defiance,
Spring rain drizzles consistently,
snow suddenly surprised us
We stopped in the plains,
leaving the mountains’
Went in half daylight so we should have
Known the path,
and the unknown traversed rarely,
So we should have known the faith,
and the faithful and the Emperors of deteriorating affairs-
Not long ago, when I was a child, born in strife
was carried across borders, fear unknown to me, yet
frightened, slept in a camp for two nights,
-wonder how Mother felt? She never spoke
About those days, then on we
came to Murree Hills, and felt free
And I knew not, was I taking refuge or was it a
New land?
What was left in enemy hands, where
Are the roots that make a family?
Out of the masses who survived who committed
Suicide-you cannot say or guess even for you
Have seen only images and heard only broken voices
Who lost half the thought in trying to forget
Spoke not all-scenes of horror
Heaps of bodies cut and slayed
Blood splattered on trains roads and fields
Death, for a cause? Yet not Jehad or was it?
Many went South, separated, lost, confused-
All said ‘we shall go back, one day’
The Day never came-
And then the beginning of the end-
One by one
Who has seen Spring again, after the Fall
Providence persists prevails
Acceptance and non-acceptance is, what ails
Unreal cities, unreal people, so unlike what
Was expected-
War War War and again War-
When will it end, Terror strikes within
Shelter is scarce, fashion abounds and all
Is a show off! Young dead glorified
on the mini screen, what are they dying for
now? Half the barren land, minerals in ranges
The enemy changed and we thought ’this is Right-
People crowd the roads, daily beggars are children
And who said ‘we shall have enough, and peace”

Mountains and Rocks
Mountains are dangerous, no rocks will give
Shelter, there is no water, nor wells
A waste it becomes, filth in the drains overflowing
And the big man’ said’ we have worked hard’
But the mountains will not protect,
Truth is linked , Faith is strong
It will not be long when the Shadow
Will turn to Light and the darkness will go-
Go in the shadow of the mountain
Sit by the stream and clean all
The mind and soul, wash away to the sea
Impurity, or else be prepared to face,
a tsunami, or the jolts and shakes
there is still a chance-look! Be the Dance
not the dancer, in the circle of life
Come to a still point with Nature
Where nothing matters anymore-
Think and feel, help and heal, the needy
Feed the hungry, for I can see-there comes
Someone-keeps close and watches, ever present
Who leads us on unseen and the Third we say
Who helped us –it’s not our doing but The Mercy
Of The Merciful-
Bow bow bow –pray pray pray
Welcome love from above, eternal peace will stay

A Lune ~ A Smile Broke…


Today, I challenge you to write a lune. This is a sort of English-language haiku. While the haiku is a three-line poem with a 5-7-5 syllable count, the lune is a three-line poem with a 5-3-5 syllable count. There’s also a variant based on word-count, instead of syllable count, where the poem still has three lines, but the first line has five words, the second line has three words, and the third line has five words again. Either kind will do, and you can write a one-lune poem, or write a poem consisting of multiple stanzas of lunes. Happy writing!                                                  

A smile broke the silence

lifting the

pall,releasing sweetness.


I Walked For Peace …


my decision is not new,since

I have learnt to decide, 

nor my inner self trouble,

since I have learnt to analyse;

it is easier now to get over feelings

hurt or saddened,painfully burdened-

I walked and walked and walked,
and thought…one more step and

 I would reach the pure water spring,

brief known journey came to an end,my feet touched Mother Earth-
it was a beautiful afternoon
there was a time I had transport in which,

I would be dropping friends,colleagues and their kids
that was my time, I could do that
that was my memory,this,my experience,

that came wafting touching the clayey frame, painlessly

then flooding the heart-
I stood for a while, looking,

as the water flowed,in the river

under the bridge, the vulnerable bridge…why are

bridges made? to connect? No. To break connections?

cannot say,well , just to pass over to the other end-

looking at the Korang River, for a while I lost

sense of time-the water flowed and I stood still-

water always did,it always will, sometimes high

sometimes low-I did not know where

to go, I did not feel the Earth under my feet

how long was I in that small seat,

moments not long,but the last ever to be

I saw Nothingness staring back at me-
till I could no more see, nothing red,

till the trembling subsided,

 nothing white, nor blue..

Hey you? can I drop you?

many cars passed, people stared through

the windows,unsmiling faces raced by

hurrying to their destinations

a strange lady with a bag, changing hands,

shifting the load, had to be carried,

walking all by herself
looking peaceful but carrying a turbulent storm 

‘turn now,move on,like the river, be like

the bridge,connect and remain in quietude

I walked…felt numb, thoughtless with acceptance,

happy moments are brief,short lived,yet they come

leaving fleeting memories-

walking helped the heavy spirit but lightened

not the load…mistake mistake mistake-

‘you crossed the line-turn turn turn’

walk walk walk…till you can…the sun came closer,

pouring love with its rays,drenching me

in a comforting warmth

Nature Loves us deeply, we know not…

I turned stepped on,step by step,step by step

distance unmeasured, no desert can be measured

deserted desert ,mirage unseen,This is The Unseen

The Nothingness became visible, I walked -I felt


I saw the Unseen I saw Peace I saw love descending 

from above-then more -the resurrection, the road the river

and I were moving,walking flowing together

in the same…..direction


I Sought Peace in the Wrong Places


Peace is not in the people neither it is with them

look not towards a boat racing down the river

thinking it will reach the ocean shore for it heads

towards the waterfall, a dive away,a fright,a shiver;

peace is not in the laughing one,laughter is a cover

peace is not in the smile,its away for miles and miles

peace is not even in work ,nor in relations of love

Peace is real peace is truth peace is the honesty above