tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59971622024-03-13T08:47:34.460+05:30Numbers, Waves and ColorsThere are numbers, there are waves, and then there are colors.
<br>
There are definitives, there are uncertainities, and then there is magic.
<br>Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-44043257755262045362011-12-26T17:01:00.001+05:302011-12-26T17:13:29.489+05:30O Shadows!O Shadows!
O Shadows! You, who grow so long -
Why do you grow
Ever so slow?
As if shy of meeting again?
With a smile, a nod or a rhyme, a song,
Didn't I welcome
Your dear wisdom -
Once earlier and thrice before then?
Come! My lessons wait; We don't have long,
You can only stay
While on my way
I've fallen, and can't get up again.
Come! Be merry! Let's hear your song,
Be quick about it
I am Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-14244538546587801492011-11-15T23:08:00.001+05:302011-11-15T23:08:48.988+05:30I am here (Eldorado XI)I am here (Eldorado XI)
I am here.
Eldorado has a Sun. And a Moon. Shining Gold and Brilliant Silver.
The day is yellow of dirty daffodils. When the Sun smiles, the daffodils sing.
The night is pure white of fairy tales. When the moon sleeps, the fairies whisper.
I had thought of many things to do with such riches. But I am busy. My greedy eyes Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-78364247753124461542011-04-23T22:31:00.003+05:302011-04-24T16:00:28.568+05:30How Cyan Was MadeHow Cyan was made
Once upon a time
When time was a toddler;
When the old God had just
Finished creating summer -
He took a break and napped;
With loving care the green
And gray of solid earth
Kissed him unseen.
Then came the blue -
Almost a stampede -
They settled for only glances
They were too many, they agreed.
The red were very far
Not little sad indeed.
They sent their blessings too Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-22645843388098691272011-04-11T16:56:00.002+05:302011-04-12T11:50:45.639+05:30Particularly HurtfulParticularly Hurtful
If you knew the wounds
That I took in my wars;
If you knew the pain
The least of them caused;
If you knew that they
Still live unhealed;
If you knew that I
Carry them like babies;
And wear them like trophies.
If you knew all this, and more,
You would think that
This little splinter of a word
That recently got wedged
Some place in my heart -
Shouldn't
Be&Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-59047723072716621562011-03-29T09:28:00.002+05:302012-01-20T15:13:35.161+05:30No miracle was scheduled for todayNo miracle was scheduled for today
No miracle was scheduled for today.
Big bottles of indigos, blues and grays
Bought by me in order to paint my shapes
Had hidden from view my little vial of silver.
And then a miracle happened today-
A new shade of magenta decided to laze
Over roses peeping through my morning drapes;
And in its sloth forgot to pull the usual veil on all its glamor. Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-10051196402135570932011-03-23T12:31:00.000+05:302011-03-23T12:31:56.805+05:30HeedHeed
Shhhhh
Whisper
Laugh softly.
Be nice.
Do not wake
The great sorrow
Which sleeps here.
Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-14910386081777761222011-03-13T12:19:00.001+05:302011-03-14T01:19:55.520+05:30Lesson for an Entrepreneur Part VILesson for an Entrepreneur Part VI
I carried my lovely treasure
With dedicated care -
My gems of unknown measure
Each one so rare!
My back moaned, fussed, balked
But still my treasure bore;
Then it broke; But I could walk
So I walked a little more.
Greed and pride are similar
In that they both make
Men push further and longer
Unthinking of the stake.
I put my treasure on my head
And begin to Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-75454112516105277512011-02-14T01:37:00.001+05:302011-02-19T16:20:52.943+05:30True ColorsTrue Colors
The color black is a con.
It spread in her hair,
Promised, "I shall shelter you."
The color red is a liar.
It stuck on her lips,
And said, "I love you."
The color gold is the devil.
It throbbed on her skin,
Laughed, "I want you."
The only true color is ashen.
It had peeped through her eyes,
Had insisted, "I warn you."
Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-53944572838478442002011-02-14T00:51:00.005+05:302012-01-20T15:08:48.075+05:30Heaven's DisplayHeaven's Display
Here it was
The special day -
I readied again
Without delay.
I looked nice,
I daresay.
Dressed in my best
Black and gray.
There she was!
Heaven's display!
So I memorized
My words to say.
And though I grew
New feet of clay,
I didn't go back.
Nor ran away.
And then she laughed!
Such innocent way!
Finding a new
Method to slay
My little heart's
Attempts to sway
My Heaven'sPoojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-18711060220950490762011-02-14T00:14:00.002+05:302012-01-20T15:16:27.013+05:30The LetterThe Letter
When had passed a few centuries
An answer was sent to my worries -
So I ran ahead to receive my shipment.
With trembling hands I searched in fear
For a sign of favor or a hint of sneer -
In the letter from God's department.
My mind jumped to dread so quick -
I fretted "What if it is too cryptic!",
And despaired I am bad at word-play!
But such fears were really unfounded
That Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-86532201884519424312011-02-05T14:02:00.002+05:302011-02-05T23:49:52.805+05:30The ThingThe Thing
The Thing is very big -
Bigger than a man's head.
It is so big, in fact, it is
Bigger than Sky's spread.
The Thing is very small -
Smaller than a tear unshed.
It is so small, in fact, it is
Smaller than the color Voilet.
The Thing is very sharp -
As sharp as blades that behead.
It is so sharp, in fact, it is
Sharper than words unsaid.
It doesn't fit, it doesn't yield -
The Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-56038175896912775062011-02-04T18:32:00.003+05:302011-02-05T12:59:25.268+05:30ArmorI feel compelled to explain the use of 'wards' in this poem. 'Wards' has multiple meanings and I mean to use two of them simultaneously: 1, something (or someone) given in care of one's charge and 2, something (or someone) who guards or at least warns it case of an attack.
Armor
When I was a child
Once, I got a burn;
My father blowed on it,
And blowed on it,
With such concern -
That Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-71631147336893876102011-02-04T17:44:00.003+05:302011-02-26T21:38:08.074+05:30WinterWinter
Others mistake for chapped skin -
All the cracks that appear in me.
They think my eyes water of cold -
When all the ache shows clear in me.
While I learn to hide the cracks,
Bear the ache, and act stronger -
Winter! Winter! won't you stay
A bit longer?
Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-5615256803790703132011-01-30T01:03:00.001+05:302011-02-05T00:56:23.373+05:30Choice Things to SayChoice things to say
I spoke to a random stranger
And I tried but failed to find
A single nice thing to say;
I was in such a bind.
Silence was an option
I could not attempt.
Out of Kindness and the other,
Easier was Contempt.
So I had to settle and I did
For choice things to say.
I snubbed and got snubbed,
Quibbling took our day.
It isn't that I really care
Or that I like to fight ,
Or Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-24623133322795438862011-01-29T21:01:00.001+05:302011-01-30T00:16:08.546+05:30The Great ConThe Great Con
They took the winter sky
And effortlessly laid
A Sun on its edges;
So, the Cold was unmade.
They breathed a few flowers,
Pardoned innocent errors;
They bribed the fog away,
And answered easy prayers.
In such brilliant fashion
Gods conned clueless Men
(For the sake of their game)
Into Hoping Again. Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-10320993883068332342011-01-28T18:56:00.001+05:302011-01-29T00:27:35.750+05:30AfterthoughtAfterthought
Such curious choices
This day had brought -
To love was to hurt,
To not was to not;
I chose to grieve
As an afterthought.
Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-31018410319686968552011-01-27T20:45:00.004+05:302012-01-20T15:07:30.844+05:30My heaven's shareMy heaven's share
I rehearsed my words,
I drilled my flair,
I worked my courage -
I did prepare.
I did not leave
No pain to spare -
In order to earn
My heaven's share.
Lo and behold!
She was there!
I held my breath,
And said a prayer.
I wanted so -
I did not stare.
I walked as far
As I could dare;
But then she smiled -
It was so unfair !!
How can she spend
Without a care!
What Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-57691781250867445272011-01-27T13:54:00.002+05:302012-01-20T15:20:21.475+05:30Life and DeathLife and Death
However loyally I incline
Towards relying on a sign -
Heart, blood, pulse, breath;
I know I am waiting for Death. Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-25326801114265154702011-01-26T21:17:00.001+05:302011-02-11T16:30:22.063+05:30DruNk (Eldorado X)DruNk (Eldorado X)
All the gold in the world
Grains of dust - so few!
Eldorado, my love
There is no one like you.
The only Sun, the many stars,
The season spring, the color blue -
Eldorado, my love
There is no one like you.
I just need to close my eyes
To verify it is true.
Eldorado, my love
There is no one like you.Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-12869150862850965622011-01-25T19:00:00.005+05:302012-01-20T15:22:24.705+05:30The ChildThe Child
A child asked me today
"Why aren't you gay?,
Why aren't you smiling?"
Such prying, I say.
I told him about my pain,
And told him of it again,
While he kept asking why,
Well after I made it plain.
I told him I hurt bad,
I even said, "BAD, BAD"
But he kept asking why,
"Yes. But, why are you sad?"
I lied - that I am ill -
He kept pestering me still;
I thought I'll scare him -
He Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-30340982639499250042011-01-25T01:36:00.000+05:302011-01-25T01:36:04.726+05:30A Visit to the HospitalA Visit to the Hospital
People ask
What happened at the Hospital
And then complain that my answers are too banal.
They expect
As I am poet I would have seen more,
Or at the minimum I would articulate better therefore.
They are right
Though not in the way they expect;
I did see more but I am not sure if I got it all correct.
One hall,
One corridor, seventeen patients,
Ten Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-45731623357469987002011-01-22T02:32:00.005+05:302011-01-29T00:38:24.132+05:30HopeHope
I believe we've erred
In our usual hurry
And theorized
Wrongly again -
All things considered
Hope needs to be
Re-categorized
As a bane;
Though some people are favored
And them I envy,
Rest of us are best advised
To abstain;
We are meant to be injured
While trying to get free -
Each time chastised
For trying in vain.
Rest of us have been cursed
To try and fail plenty;
Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-11083546855550905292011-01-19T01:36:00.003+05:302012-01-20T15:26:27.937+05:30Glass is SandThis poem uses a small inspiration from Henry Livingston's Without Distinction.
Glass is Sand
Every month, on twenty fourth,
I visit the town's lower corner,
The jailer there is from up north
He lets me meet a random prisoner;
The inmates welcome a nice surprise.
I'm a women, some of them gawk;
They do not mind my puffy eyes,
Nor the fact that I don't talk.
I pay no heed in any case -
I needPoojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-83490028442958547752011-01-18T17:52:00.001+05:302012-01-20T15:26:55.454+05:30SurpriseSurprise
To my surprise
The sun did rise,
And it is such a miracle -
The stars didn't tumble!
There's some mistake -
The sky didn't break;
And this has struck me most oddly
That the world still continues to be!
Haven't they heard - she loves not me?
Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5997162.post-90416607468091175392011-01-18T00:51:00.002+05:302012-01-20T15:27:29.550+05:30The TreeThe Tree
A hazy tree in the fog,
peeps through the door
of another world; I wonder,
Who is it looking for? Poojahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03285804270642271410noreply@blogger.com0