My world of Poetry

Poetry isn't just for the scholar.
It's a world you're free to enter:
Where you may rock and rhyme,
Relive moments in time,
And fool around with grammar!

Torpescence

Of all the most terrible jinxes
Is the curse of feeling aimless.
Just imagine how hard it would be
Never to know what you'd like to be.
Imagine roaming around always,
Like through a convoluted maze.
Imagine watching others focus
To achieve a definite purpose,
You yourself feeling lost and empty-
Feeling with naught an affinity.

My Definition Of Music...

This atrociously bad piece of "poetry " is what you get when someone like me tries to define something as abstract as music:

Music makes me
Soar.
Music makes me
Alive.
Music makes me
Roar.
Music makes me
Thrive.
Music makes me
Cry.
Music makes me
Dream.
Music makes me
High.
Music makes me
Scream.
Music makes me
Oblivious.
Music makes me
Aspire.
Music makes me
Lascivious.
Music makes me
Perspire.
Music makes me
Relive.
Music makes me
Sympathize.
Music makes me
Forgive.
Music makes me
Brutalize.
Music makes me
Abuzz.
Music is as music does.

Progress India!

I'll let my cartoon speak for itself, 'coz a cartoon is worth a million words- (ten million, if u still don't get the joke!)...

My Unwaning Whim

I wonder if I'm falling sick...
Suddenly, I'm glib; my rhymes click!
Is it just a phase?
That'll last some days?
Or a chronic craze with limericks?

The Scribal Malady

Encompassing wall, hard as rock,
Ages of bearing naught but schlock,
Feckless hours of toil,
Restless mind's turmoil-
All signs of one with Writer's Block. :P

My first attempt at a haiku: Happy Bee :)

Empty spaces filled
The heart's desires granted
The bee drones away.

The City's Bane

Pitter-pat! Pitter-pat! comes the rain
And sloshes affably down the lane-
Up goes the umbrella,
Down goes a poor fella
Into a manhole: the city's bane!

A Lost Soul

Wherfore this fraction of the mind?
I frantically gather about me
The shards of my Self, my Soul-
Oh, the depths I go to to find
My own Holy Grail, the key
To once more make my Soul whole!
But shrouded in the dark am I-
This dreaded amorphousness
I fight hard in vain to dispel.
Out of my profound despair I cry
For someone to grant me egress
From this dark, miserable hell.

Whence comest thou, dreadful chasm?
I forged castles to get lost in,
Till all that was left behind was
A mere spectre, a phantasm.
Spooky void, you sucked me within,
Tormenting me with my own flaws.
Doomed to regret those long years
Of stealing and living in shadows
That belonged to other souls.
I erred to escape my fears:
So am i condemned to chaos,
Cursed to pay this hefty toll.

Quagmire

Life
Is ______ tough.
It ______ brings _Strife,
Wisdom_ and ___Love-- _enough
To ______help __ you __ realize _that
To ______love, __ to ___ learn, __ to _combat
Are _____one ___ and __the ______same.
Life'll ___tear __ you __ asunder;
Unless __ you're _game
To _____ flounder
Through.

A penny for my thoughts

What is it about parents and over-cautiousness?
A friend of mine, A, invited another of my friends, P, to the PEACE convention. The Peace convention, as you may or may not know, is a convention that helps people better understand Islam. P was invited, even though she wasn't a Muslim because she'd been interested in knowing more about other religions. She'd been asking her Muslim friends several questions about their religion and practices. Her mother is an intelligent woman, who's studied plenty of psychology at the PG level. P had no reason to doubt that she wouldn't be allowed to attend the convention- but when she asked her mother for permission to go, she was refused. She was told point-blank that she was NOT to go to the convention- "not even if there were marks to attend this''. P was taken aback. P's mom had always been reasonable as a parent. But this flat refusal of permission set P's back up, and made her feel rebellious. Of course, P didn't go so far as to actually attend this convention against her mom's orders, but she did take perverse pleasure in talking to her mom about how interesting she found Islam and of how her friends encourage her interests. P knew perfectly well that she was acting puerile, but all the same, she knew what her mother had done was a misjudged and immature step in parenting.
I know that adults always think that the teenagers usually think they know best. But teenagers of this day and age are a lot mature, in spite of the evidence to the contrary. I also believe parents should be more careful than ever with their parenting techniques, because kids really are smarter than before.
Besides, what P's mother did was so obviously ill-judged, it was bound to cause misunderstandings between mother and daughter. Reverse Psychology had reared its ugly head!

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Here's a poem i read that gave me goosebumps, and that i have committed to memory: (i have my friend neeraja to thank for putting it in my way... :*)

DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP

Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

My Point Of Vuw

life is difikult for a kid.
adults dont ever see it.
coz they must be stupid.

life is tuf for kids, yu no.
coz we got skool an teechers an bulees
but adults got mony an cars an hair to gro.

mum an dady dipres me with rools,
pupees an kitees get grownd up real fast,
an big bruthers go away to big boys skool.

so i wish i gro real kwik too.
then i cud do whatever i want;
like stay up late an wer lipstik.

so, god, help me get all grownd up.
i promise ill be ever so gud.
pretty plees with cherees on top?

Liar, Liar - Pants on fire?

Did you ever get the feeling
That all the world's a stage?
Not just the way ol' Will meant it,
But like it's really all a mirage?

He is, by day, a regular jock,
And, by night, a closet pianist.
She is apparently Ms. Trunchbull Reincarnated,
But dreams of full moons, dewey roses and silver mists.

One way on the outside,
Another way in-
But, I guess, the question is:
Would it count as sin?

If a son puts his mum's heart at ease,
Or if a boy wins true 'dream love'
With the aid of a tiny white lie,
Would it be chalked up in heaven above?

Sighhhh... Who's to say? Who'd know?
But this one thing I did figure:
Some lies win out, others bite back,
Yet it's hard not to envy the smooth liar!

German Elfchen

Violett
Die Fantasie
Die Fantasie verschluckt mir
Mag ich sie?
Leider!

Schwarz
Die Nacht
Was ist passiert, denn?
Ich träume viel.
Aufstehe!

Weiß
Der Schloss
Wo ist die Prinzessin?
Kommt sie nicht?
Schau!

Gelb
Mein Vater
Nicht mehr mit mir
Wer ist da?
Wer?

Dearly Beloved Ma'am...

Who are you, dear lady?
A stranger were you, when you entered my life;
Yet, you seemed so familiar when you smiled at me:
A smile born of heart-felt adoration and sincere love of me-
A smile I had only seen, before,
On my parents' faces on countless occasions and more.

Who are you, good lady?
You seem never to be at a loss of cheers for me
When I have accomplished something or the other;
You have never failed to console me
When my spirits were sore, owing to some failure;
You are always a pillar of strength, courage and wisdom,
That, during trying times, I've come to rely upon.

"Who are you?" I ask
You pray to god everyday so I may prosper.
You make sacrifices, so I may be happier.
You dedicate your life to preparing me for Life.
You toil, so the world may be filled with Samaritans in future.

Let me tell you who I think you are:
You are a very gifted sculptor,
Who strives to mould young, innocent and ignorant minds
Into young, caring and wise men and women,
So that, with their able young shoulders, they may
Step forth and bear the world some day.

Who are you, kind lady?
Why, I would fain call you my friend.
My mentor, guide; even an angel, a God-send.
Indeed, I would call you my cherished preserver,
Though the world may prefer to call you my Teacher.

Fly away, little birdie!

We were just as a bunch of chicks
Peeping anxiously over the edge of our nest,
Hoping for a glimpse of our future, our destiny.
But you smiled at us your sweet, maternal smile,
Assuring us, "All will work out for the best."

It is nearly time for us to fly away from home,
To try our little wings against storms and gales.
We hop tentatively onto the edge of our nest,
And we look back into your lovingly reassuring eyes
That tell us, "The pure hearted never fail."

Pardon the analogy, but nothing else could compare
To the bountiful love and affection you've given us;
Nothing fit our feelings about you more snugly,
Nor was enough to explain to you and to the world
Just how much of a dear you are to us!

Little Miss Mary

Mary had a little pig.
Its ticks were white as snow.
They were so juicy and big,
And she loved to eat them so...

But every time she tried to,
Papa bleats would appear, strict and stern
So she'd hide herself in the loo
And poor Papa'd wait hours for his turn.

"Mary, Mary!" yelled Papa.
"Yes, Papa?" screamed Mary.
"Eating ticks?" asked Papa.
"No, Papa!" screeched Mary.

"Telling lies?" thundered Papa.
"No, Papa!!" Lied Mary.
"Open the door!" shouted Papa.
"Fat chance!" mocked Mary.

Then Mary decided to run away
'Coz Papa wouldn't let her eat bugs anymore,
And Mary just HAD to have her way-
'Sides, Papa always was such a dead bore!

Miles away, a Jack and a Jill
Fell prey to Cupid's arrows.
So they went and checked into The Hill,
But found it much too gross!

They found tons of termites everywhere-
Not to mention the bed bugs!
But because there were no other rooms to spare,
They fell to attacking them with drugs!

Suddenly, someone burst in!
Lo, and behold! It was Mary Bleats!
She thought it an ugly sin
To waste all those yummy treats...

So fast did she gobble up the bugs,
Mr. Hotel Manager hired her as exterminator!
So Jack and Jill made Mary (alias Bugs)
Their friend and lived together happily ever after.

Paranoia

Often we hear of an ardent lover
Whose mistress knows no greater joy
Than to please him who stole her heart;
Be it with ways bold, funny or coy.

But soon comes the day
When neither proof nor entreaty
Convinces the jealous lover
Of his beloved's unbending fidelity.

Paranoia, that blinding devil,
Hunts with arrows of envy, doubt and ire.
So you end up hurting and saddening
All those you love, respect or admire.

Two friends, inseparable of old,
Now unable even to like one another,
Turned enemies, thanks to paranoia!
A presumed 'betrayal' did a friendship smother.

Think you have a dearth of foes?
Then just stop trusting a friend.
For no building lacking cement lasts long;
Likewiseis a trustless friendship easy to end.

Yet another tale we hear, of a wife
Doubting her husband's loyalty...
They don't seem to find trust any more
Hence the divorce, a harsh, scary reality.

Got a relationship you want to ruin?
Then just take on an obsession-
There's no quicker way to kill love
Than to strangle it with suspicion.

A Twilight Stroll Along The Beach

It is time for a stroll along the beach-
It is a bitter-sweet need of my heart;
Ambling along, my hair tossed by sultry winds,
People milling about, skating, jogging,
Laughing, cuddling, playing gossiping;
Bikes drone, cars sail and vendors call.
Breathing in salty pollution- the kind you'd not notice,
I look beyond the ocean of water, of life,
To the half-hearted sun setting behind a distant cloud,
While over my shoulder peeps a sickle moon
With a one solitary star, twinkling shyly from above.
Twilight bids me goodbye and reminds me
To hurry back home, back along the beach.