Do you write poetry

Do you write poetry?


Yes I do like writing poetry, usually I write short one.

Here's a new poem of mine- Choice
Lost in this mirage of work and life,
 She wondered when was she happy the last time
 how beautiful was this world from time immemorial
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 Had siblings for the cuddly hugs and endless fight
 And a heavenly lap of mumma waiting for a hug tight
 There was nothing but loneliness now
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 working nine to five on something she doesn't like
 Is she losing her trueself and becoming a tyke
 She wanted to run away and beat the hell out of life
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 When was she given a choice?
 Never did they let her raise her voice
 All her life she was asked never to question
 But now when everything seems above her control
 It was better to raise her voice than to become a paranoid
 because this was not the life she had dreamed of all this while.

 
 With the help of her loved ones she gained her confidence back
 and now she knew she was on the right track
 A job of nine to five was not her choice
 So she resigned and raised her voice
 because this was her life and it was her choice
 
 Amidst all the chaos she is on her way to find her dreams
 For she knew none but she could walk through this streams
 Working on something she had always dreamed
 Now she is happy with the way she is
 because this is the life she had dreamed of all this while.

:)


I don't intend to, but I end up writing stuff (sometimes you won't even understand what I've written because the time I wrote it, I was in a different zone :P).

I started writing around 2014 or 2015 when I was in class tenth.
Thanks to my teenage years.
All that adrenaline rush and stupid heartbreaks and extra emotional part of mine that has made me write so many poems and write ups.

Now I usually write just whenever I feel something.
I love clicking pictures.
And the pictures inspire me to write something.
It's all usually random these days.
Earlier I had to think about rhyming words but now the words just flow.
I don't know if it's a good sign or not but whenever anything strikes me, I stop doing everything else and note it somewhere.
I don't care if I have an exam the next day.
I just can't let that thought go away.

Here are some of my poems.
Hindi and English.
All pictures have been clicked by me except the one in point number 7.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

wrote this one in collaboration with a friend ^
7.

8.

9.

that's me
10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

this is part of a poem i wrote with a friend.
my part :)
That's all for now, folks!
Pragya Sharma's answer to Can you share some of your own written poems?


I love poetry.
I enjoy it and am good at it too ( im 13).

One poem I wrote recently:
Predator To Prey
The lone hunter, sleek and black, travels through the night,
He needs food, he cannot wait for daylight.

'Crack' goes a twig, head turns at the distraction,
Low growl, he expects a reaction.

'Whoosh' goes a trap; 'Whoosh' goes another one,
He's surprised, he's scared,
His brawny grandeur has been stopped in its sinewy might.

He looks around, wonders what happened,
"Whoo-Hoo!" comes a cry; "We got a big one today, boys!"
He wonders what IS this funny noise!
Suddenly, he feels sharp pain,
Vision goes black and
Body is slack.

He wakes up in a cage,
What is this inside him,
This RAGE!
He is angry,
He thinks: "I ride the night sky, I ride the winds,
What have these people done?
I am not just anyone,
I am the Wolf!"
It was he, who hunted,
His gushing power and strength have lost their nimbleness,
His mammoth force, reduced to diminutive nothingness,
He was never the prey,
Till the path led him astray,
The lone hunter has now become the prey.


Yes… i do write poems as my hobby.
So, couple of days ago I've written this.
The theme depends on dark feel.

FATE AND HATE:
I believed you as my life fin,
But you cheated me to my life sin.

You used me as a dust bin,
And threw me as a waste tin.

You said to me, ‘I cheat you',
But it was heard by me, ‘I love you'.

I came behind and behind you,
And now I understand you.

I thought of you as my family member,
But you crossed as a wrong number.

Now I try you as a member,
From out of my heart's chamber.

The day we met,
Your relationship I set,
Your lullaby on my bed,
Brought my eyes the wet.

Forget the days of our promises,
And days of compromise.

I'll make our memories lost,
The days will move very fast,
I'll not turn to you at any cost,
Do understand my word get lost.

Thanks for scrolling,
By making your time spending.

-ASHIKA FATHIMA


Yes, but I don’t ever sit down and go “I’m going to write a poem now”.
Instead, for me, poetry is a conduit for expression.
The words flow when the mood strikes.
If the wave has not washed over me, letting the language present itself as if through supernatural intervention, then I won’t force it.
I write poetry only when it flows naturally.
Most importantly, I write it only for myself.

Thus, I write poetry erratically.
I have written multiple poems within a week at certain stages in my life but gone months without writing any in others.
A lot of my poetry is negative (as those emotions often were more consuming) but some of it speaks of my moments of pure hope.
Some is wistful as I reflected on my cusp into adulthood, some is absurd as I deconstructed the crazy world around me.
Overall, whenever I feel like reflecting upon my personal journey, I reread my works and the story they tell.
In that way, I suppose that my poetry is a record of the journey of my soul.

I shan’t claim that my poetry is good.
As mentioned above, I have not written it for others to assess nor judge, but rather as a insight into a snapshot of myself – a flawed capture of a time when emotion overwhelmed me.
However, I shall share a sole example here.
A poem that is one of my personal favourites.
It no longer applies to me; that doesn’t mean I should merely forget the time when it did.
But seriously, don’t we all write poetry in some form or another?
Dark Skies
In a perpetual darkened sky,
What do a few clouds matter?
The shade they cover, meaningless.

The ground already shadowed.

What does rain mean to a man
In a world that's cold and wet?
What is the sound of thunder,
When cries of the heart left you deaf?
Snow is no longer cold,
To one whose heart is stone.

Wind's bite cannot touch the man,
Who has already been worn to bone.

To me the world is nothing.

It holds no power over me.

Cause I already lost myself in the dark,
Already lost my will to see.

The light that always beckons,
Out of reach, it taunts.

Tis high time I abandoned hope.

It only leads to naught.

The weather cannot touch me.

The storms live in my heart.

No matter what the world does to me.

No more can I be hurt.
.
.

-Daydreamer 25/06/2015


Yes.

YES, I write poetry.

To me poetry is an art,a rhythm and a flow.

Now to these you can have the add-on
Art of playing with words: Like songs and music have those meanings and vibrations and clinging.
Word chain is also like a music, a complex one.
The words which come ahead and which follow,what they mean in the context or what they intended to do there.
All these together just wound in a piece of writing
Rhythm of the feel: Its a ride unless you fell like one you have not been like the purposeful listener/reader.
One who just enters the car needs to feel the air, the vibe and needs to be a part of it.

Flow of emotions: The poem reveals,relates and sings a song.
A song which portrays the joy,the pain and those feelings which never have a name.

Poems for me is like leaving a message in space where you tell anything and everything.
Now its the reader/listener who has a vision/understanding/feel form it.
Some get it beautifully and some have a even more serene experience.

That’s the beauty of poetry.
Some minds live that part of the poetry which event he writer did not want to create.
The poetry is the key which fits in different into different locks and opens different doors.

Its a momentary thing, mood and the presence of the moment creates the poetry,the feel and the want.
At times when you read your piece after some time you have a all new aura of the world you created.

Just to express:
Core
The wetness of water.
.
.

The heat of fire.
.
.

The sound of silence.
.
.

The stability of winds.
.
.

All wished to be known.
.
.

All wished to be felt.
.
.

All wished to be conquered.
.
.

All wished to be dealt.
.
.

Beyond our imagination .
.
.

Beyond our stealth.
.
.

Lie certain secrets.
.
.

We can never forget.
.
.

Gift of love
Some words of beauty.
.
.

Some gasp of despair.
.
.

Some pain of parting.
.
.

Some act of care.
.
.

Together they bring gift of love.
.
.

Wrapped in all sweetness.
.
.

Wrapped in all prayer.
.
.

A world so serene.
.
.

A world so rare.
.
.

Full of passion.
.
.

Full of glare.
.
.

Creating the magic of love in the air.
.
.


Do I write poetry?
I write my feelings.

I write my heart out.

Let me share one.

I AM STILL IN CONFUSION.
.
.

Being a Self Lover,
I am still in Confusion
How to react to those proposals?
Whether to accept or better to deny.

.

.

Being a girl,
I am still in Confusion
How to react to society?
Whether to be bold or better to shy.

.

.

Being a loner,
I am still in Confusion
What to do when I am alone?
Whether to remain silent or better to cry.

.

.

Being a 16 year old broken soul,
I am still in Confusion
What to do with my life?
Whether to continue with my pains or better to die.

.

.

Being a soul writer,
I am still in Confusion
How people will react to this poem?
Whether they will appreciate or criticize
.

.

Instead of so many confusions
At the end, I have to make a choice.

Thanks Tanvi Sehra for A2A.
❤❤

Keep smiling :)
#Your_smiling_Queen ♡
Neha Sharma (नेहा शर्मा)


Yup I write poetry, but not too much interested! I love to write about fictional stuffs.

Well, I have some poems, though; which I wrote…!
Fate
What a beautiful relation is marriage,
For which we pay lot of carriage!
It is pleasurable for parents to spend the money,
Cuz they love their daughter, who’s cute bunny!
But sometimes Life plays serious games,
Which destroys everything- name and fame!
The Govt.
pours their rules, like Bathroom shower,
Only because they are in the Power?
It broke his Pa, pushed the man in depression,
His family collapsed, plus their relations.

His sister and her fiance are in shock,
His parents are silent, like a rock.

He never cursed anyone for ‘that’ modification,
He cursed his destiny, Misfortune and his Situations…!

Peaceful Night
The night was dark, beautiful too.

I was there, but didn’t know what to do!
The wind blew gently, but my hairs were mess,
I didn’t care, I wasn’t at the Press!
The sky was black, no…no it was grey,
The bat flew high, without her prey.

The branches waved gently, with no more tears,
I smirked gently, with no ghosts or fear!
The moon scattered light, over the earth,
All of a sudden, I thanked my mom, for giving me birth!
‘You may sleep now’- Who whispered in my ear?
‘Was it my Mom, I gazed…no.
.
no.
.
It was my fear’!
‘You should sleep my boy’- said the shallow forest,
I yawned, agreed, ‘Yeah…my soul needs Rest!’

My Soul
I see my face, forming over a cloud.

It was a jocund stage, away from the crowd.

It soon faded away, but didn’t turned me sad.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t stab it hard.

I thought of them as joyous, rustic.

Even, a nightmare was never that linguistic.

The scars and scribbles kept tarnishing my card.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t rip it hard.

I was amazed, bewildered at the fact.

That they weren’t those, they always enact.

Maybe, I was the one who found ‘M-O-M’ hard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t cut it hard.

Just hoped of playing with a Toy Truck.

Still was happy, with these pain stuck.

I saw, who quilled the shrubs in the backyard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t gnaw it hard.

My grave drizzled, but never bleeped.

That’s how peacefully, a 13 year old could sleep.

I was finally dig, deep in the dreary backyard.

It was my soul, not sole, which was torn apart.

I Folded My Hands
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Red, Blue, Green were never the option to choose,
I hunched back as my wallet yelled, ‘You have to refuse’.

Odor is selfish, it only sticked to my hands,
Incense sticks- stubborn, refused to be my errands.

‘Loathing’, ‘Defiant’, ‘Foul’- were my names in vernacular,
Biggest irony- My state is secular.

That was when, my home floated on sands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

The final bite burned her delicate tongue,
‘He is an Anti-Social, he must be hung’.

Anger and Zest killed my pillars, my passion,
Sword and Wailing eyes are deadly combination.

None were breathing in the barren lands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Slivers never actually damaged the palm,
Adorned bangles wailed over the farm.

I still was adamant, will not come to your ‘Home’,
‘What else do you have?’ he smirked from his home.

I could see the ‘stupor’ and realized my fad,
I admit, I was obstinate,
I stepped back and folded my hands.

OK


yes
YESTERDAY MANKIND DIED
Why?
This day’s kind of mankind,
Is not in any way kind,
Not in heart soul or mind,
He just doesn’t mind,
A valued sensible deed,
How?
When I look through the window,
I see tears of a neglected widow,
Crying for a truth that we know,
As they stage a regrettable show,
To milk and sell her family cow,
So that their joys can flow,
This makes her life to be very low,
Thanks to our greedy Heartless law,
That puts her on a death row,
When I gracefully walk out of the door,
I meet the child, who begs from store to store,
Thinking of neither school nor score,
This is the angel we should adore,
Our future that should beget us more,
To be better than before,
But we only see a social sore,
As I jog along the wonderful boulevard,
The images I bypass are very sad,
Wearing a deadly scaring red,
They perpetually shout hard,
Hoping that they can be heard,
They call all to be given a hand,
So that they can softly land,
In the usual public graveyard,
To be another one numbered,
If I sit down to feed,
Needy cases attack with speed,
Their eyes virtually eat all my food,
When I sleep with my ever open head,
I dream of the original creed,
The call to be a fruitful seed,
Never to be the bad weed,
Ever to be the fountain of good,
Then I conceive that I am mad,
Because mankind is no more kind,
Mankind is now madkind,
Man’s kind is dead,
Mankind died,
Mike N Nyaga
0726 813493
[email protected]
com


I enjoy reading poetry.
However, sometimes I do write words in a strange rhyming pattern and shamelessly call them poems.

Here’s a one that I wrote recently: It’s titled ‘An Ode to a Deluded Generation’ adn it’s dedicated to my generation or as we call it, the Generation Z.

It goes like this:
They're out there in the dark alleys,
of shady bars and posh restaurants
Dancing and drinking away on a Friday night
losing themselves to the loud music.

They're out there in their trendy sneakers, striving.

The shoes for which they sold a chunk of their soul,
just to show the world that they're arriving,
gradually moving towards their estranged goal.

***
He still remembers those days,
how they used to tell him those tales
"Strive and struggle son, for just this one time.

Later on, life is as blissful as that delicious glass of sweet lime!"
He still remembers those days,
when he burnt the midnight oil to write his own story,
for he believed them all, he believed those tales.

He believed that slow and steady wins the race,
Like a mouse turning the wheels of time,
running away to be in a better place,
to stay alive in the rat race.

***
They're out there sitting in fancy cafes,
sipping that cup of mocha latte
Their gaze is locked but the moments fly away,
as they tap those fingers in that ashtray.

They walk out through the door,
One more night with a known stranger,
lost in the wilderness, making love on the floor.

One more night of nothing but empty promises,
Like the desolate words,
flowing out through a miserable poet's verses.

***
How they all smile,
like broken mirrors on the wall.

How they all laugh, even when they fall.

Because they've learned to feel, but not to cry.

They've been taught to walk, but not to fly.

***
He goes home to his mother,
and lays his head on her lap
"Why am I not yet happy, mother? Why do I still suffer?", he asks
Gently the mother caresses his forehead,
"Go to sleep my son, it'll be alright.

Don't you worry my son, just take a nap"
***
The sun is setting now,
the roads are wet with tears
They've lived far too long in delusion
They were promised a palace
but thrown away to rot into a prison.

Soon they'll breakout and gather in crowds
They will flock together to flood the town,
The light in their eyes will shine again
that lost spark in their hearts will be found.

and the whole world will watch in awe,
as these deluded souls burn everything to the ground.

***
Steinbeck had said, in the eyes of these people there is the failure;
and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath.

In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling
and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

One day he'll stand up and the world will be a stage,
He'll look at those rejuvenated faces in the crowd,
as his words written on a page will give rise to a revolution.

lead by a romantic and passionately deluded generation.
.
.

Well, that’s the most recent one I have written.

You can check out my Medium profile for more Neeraj Chavan – Medium
Or maybe my personal blog Skeptical Thoughts
Cheers!


Well we all have to learn things at some point in our life…I learned mine now
This is my first so please bear me and let me know where I can correct.
.

Its titled NOW I DON'T
There I was
A very ordinary person
Living in a teensy world
Enjoying my little life
She didn't know me then
There she was
Like a bright star in night sky
Like rain in scorched desert
Unknowingly she came
Believe me,
Not that I wasn't happy before
That happier I was with her
She was getting to know me then
There we were
Exploring one another's worlds
Hoping to find a better other
We got close
She was just getting to know me
There I was
Seeing her my heart ran like a swift horse
Speaking to her obliviated my worries
Spending time with her, completed me
She was the one I thought
I was getting to love her
She was getting to know me
There we were
Texting all day all night
Impossible to stay apart for a while
Sharing darkest of our secrets
My feet wasn't on earth anymore
I was levitating
I started loving her
She was still getting to know me
There we were
Looking into each other's eyes
Deciding to change our lives
Holding hands till they sweat
With sea breeze waving our hair
luckiest I am, I thought
I loved her
Little did I know
She didn't love me then
There I am
Leaving my priorities,
To spend few minutes with her
Leaving things I loved,
To care more for her
Leaving myself,
Because she was my world
Little did I know
She didn't love me
There I am
Forgetting my own existence for her
Nothing seemed more important
Not the stressful exams
Not my crowded assignments
Not my violent gaming
Not my desperate friends
Trust me I meant it, literally
When I told her you are my everything
I reached the threshold of human love
Little did I know
She didn't love me
There I am
Trying to acknowledge my situation
I didn't feel special
I never got the importance I wanted
I felt alone in my crowded world
Little did I know the reason for this
That she didn't love me
There I am
I felt difficult to breathe
Tears rolled down my pillow everyday
You took me for granted
I was there for you, Everytime
Leaving behind all my troubles
But you, you didn't budge
I burst out on her oneday
Cause I could tolerate no more
I am sorry babe
But I'm only human, with imperfections
I tried to correct myself
But you.
.
you never understood me
You never loved me
Here we are now
She came down on me
Like a lightning storm from clear sky
Shattering my heart to bits
It felt like a million needles
Piercing through my heart, only slower
Broken I was, like a bird without wings
It was a drizzle for you baby boo
But it was a whole damn hurricane for me
All the things I did for you
And You never loved me
Here I am
Clouds of pain are looming in the sky
I now live in a demolished house
Smirking, when I am dying inside
Pretending to be fine when world's coming down
But fret not,
This is what life really is
This is how people grow
This phase is a passing cloud
With time, everything will be alright
One day all this'll be a distant memory
You have never loved me
And now, I don't


Ummmmm ig but like it’s really shitty…XD
Here ya go if you want
The world we made
I look up and see a blue sky
I look down and see green grass
I look to the side and see beautiful birds
Then I fall
I fall and fall and fall
Now I’m upside down
And I see the world
I see grey polluted sky
And yellow mucky grass
I see black greasy birds
And I think
What have we done with our lives
Broken
My breaths become weak
I can hardly speak
There are voices in my head
And the things I draw with silver turn red
You broke me
But you knew what you were doing
And that’s what hurt the most
I cry
And you boast
About how you scored
You broke me because you were bored
So I look at the sky
And I say goodbye
Then I pull the rope
And I say hi to the lord
Grateful
The tears won’t stop
They come down drop by drop
My heart feels like it’s going to pop
The pain won’t go away
Nobody will stay
I feel like I’m drowning
I can’t stop frowning
The sadness comes wave after wave
And I’m so sad I think of my grave
So I grab a knife
To end my life
But you come running in
To save me from my sin
And for that
I am ever grateful
Okay
They don’t know that I cry
And when I’m sad they don’t ask why
They think I’m okay
But it hurts more everyday
At night it’s the worst
My heads gonna burst
I feel so out of place
I put on a fake face
I feel so alone
No place to call home
No one to call a friend
But I guess this isn’t my end
People see my fate
And before it’s too late
They tell me they love me
And that’s how it’ll always be
So I let down my walls
And as I hear your calls
I think
Everything will be okay
Society
Sit up straight
Control your weight
If your gay you’re a freak
And the woman should never speak
Black people are slaves
That were carried over by the waves
Mexicans are illegal
And a white person is the true bald eagle
The natives are peasants
They all should be giving us presents
But that’s not the case
We should all be given equal space
Should the hatred cease
Then the world should have peace
And we will all have a beautiful grace
Today is the Day
Pill after pill
Cut after cut
And now I’m stuck
In this stupid fucking rut
No one loves me
Can’t you tell?
They’re all blinded by my spell
The face I put on
The play I act
But no one can see through the crack
Today is the day
The one where I won’t stay
And the world will have to face that fact
Enough
Click clack
Click clack
You make my heart crack
Your words always make excuses
And somehow I always come back
I shrink as you speak
And take the slap across the cheek
As I try to make up for what you lack
Freak, geek, weak
I’ll never be enough
I’ll never have the things you seek
So you hit me as I shriek
And all that’s left to do
Is leave my blood to leak
I write a lot of these when I’m sad or mad or somewhere in the middle so if it’s depressing thennnnnnnn •_•


In this poem I attempted to show the blindness of modern society.
The monsters dance around the fire and cause havoc and bloodshed, but the people are in a hypnotized daze, and cannot make judgements for themselves.
They have lost all ability to think for themselves, and do not see the destruction that is caused as the old virtues that had once kept society together are falling apart.
To them, everything is relative, and the site of the monsters does not alarm them, causing them to become oblivious to their impending fate.

All is well
Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They dance around a bonfire
Shreiking and howling like dire wolves
As the old world withers within the flames

Beauty, truth, honor, courage
They are nowhere to be seen
They molder in the sweltering heat
As ancient towers are ground to dust

The people sit around in a daze
They no longer have control
Souls have been sold, and hearts emptied
They carry eyes of coal

Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They revel in their trance
As into flesh their fangs pierce
And blood is smeared on their wicked lips.


Yet the people refuse to see or hear
They blankly stare ahead
Without any spirit they repeat
"All is well, all is well"


I am writing Hindi poems from last 17 years.
I almost written 100+ Hindi & 6–10 English poems.
This has started with my first crush.
I had written 50+ romantic+love poetry.
Sometimes I had written depressing or negative poetry.
I was very emotional.
You can say a emotional fool.

Except I was a good poet, I was very shy about it.
I never ever showed these to anyone till I was 27.
I always felt embarrassing whenever someone catch me writing.
I felt like a thief.
I was very much conscious in my home to not let others read these emotions.
This is very clear that I was not mature enough to think it as normal as it is.
After 28–30 I started to understand that there is nothing such to hide these from others.
These are not as personal as I thought.
I was not doing anything wrong except expressing my feelings on paper.

After 27 I have started writing social poems also and social articles.
I have written a short story as well and 2 ideas are on the way to described on the paper.
My poems got published online on AmarUjala.
com
, Matribhasha.
com
and AajSirhaane.
com
.
My company magazine has published a lot of my written material either poems or articles and I have been rewarded many times as well.
I used to show my literature to my friends, relative and even my family now a days.
I am trying to make it professional now.

I rather lough in myself about my immaturity now.

One of my poem written when I was just 18 is present here.

अनामिका की तस्वीर
स्वपन है, यथार्थ है,
क्या इन विचारों का अर्थ है,
या मेरा ही कुछ स्वार्थ है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
जो मूल्य हैं अभी मेरे, बस जाए उन में ही सहज,
या भविष्य के मूल्यों में, रह जाए आकर्षण महज,
कस्तुरी की तरह महके घर-आँगन में,
या चाँद की तरह कल्पित रहे मेरे मन में,
कस्तुरी है या चाँद है,
या मेरा ही उन्माद है,
न बुझने वाली प्यास है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
दिखती है कभी धुंधली-धुंधली,
मिलती है कभी चलती-चलती,
खो जाती है फिर यादों में,
एहसासों में, जज़्बातों में,
में ढूंढ रहा तन्हा-तन्हा,
में पलट रहा पन्ना-पन्ना,
मिल जाए कहीं, दिख जाए कहीं,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
मिल सकता नहीं वह सब कुछ ही,
जो चाहता है इंसान कभी,
मिल जाता है गर जो कुछ भी,
बस उतने में मिल जाए खुशी,
मृग तरसा है कस्तुरी को,
कस्तुरी पल-पल साथ में है,
ऐसे ही लगता साथ ही है,
उस अजनबी अनामिका का अस्तित्व
'किशोर' विमल


Yes, I am 13, an aspiring author, and preparing my first novel, so, I read some brilliant poets such as Pablo Neruda, Kipling etc.
and also the new age poets, for example Arch Hades.
And on reading them, I realised, that poetry is about expression, making it more relatable to the readers, so I too, tried my hand at a verse or two, now note that I wrote my first poem sitting in my classroom, while studying Maths.
I liked them, and so, I decided to open an Instagram account by the name ‘theblisspoetry’ you can search it too on IG, and the response I got was amazing, most of the appreciation was from my classmates and parents, so I continued.
I have written numerous fragments and also long ones.
I would like to share a few here…
Magic
After so many years, too,
I find solace in you.

I see dreams in your eyes,
On seeing you my heart cries
You seem to be made up of stars,
On seeing you I forget all my wars.

I see your face in the moon, and
I’ve decided that I want you to be the cause of my doom.

I know that in the end, it will all be ok, but even if it does not, too,
I’ll still love you like the first time I saw you.

I don’t know if a heaven exists,
But you are quite close to it
And when you look at me,
I still feel magic, a magic that no one felt,
Which makes my heart melt.

I added love to my bucket list,
For on seeing you, I realised,
That magic does really exist.

-Aadit
India of my Dreams
In the depths of the night, a beggar struggles in his fight, his boy lies wounded and his daughter naked.

Living like scum, in the corner of a slum, a pile of dirt on the left, and the dark silhouette of a building on the right.
In the bedroom, a rich man sleeps sound, while in the slum lays a dead hound.
He lives like a king, on his finger, he wears a gold ring.
A helpless sweeper lives in dread, while, in front of a hundred people, a man shoots a girl in the head,
And still, no one killed Jessica.

The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say India has a strong social base,
While in Munirka, a 23 year old Jyoti Singh was raped by 6 men in the Nirbhaya case.

They say peace comes in the right season,
But then why were Sikhs were killed in 1984, without any reason.

Bones were found behind tanks, of helpless children, who were eaten raw in Nithari, Noida, And they say the ruler of the world will be India.
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say that sleeping on the pavements is all right, while a Raman Raghav comes and kills them in the night.

A murder which made India weep,
When Aarushi Talwar was murdered in her sleep.

They say nothing in India is sinister,
How do we believe that, when Vikas Yadav burnt alive the lover of his sister?
They say there isn’t a lag,
When Neeraj Kapoor was cut into 300 pieces and stuffed into poly bags?
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

-Aadit
PS: Kindly share your comments and check out my Instagram account:)


The irony of creativity is that it at times thrives best with confinement.
Restrictions pushes many creatives to produce some of their best works.
Poetry is that tinge of pressure, to have the right sense of rhyme, the flow of it, the length & selecting the correct word .
You have to get your message & sentiments across but without excessive flourishes.

I delved into poetry to give it a shot & challenge my writing.
I loved its simplicity but at the same time how a string of words could bring about strong emotions.
It’s one of the simplest but most heart-tugging forms of art there is.
One type of poetry that exemplifies how limits can catalyze creativity is the traditional form of Japanese Poetry, Haiku.
It’s beautiful.

Here’s one of my favourite poems I wrote a while back if you’d like to read :)
DAUGHTERS
This is a poem for my future daughters
Who will all be named after flowers
Reminding them
Every time their name escapes someone’s lips
That a flower needs not compare itself to another
A rose blooms when its time comes
So do the lilies, the azaleas
The orchids and the hydrangeas
Flowers do not bother to compete
To see whose beauty they can beat
Flowers do not care
To see who blooms faster than the rest
Flowers do not compare
To see whose colour is brighter
Or whose petals are bigger
I will name my daughter after flowers
So they remember
The lessons a flower teaches
It does not matter
That dahlias are bigger than daffodils
That sakuras aren’t as pink as tulips
Flowers are appreciated as they are
My daughters will be beautiful as they are
Her name will remind her
That flowers too have their seasons
That wherever her roots grow or die
Wherever her petals bloom or wither
Just as flowers have their seasons
People will wait and love and appreciate
As time and the shift of seasons
Reminds them of the grace and beauty in patience
I will name my daughters after flowers
So they remember
To love fiercely
Opening their hearts
Their petals of kindness
For the world to see
To not be like jewellery
Constantly on display
In television and shop arrays
Ever admired but its care exclusive
Whose love is so expensive
Their attention so selective
To my future little flowers
Your beauty is part of nature’s diversity
The death of love is when it is compared
It is a terrible habit to have
Comparison robs us of bliss
Too busy counting the things that are amiss
To my future little flowers
Bloom when your time comes
Worry not of others
Worry not if you are faster or slower
Bloom when your time comes
Of others, you pay no bother
Learn from the mistakes of your mother


alot actualy heres one.
.

A Love Poem by wolfy
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Verse is graceful,
And so are you.

Orchids are white,
Ghost ones are rare,
Americans are black,
And so is your hair.

Sunflowers reach,
Up to the skies,
Flowers are blue,
And so are your eyes.

Foxgloves in hedges,
Surround the farms,
My place is warm,
And so are your arms.

Daisies are pretty,
Daffies have style,
The nose is cute,
And so is your smile.

Roses are beautiful,
Just like you.

and another ive written in the past
Missing
by wolfy
How happy is the clear gap!
Are you upset by how readable it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the gap so crystal clear?
I cannot help but stop and look at the grief deceased.

Does the deceased make you shiver?
does it?
When I think of the sparse, I see a disdainful face.

Pause to leaf, like the sparse does.

I cannot help but stop and look at the little absent.

"Yowl", said the absent,
And "yowl" then "yowl" again.

I cannot help but stop and look at the lonesome unavailability.

Never forget the solitary and lonely unavailability.

How happy is the away absentee!
Are you upset by how out it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the absentee so departed?


Do you write poetry?


Yes I do like writing poetry, usually I write short one.

Here's a new poem of mine- Choice
Lost in this mirage of work and life,
 She wondered when was she happy the last time
 how beautiful was this world from time immemorial
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 Had siblings for the cuddly hugs and endless fight
 And a heavenly lap of mumma waiting for a hug tight
 There was nothing but loneliness now
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 working nine to five on something she doesn't like
 Is she losing her trueself and becoming a tyke
 She wanted to run away and beat the hell out of life
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 When was she given a choice?
 Never did they let her raise her voice
 All her life she was asked never to question
 But now when everything seems above her control
 It was better to raise her voice than to become a paranoid
 because this was not the life she had dreamed of all this while.

 
 With the help of her loved ones she gained her confidence back
 and now she knew she was on the right track
 A job of nine to five was not her choice
 So she resigned and raised her voice
 because this was her life and it was her choice
 
 Amidst all the chaos she is on her way to find her dreams
 For she knew none but she could walk through this streams
 Working on something she had always dreamed
 Now she is happy with the way she is
 because this is the life she had dreamed of all this while.

:)


I don't intend to, but I end up writing stuff (sometimes you won't even understand what I've written because the time I wrote it, I was in a different zone :P).

I started writing around 2014 or 2015 when I was in class tenth.
Thanks to my teenage years.
All that adrenaline rush and stupid heartbreaks and extra emotional part of mine that has made me write so many poems and write ups.

Now I usually write just whenever I feel something.
I love clicking pictures.
And the pictures inspire me to write something.
It's all usually random these days.
Earlier I had to think about rhyming words but now the words just flow.
I don't know if it's a good sign or not but whenever anything strikes me, I stop doing everything else and note it somewhere.
I don't care if I have an exam the next day.
I just can't let that thought go away.

Here are some of my poems.
Hindi and English.
All pictures have been clicked by me except the one in point number 7.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

wrote this one in collaboration with a friend ^
7.

8.

9.

that's me
10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

this is part of a poem i wrote with a friend.
my part :)
That's all for now, folks!
Pragya Sharma's answer to Can you share some of your own written poems?


I love poetry.
I enjoy it and am good at it too ( im 13).

One poem I wrote recently:
Predator To Prey
The lone hunter, sleek and black, travels through the night,
He needs food, he cannot wait for daylight.

'Crack' goes a twig, head turns at the distraction,
Low growl, he expects a reaction.

'Whoosh' goes a trap; 'Whoosh' goes another one,
He's surprised, he's scared,
His brawny grandeur has been stopped in its sinewy might.

He looks around, wonders what happened,
"Whoo-Hoo!" comes a cry; "We got a big one today, boys!"
He wonders what IS this funny noise!
Suddenly, he feels sharp pain,
Vision goes black and
Body is slack.

He wakes up in a cage,
What is this inside him,
This RAGE!
He is angry,
He thinks: "I ride the night sky, I ride the winds,
What have these people done?
I am not just anyone,
I am the Wolf!"
It was he, who hunted,
His gushing power and strength have lost their nimbleness,
His mammoth force, reduced to diminutive nothingness,
He was never the prey,
Till the path led him astray,
The lone hunter has now become the prey.


Yes… i do write poems as my hobby.
So, couple of days ago I've written this.
The theme depends on dark feel.

FATE AND HATE:
I believed you as my life fin,
But you cheated me to my life sin.

You used me as a dust bin,
And threw me as a waste tin.

You said to me, ‘I cheat you',
But it was heard by me, ‘I love you'.

I came behind and behind you,
And now I understand you.

I thought of you as my family member,
But you crossed as a wrong number.

Now I try you as a member,
From out of my heart's chamber.

The day we met,
Your relationship I set,
Your lullaby on my bed,
Brought my eyes the wet.

Forget the days of our promises,
And days of compromise.

I'll make our memories lost,
The days will move very fast,
I'll not turn to you at any cost,
Do understand my word get lost.

Thanks for scrolling,
By making your time spending.

-ASHIKA FATHIMA


Yes, but I don’t ever sit down and go “I’m going to write a poem now”.
Instead, for me, poetry is a conduit for expression.
The words flow when the mood strikes.
If the wave has not washed over me, letting the language present itself as if through supernatural intervention, then I won’t force it.
I write poetry only when it flows naturally.
Most importantly, I write it only for myself.

Thus, I write poetry erratically.
I have written multiple poems within a week at certain stages in my life but gone months without writing any in others.
A lot of my poetry is negative (as those emotions often were more consuming) but some of it speaks of my moments of pure hope.
Some is wistful as I reflected on my cusp into adulthood, some is absurd as I deconstructed the crazy world around me.
Overall, whenever I feel like reflecting upon my personal journey, I reread my works and the story they tell.
In that way, I suppose that my poetry is a record of the journey of my soul.

I shan’t claim that my poetry is good.
As mentioned above, I have not written it for others to assess nor judge, but rather as a insight into a snapshot of myself – a flawed capture of a time when emotion overwhelmed me.
However, I shall share a sole example here.
A poem that is one of my personal favourites.
It no longer applies to me; that doesn’t mean I should merely forget the time when it did.
But seriously, don’t we all write poetry in some form or another?
Dark Skies
In a perpetual darkened sky,
What do a few clouds matter?
The shade they cover, meaningless.

The ground already shadowed.

What does rain mean to a man
In a world that's cold and wet?
What is the sound of thunder,
When cries of the heart left you deaf?
Snow is no longer cold,
To one whose heart is stone.

Wind's bite cannot touch the man,
Who has already been worn to bone.

To me the world is nothing.

It holds no power over me.

Cause I already lost myself in the dark,
Already lost my will to see.

The light that always beckons,
Out of reach, it taunts.

Tis high time I abandoned hope.

It only leads to naught.

The weather cannot touch me.

The storms live in my heart.

No matter what the world does to me.

No more can I be hurt.
.
.

-Daydreamer 25/06/2015


Yes.

YES, I write poetry.

To me poetry is an art,a rhythm and a flow.

Now to these you can have the add-on
Art of playing with words: Like songs and music have those meanings and vibrations and clinging.
Word chain is also like a music, a complex one.
The words which come ahead and which follow,what they mean in the context or what they intended to do there.
All these together just wound in a piece of writing
Rhythm of the feel: Its a ride unless you fell like one you have not been like the purposeful listener/reader.
One who just enters the car needs to feel the air, the vibe and needs to be a part of it.

Flow of emotions: The poem reveals,relates and sings a song.
A song which portrays the joy,the pain and those feelings which never have a name.

Poems for me is like leaving a message in space where you tell anything and everything.
Now its the reader/listener who has a vision/understanding/feel form it.
Some get it beautifully and some have a even more serene experience.

That’s the beauty of poetry.
Some minds live that part of the poetry which event he writer did not want to create.
The poetry is the key which fits in different into different locks and opens different doors.

Its a momentary thing, mood and the presence of the moment creates the poetry,the feel and the want.
At times when you read your piece after some time you have a all new aura of the world you created.

Just to express:
Core
The wetness of water.
.
.

The heat of fire.
.
.

The sound of silence.
.
.

The stability of winds.
.
.

All wished to be known.
.
.

All wished to be felt.
.
.

All wished to be conquered.
.
.

All wished to be dealt.
.
.

Beyond our imagination .
.
.

Beyond our stealth.
.
.

Lie certain secrets.
.
.

We can never forget.
.
.

Gift of love
Some words of beauty.
.
.

Some gasp of despair.
.
.

Some pain of parting.
.
.

Some act of care.
.
.

Together they bring gift of love.
.
.

Wrapped in all sweetness.
.
.

Wrapped in all prayer.
.
.

A world so serene.
.
.

A world so rare.
.
.

Full of passion.
.
.

Full of glare.
.
.

Creating the magic of love in the air.
.
.


Do I write poetry?
I write my feelings.

I write my heart out.

Let me share one.

I AM STILL IN CONFUSION.
.
.

Being a Self Lover,
I am still in Confusion
How to react to those proposals?
Whether to accept or better to deny.

.

.

Being a girl,
I am still in Confusion
How to react to society?
Whether to be bold or better to shy.

.

.

Being a loner,
I am still in Confusion
What to do when I am alone?
Whether to remain silent or better to cry.

.

.

Being a 16 year old broken soul,
I am still in Confusion
What to do with my life?
Whether to continue with my pains or better to die.

.

.

Being a soul writer,
I am still in Confusion
How people will react to this poem?
Whether they will appreciate or criticize
.

.

Instead of so many confusions
At the end, I have to make a choice.

Thanks Tanvi Sehra for A2A.
❤❤

Keep smiling :)
#Your_smiling_Queen ♡
Neha Sharma (नेहा शर्मा)


Yup I write poetry, but not too much interested! I love to write about fictional stuffs.

Well, I have some poems, though; which I wrote…!
Fate
What a beautiful relation is marriage,
For which we pay lot of carriage!
It is pleasurable for parents to spend the money,
Cuz they love their daughter, who’s cute bunny!
But sometimes Life plays serious games,
Which destroys everything- name and fame!
The Govt.
pours their rules, like Bathroom shower,
Only because they are in the Power?
It broke his Pa, pushed the man in depression,
His family collapsed, plus their relations.

His sister and her fiance are in shock,
His parents are silent, like a rock.

He never cursed anyone for ‘that’ modification,
He cursed his destiny, Misfortune and his Situations…!

Peaceful Night
The night was dark, beautiful too.

I was there, but didn’t know what to do!
The wind blew gently, but my hairs were mess,
I didn’t care, I wasn’t at the Press!
The sky was black, no…no it was grey,
The bat flew high, without her prey.

The branches waved gently, with no more tears,
I smirked gently, with no ghosts or fear!
The moon scattered light, over the earth,
All of a sudden, I thanked my mom, for giving me birth!
‘You may sleep now’- Who whispered in my ear?
‘Was it my Mom, I gazed…no.
.
no.
.
It was my fear’!
‘You should sleep my boy’- said the shallow forest,
I yawned, agreed, ‘Yeah…my soul needs Rest!’

My Soul
I see my face, forming over a cloud.

It was a jocund stage, away from the crowd.

It soon faded away, but didn’t turned me sad.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t stab it hard.

I thought of them as joyous, rustic.

Even, a nightmare was never that linguistic.

The scars and scribbles kept tarnishing my card.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t rip it hard.

I was amazed, bewildered at the fact.

That they weren’t those, they always enact.

Maybe, I was the one who found ‘M-O-M’ hard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t cut it hard.

Just hoped of playing with a Toy Truck.

Still was happy, with these pain stuck.

I saw, who quilled the shrubs in the backyard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t gnaw it hard.

My grave drizzled, but never bleeped.

That’s how peacefully, a 13 year old could sleep.

I was finally dig, deep in the dreary backyard.

It was my soul, not sole, which was torn apart.

I Folded My Hands
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Red, Blue, Green were never the option to choose,
I hunched back as my wallet yelled, ‘You have to refuse’.

Odor is selfish, it only sticked to my hands,
Incense sticks- stubborn, refused to be my errands.

‘Loathing’, ‘Defiant’, ‘Foul’- were my names in vernacular,
Biggest irony- My state is secular.

That was when, my home floated on sands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

The final bite burned her delicate tongue,
‘He is an Anti-Social, he must be hung’.

Anger and Zest killed my pillars, my passion,
Sword and Wailing eyes are deadly combination.

None were breathing in the barren lands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Slivers never actually damaged the palm,
Adorned bangles wailed over the farm.

I still was adamant, will not come to your ‘Home’,
‘What else do you have?’ he smirked from his home.

I could see the ‘stupor’ and realized my fad,
I admit, I was obstinate,
I stepped back and folded my hands.

OK


yes
YESTERDAY MANKIND DIED
Why?
This day’s kind of mankind,
Is not in any way kind,
Not in heart soul or mind,
He just doesn’t mind,
A valued sensible deed,
How?
When I look through the window,
I see tears of a neglected widow,
Crying for a truth that we know,
As they stage a regrettable show,
To milk and sell her family cow,
So that their joys can flow,
This makes her life to be very low,
Thanks to our greedy Heartless law,
That puts her on a death row,
When I gracefully walk out of the door,
I meet the child, who begs from store to store,
Thinking of neither school nor score,
This is the angel we should adore,
Our future that should beget us more,
To be better than before,
But we only see a social sore,
As I jog along the wonderful boulevard,
The images I bypass are very sad,
Wearing a deadly scaring red,
They perpetually shout hard,
Hoping that they can be heard,
They call all to be given a hand,
So that they can softly land,
In the usual public graveyard,
To be another one numbered,
If I sit down to feed,
Needy cases attack with speed,
Their eyes virtually eat all my food,
When I sleep with my ever open head,
I dream of the original creed,
The call to be a fruitful seed,
Never to be the bad weed,
Ever to be the fountain of good,
Then I conceive that I am mad,
Because mankind is no more kind,
Mankind is now madkind,
Man’s kind is dead,
Mankind died,
Mike N Nyaga
0726 813493
[email protected]
com


I enjoy reading poetry.
However, sometimes I do write words in a strange rhyming pattern and shamelessly call them poems.

Here’s a one that I wrote recently: It’s titled ‘An Ode to a Deluded Generation’ adn it’s dedicated to my generation or as we call it, the Generation Z.

It goes like this:
They're out there in the dark alleys,
of shady bars and posh restaurants
Dancing and drinking away on a Friday night
losing themselves to the loud music.

They're out there in their trendy sneakers, striving.

The shoes for which they sold a chunk of their soul,
just to show the world that they're arriving,
gradually moving towards their estranged goal.

***
He still remembers those days,
how they used to tell him those tales
"Strive and struggle son, for just this one time.

Later on, life is as blissful as that delicious glass of sweet lime!"
He still remembers those days,
when he burnt the midnight oil to write his own story,
for he believed them all, he believed those tales.

He believed that slow and steady wins the race,
Like a mouse turning the wheels of time,
running away to be in a better place,
to stay alive in the rat race.

***
They're out there sitting in fancy cafes,
sipping that cup of mocha latte
Their gaze is locked but the moments fly away,
as they tap those fingers in that ashtray.

They walk out through the door,
One more night with a known stranger,
lost in the wilderness, making love on the floor.

One more night of nothing but empty promises,
Like the desolate words,
flowing out through a miserable poet's verses.

***
How they all smile,
like broken mirrors on the wall.

How they all laugh, even when they fall.

Because they've learned to feel, but not to cry.

They've been taught to walk, but not to fly.

***
He goes home to his mother,
and lays his head on her lap
"Why am I not yet happy, mother? Why do I still suffer?", he asks
Gently the mother caresses his forehead,
"Go to sleep my son, it'll be alright.

Don't you worry my son, just take a nap"
***
The sun is setting now,
the roads are wet with tears
They've lived far too long in delusion
They were promised a palace
but thrown away to rot into a prison.

Soon they'll breakout and gather in crowds
They will flock together to flood the town,
The light in their eyes will shine again
that lost spark in their hearts will be found.

and the whole world will watch in awe,
as these deluded souls burn everything to the ground.

***
Steinbeck had said, in the eyes of these people there is the failure;
and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath.

In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling
and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

One day he'll stand up and the world will be a stage,
He'll look at those rejuvenated faces in the crowd,
as his words written on a page will give rise to a revolution.

lead by a romantic and passionately deluded generation.
.
.

Well, that’s the most recent one I have written.

You can check out my Medium profile for more Neeraj Chavan – Medium
Or maybe my personal blog Skeptical Thoughts
Cheers!


Well we all have to learn things at some point in our life…I learned mine now
This is my first so please bear me and let me know where I can correct.
.

Its titled NOW I DON'T
There I was
A very ordinary person
Living in a teensy world
Enjoying my little life
She didn't know me then
There she was
Like a bright star in night sky
Like rain in scorched desert
Unknowingly she came
Believe me,
Not that I wasn't happy before
That happier I was with her
She was getting to know me then
There we were
Exploring one another's worlds
Hoping to find a better other
We got close
She was just getting to know me
There I was
Seeing her my heart ran like a swift horse
Speaking to her obliviated my worries
Spending time with her, completed me
She was the one I thought
I was getting to love her
She was getting to know me
There we were
Texting all day all night
Impossible to stay apart for a while
Sharing darkest of our secrets
My feet wasn't on earth anymore
I was levitating
I started loving her
She was still getting to know me
There we were
Looking into each other's eyes
Deciding to change our lives
Holding hands till they sweat
With sea breeze waving our hair
luckiest I am, I thought
I loved her
Little did I know
She didn't love me then
There I am
Leaving my priorities,
To spend few minutes with her
Leaving things I loved,
To care more for her
Leaving myself,
Because she was my world
Little did I know
She didn't love me
There I am
Forgetting my own existence for her
Nothing seemed more important
Not the stressful exams
Not my crowded assignments
Not my violent gaming
Not my desperate friends
Trust me I meant it, literally
When I told her you are my everything
I reached the threshold of human love
Little did I know
She didn't love me
There I am
Trying to acknowledge my situation
I didn't feel special
I never got the importance I wanted
I felt alone in my crowded world
Little did I know the reason for this
That she didn't love me
There I am
I felt difficult to breathe
Tears rolled down my pillow everyday
You took me for granted
I was there for you, Everytime
Leaving behind all my troubles
But you, you didn't budge
I burst out on her oneday
Cause I could tolerate no more
I am sorry babe
But I'm only human, with imperfections
I tried to correct myself
But you.
.
you never understood me
You never loved me
Here we are now
She came down on me
Like a lightning storm from clear sky
Shattering my heart to bits
It felt like a million needles
Piercing through my heart, only slower
Broken I was, like a bird without wings
It was a drizzle for you baby boo
But it was a whole damn hurricane for me
All the things I did for you
And You never loved me
Here I am
Clouds of pain are looming in the sky
I now live in a demolished house
Smirking, when I am dying inside
Pretending to be fine when world's coming down
But fret not,
This is what life really is
This is how people grow
This phase is a passing cloud
With time, everything will be alright
One day all this'll be a distant memory
You have never loved me
And now, I don't


Ummmmm ig but like it’s really shitty…XD
Here ya go if you want
The world we made
I look up and see a blue sky
I look down and see green grass
I look to the side and see beautiful birds
Then I fall
I fall and fall and fall
Now I’m upside down
And I see the world
I see grey polluted sky
And yellow mucky grass
I see black greasy birds
And I think
What have we done with our lives
Broken
My breaths become weak
I can hardly speak
There are voices in my head
And the things I draw with silver turn red
You broke me
But you knew what you were doing
And that’s what hurt the most
I cry
And you boast
About how you scored
You broke me because you were bored
So I look at the sky
And I say goodbye
Then I pull the rope
And I say hi to the lord
Grateful
The tears won’t stop
They come down drop by drop
My heart feels like it’s going to pop
The pain won’t go away
Nobody will stay
I feel like I’m drowning
I can’t stop frowning
The sadness comes wave after wave
And I’m so sad I think of my grave
So I grab a knife
To end my life
But you come running in
To save me from my sin
And for that
I am ever grateful
Okay
They don’t know that I cry
And when I’m sad they don’t ask why
They think I’m okay
But it hurts more everyday
At night it’s the worst
My heads gonna burst
I feel so out of place
I put on a fake face
I feel so alone
No place to call home
No one to call a friend
But I guess this isn’t my end
People see my fate
And before it’s too late
They tell me they love me
And that’s how it’ll always be
So I let down my walls
And as I hear your calls
I think
Everything will be okay
Society
Sit up straight
Control your weight
If your gay you’re a freak
And the woman should never speak
Black people are slaves
That were carried over by the waves
Mexicans are illegal
And a white person is the true bald eagle
The natives are peasants
They all should be giving us presents
But that’s not the case
We should all be given equal space
Should the hatred cease
Then the world should have peace
And we will all have a beautiful grace
Today is the Day
Pill after pill
Cut after cut
And now I’m stuck
In this stupid fucking rut
No one loves me
Can’t you tell?
They’re all blinded by my spell
The face I put on
The play I act
But no one can see through the crack
Today is the day
The one where I won’t stay
And the world will have to face that fact
Enough
Click clack
Click clack
You make my heart crack
Your words always make excuses
And somehow I always come back
I shrink as you speak
And take the slap across the cheek
As I try to make up for what you lack
Freak, geek, weak
I’ll never be enough
I’ll never have the things you seek
So you hit me as I shriek
And all that’s left to do
Is leave my blood to leak
I write a lot of these when I’m sad or mad or somewhere in the middle so if it’s depressing thennnnnnnn •_•


In this poem I attempted to show the blindness of modern society.
The monsters dance around the fire and cause havoc and bloodshed, but the people are in a hypnotized daze, and cannot make judgements for themselves.
They have lost all ability to think for themselves, and do not see the destruction that is caused as the old virtues that had once kept society together are falling apart.
To them, everything is relative, and the site of the monsters does not alarm them, causing them to become oblivious to their impending fate.

All is well
Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They dance around a bonfire
Shreiking and howling like dire wolves
As the old world withers within the flames

Beauty, truth, honor, courage
They are nowhere to be seen
They molder in the sweltering heat
As ancient towers are ground to dust

The people sit around in a daze
They no longer have control
Souls have been sold, and hearts emptied
They carry eyes of coal

Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They revel in their trance
As into flesh their fangs pierce
And blood is smeared on their wicked lips.


Yet the people refuse to see or hear
They blankly stare ahead
Without any spirit they repeat
"All is well, all is well"


I am writing Hindi poems from last 17 years.
I almost written 100+ Hindi & 6–10 English poems.
This has started with my first crush.
I had written 50+ romantic+love poetry.
Sometimes I had written depressing or negative poetry.
I was very emotional.
You can say a emotional fool.

Except I was a good poet, I was very shy about it.
I never ever showed these to anyone till I was 27.
I always felt embarrassing whenever someone catch me writing.
I felt like a thief.
I was very much conscious in my home to not let others read these emotions.
This is very clear that I was not mature enough to think it as normal as it is.
After 28–30 I started to understand that there is nothing such to hide these from others.
These are not as personal as I thought.
I was not doing anything wrong except expressing my feelings on paper.

After 27 I have started writing social poems also and social articles.
I have written a short story as well and 2 ideas are on the way to described on the paper.
My poems got published online on AmarUjala.
com
, Matribhasha.
com
and AajSirhaane.
com
.
My company magazine has published a lot of my written material either poems or articles and I have been rewarded many times as well.
I used to show my literature to my friends, relative and even my family now a days.
I am trying to make it professional now.

I rather lough in myself about my immaturity now.

One of my poem written when I was just 18 is present here.

अनामिका की तस्वीर
स्वपन है, यथार्थ है,
क्या इन विचारों का अर्थ है,
या मेरा ही कुछ स्वार्थ है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
जो मूल्य हैं अभी मेरे, बस जाए उन में ही सहज,
या भविष्य के मूल्यों में, रह जाए आकर्षण महज,
कस्तुरी की तरह महके घर-आँगन में,
या चाँद की तरह कल्पित रहे मेरे मन में,
कस्तुरी है या चाँद है,
या मेरा ही उन्माद है,
न बुझने वाली प्यास है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
दिखती है कभी धुंधली-धुंधली,
मिलती है कभी चलती-चलती,
खो जाती है फिर यादों में,
एहसासों में, जज़्बातों में,
में ढूंढ रहा तन्हा-तन्हा,
में पलट रहा पन्ना-पन्ना,
मिल जाए कहीं, दिख जाए कहीं,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
मिल सकता नहीं वह सब कुछ ही,
जो चाहता है इंसान कभी,
मिल जाता है गर जो कुछ भी,
बस उतने में मिल जाए खुशी,
मृग तरसा है कस्तुरी को,
कस्तुरी पल-पल साथ में है,
ऐसे ही लगता साथ ही है,
उस अजनबी अनामिका का अस्तित्व
'किशोर' विमल


Yes, I am 13, an aspiring author, and preparing my first novel, so, I read some brilliant poets such as Pablo Neruda, Kipling etc.
and also the new age poets, for example Arch Hades.
And on reading them, I realised, that poetry is about expression, making it more relatable to the readers, so I too, tried my hand at a verse or two, now note that I wrote my first poem sitting in my classroom, while studying Maths.
I liked them, and so, I decided to open an Instagram account by the name ‘theblisspoetry’ you can search it too on IG, and the response I got was amazing, most of the appreciation was from my classmates and parents, so I continued.
I have written numerous fragments and also long ones.
I would like to share a few here…
Magic
After so many years, too,
I find solace in you.

I see dreams in your eyes,
On seeing you my heart cries
You seem to be made up of stars,
On seeing you I forget all my wars.

I see your face in the moon, and
I’ve decided that I want you to be the cause of my doom.

I know that in the end, it will all be ok, but even if it does not, too,
I’ll still love you like the first time I saw you.

I don’t know if a heaven exists,
But you are quite close to it
And when you look at me,
I still feel magic, a magic that no one felt,
Which makes my heart melt.

I added love to my bucket list,
For on seeing you, I realised,
That magic does really exist.

-Aadit
India of my Dreams
In the depths of the night, a beggar struggles in his fight, his boy lies wounded and his daughter naked.

Living like scum, in the corner of a slum, a pile of dirt on the left, and the dark silhouette of a building on the right.
In the bedroom, a rich man sleeps sound, while in the slum lays a dead hound.
He lives like a king, on his finger, he wears a gold ring.
A helpless sweeper lives in dread, while, in front of a hundred people, a man shoots a girl in the head,
And still, no one killed Jessica.

The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say India has a strong social base,
While in Munirka, a 23 year old Jyoti Singh was raped by 6 men in the Nirbhaya case.

They say peace comes in the right season,
But then why were Sikhs were killed in 1984, without any reason.

Bones were found behind tanks, of helpless children, who were eaten raw in Nithari, Noida, And they say the ruler of the world will be India.
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say that sleeping on the pavements is all right, while a Raman Raghav comes and kills them in the night.

A murder which made India weep,
When Aarushi Talwar was murdered in her sleep.

They say nothing in India is sinister,
How do we believe that, when Vikas Yadav burnt alive the lover of his sister?
They say there isn’t a lag,
When Neeraj Kapoor was cut into 300 pieces and stuffed into poly bags?
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

-Aadit
PS: Kindly share your comments and check out my Instagram account:)


The irony of creativity is that it at times thrives best with confinement.
Restrictions pushes many creatives to produce some of their best works.
Poetry is that tinge of pressure, to have the right sense of rhyme, the flow of it, the length & selecting the correct word .
You have to get your message & sentiments across but without excessive flourishes.

I delved into poetry to give it a shot & challenge my writing.
I loved its simplicity but at the same time how a string of words could bring about strong emotions.
It’s one of the simplest but most heart-tugging forms of art there is.
One type of poetry that exemplifies how limits can catalyze creativity is the traditional form of Japanese Poetry, Haiku.
It’s beautiful.

Here’s one of my favourite poems I wrote a while back if you’d like to read :)
DAUGHTERS
This is a poem for my future daughters
Who will all be named after flowers
Reminding them
Every time their name escapes someone’s lips
That a flower needs not compare itself to another
A rose blooms when its time comes
So do the lilies, the azaleas
The orchids and the hydrangeas
Flowers do not bother to compete
To see whose beauty they can beat
Flowers do not care
To see who blooms faster than the rest
Flowers do not compare
To see whose colour is brighter
Or whose petals are bigger
I will name my daughter after flowers
So they remember
The lessons a flower teaches
It does not matter
That dahlias are bigger than daffodils
That sakuras aren’t as pink as tulips
Flowers are appreciated as they are
My daughters will be beautiful as they are
Her name will remind her
That flowers too have their seasons
That wherever her roots grow or die
Wherever her petals bloom or wither
Just as flowers have their seasons
People will wait and love and appreciate
As time and the shift of seasons
Reminds them of the grace and beauty in patience
I will name my daughters after flowers
So they remember
To love fiercely
Opening their hearts
Their petals of kindness
For the world to see
To not be like jewellery
Constantly on display
In television and shop arrays
Ever admired but its care exclusive
Whose love is so expensive
Their attention so selective
To my future little flowers
Your beauty is part of nature’s diversity
The death of love is when it is compared
It is a terrible habit to have
Comparison robs us of bliss
Too busy counting the things that are amiss
To my future little flowers
Bloom when your time comes
Worry not of others
Worry not if you are faster or slower
Bloom when your time comes
Of others, you pay no bother
Learn from the mistakes of your mother


alot actualy heres one.
.

A Love Poem by wolfy
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Verse is graceful,
And so are you.

Orchids are white,
Ghost ones are rare,
Americans are black,
And so is your hair.

Sunflowers reach,
Up to the skies,
Flowers are blue,
And so are your eyes.

Foxgloves in hedges,
Surround the farms,
My place is warm,
And so are your arms.

Daisies are pretty,
Daffies have style,
The nose is cute,
And so is your smile.

Roses are beautiful,
Just like you.

and another ive written in the past
Missing
by wolfy
How happy is the clear gap!
Are you upset by how readable it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the gap so crystal clear?
I cannot help but stop and look at the grief deceased.

Does the deceased make you shiver?
does it?
When I think of the sparse, I see a disdainful face.

Pause to leaf, like the sparse does.

I cannot help but stop and look at the little absent.

"Yowl", said the absent,
And "yowl" then "yowl" again.

I cannot help but stop and look at the lonesome unavailability.

Never forget the solitary and lonely unavailability.

How happy is the away absentee!
Are you upset by how out it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the absentee so departed?


Yes, & I’ll share one of my best two liner with you:
“ Meri maa jaise sutte ka filter
ke pata hai aagey ki duniya jal rahi hai
fir bhi vo mujhe bachaati chal rahi hai … “
I think you too can write original poems using the Rhymly app!
Try us out on Google PLay store: Rhymly- Anybody Can Rhyme – Apps on Google Play
Rhymly is a one-stop content tech platform that helps budding creative writers search rhymes & meanings of Hindi words, create original couplets while rhyming on the fly, discover & share talented writers & also get themselves featured on the app every day.

We help Poets, Shayars, Songwriters, Rappers, ad agencies, jingle writers, etc.
save a lot of time on their art pieces, break their writer's block, create more & a better quality of content & concentrate only on creativity while leaving the Vocabulary part to us.

Our unique proposition is that we cover the entire process of short content rhyming, writing, storing, sharing & discovering on a single platform & a creative writer doesn’t need to go to multiple platforms for all these things.

Some of our product screenshots:
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Yes I do and would love to share one of my poem
I know You haven’t left me,
I know You haven’t !!
You held my hand and helped me walk,
You never got tired of my endless talk.

You told me stories when I was four,
I still remember our fights for the Ludo score…!
You enthralled me by showing the star,
Now, I try looking for you in them, far.

You tugged me in and patted my head,
Now, crying for You turns my eye red.
.
!
Every toy I wanted, You bought,
Every Holy Mantra, You taught.

All the love I wanted You gave,
When I was scared, You made me brave.

I wish I could turn back the clock,
And enjoy the evening Temple walk,
You inspired me to achieve great,
You really were my best mate.

Time passed by and I grew up,
But, I will always remain your little Pup.

You gave me courage, to fight all odds,
You made us capable, from tiny Todd’s.

Today You turn Seventy One,
Yet, In my heart, You shine as bright as the Sun.

I write this today in your memory,
I know you would be smiling from up there, heartily!!
I know You haven’t left me,
I know You haven’t!!
If you liked it, do upvote it and click on the link to see my blog…The Forgotten Magic
Thank you :)


Almost a year ago I had to take my mom for a check up at the Tata Memorial Hospital, if you have been there ever (I hope not) you would know there is always a long queue for everything.
Observing the various patients around it was almost as if i was drawn to write something and this is what it was :
His pain now roaring as high as ever,
For hours In the Corridors, he stands,
In the queue for his life's judgement, he waits.

Staring various people, striving to survive,
His own will to live now began to fade,
All He wanted was to rest in the shade,

He sat in the darkness of his own heart,
Trying to forget the agony , he thought,
About the smile on his face various people brought.

Then he Realized how important it was,
To live and to bring a smile,
To illuminate the darkness people hide.

With restored will he rose, To win the Battle of life,
But he lost, he fell, never to rise,
But He now rests in the shade, after his demise.

-vb
My First Poetry.
It might seem dark but that is the atmosphere there and this was my start as a poet.


Yes, Sometimes I do write, and today what i have written is:
First Kiss!!
Kiss on lips,
For me it's adorable and bliss.

Till 24, it happened but only in dream,
For me it's like licking cream.

Whenevr Saw movie and scene of Kiss,
Just imagine but want to kiss.

Till that, kissed but in dream,
Kiss was love and everything for me.

One day, Fall in love ,
We loved eachother like anything.

One day, I was making tea,
My Love was there but Not with me.

What happened didn't know,
She entered but quietly and slow.

Distance was like feeling warmth breath,
She hold and kiss on my forehead.

This act made me to think
Was It time to make dream true?.

In her eyes, waiting for more
Then where I was to stop.

Both hold eachother and feel warm,
Hugged tight in close arms.

Dream to kiss going to be true
As Between us there were glue.

Kiss, licking lips went in flow,
That time, felt inseperable.

Now, two sides there were flame
One on tea-stove and for us, Like day will not come again.

Don't ask how did I feel, also dont deem,
I was kissing but its not in my dream.

I was flying in the sky
High high and high
(This is on the basis of my first kiss experienc)
Dear readers be a critic and give ur point on my writing.

Thanks for reading.


Eglantine
Beams of light shine as different upon each soul as water flows
For water always a smooth way it takes, and light only pure hearts it strikes
Her heart was with joy filled, mine was with regret
The scent of morning air was fragrant in her room, air in my presence didn’t seem to exist
The sun is bright, all glorious, all exalting except for a tortured mind in aloofness deep it resides
I walked upon the hill with wistful eyes, for walking was still no lax
I wandered and sang and cried, and momentary promises I no longer made
I took the pain and embraced it, and with my life swore to keep it
No more hiding, no more denying, the tragedy of a man is his rebirth
With broken but authentic soul I walked back, and to my past I now looked with peaceful assent
For each man kills the thing he loves, yet each man does not die
She sat across the room, reading the books to which she was inured
She was pristine indeed, and there was a shining quality to her eyes
She was quiet indeed, and there was soft wisdom to her words
She was perfect indeed
But no perfect thing had in jollity lived before, for perfection to man was not made
Her eyes in their glances were as wistful as mine
And her soul was equally with loneliness melted as with purity
More she wanted and much more she didn’t get
And to a giant’s eyes as sad as I am she looked if not sadder
For a virtuous heart’s sadness is more tragic than the tragedy of vicious man.

Sight is the only gift worth having and nature has a smell of its own
To which the skin reacts as strong as the heart beats
In my way back from where I brought healing to the depth of my breath
And within the pacific nature of my post satisfaction perplexity
I saw it
It was of ineffable beauty and elusive appeal
J’ai vu une églantine to which my composition has shown no immunity
To which every part of my body has shown desperate longing
To which I presented my hand, with shyness, with hesitance, with trembling fingers
To which I instantly lost myself, for such creature was surely made to dominate with overwhelming energy
It didn’t disappoint, and with conspicuous consent it presented itself
Almost as if it knew in my undeserving hand for not so long it will reside
My walk became my journey for your journey defines your life beyond your days
A journey of extravagant joy and sadness, of melancholy, of sleepless nights, but colorful days
And as every pair of eyes that touches the sacred stone of love, both our eyes were no longer wistful, not forever
Not since the morning where with a smiling face I handed it to her
In that morning I said, with a trembling voice and tearing eyes:
"Ma précieuse églantine est la tienne".


Yes
I’m a beginner but love writing them.
Here’s a sample
Like I said
Like I said it's a test,
 But no answers are correct.

 Like I said it's a quest,
 there are no clue, no right key, no right door.

 
 Like I said it's a chaos,
 the more you resist, the more it comes.

 Like I said it's a toss,
 But with no head or tail.

 
 Like I said it's complicated,
 the more you dis-tangle, the more you get entangled.

 Like I said it's hidden,
 the more you find, the more you loose.

 
 Like I said it's not very difficult,
 but yet sometimes takes ages to understand.

 
 And like I said,
 it's the path you make,
 it's what you want to see,
 it's how you want to feel,
 it's choosing your right from no options.

 In the end you don't win or loose,
 it's what you are.

 And it's always the perfect ending.

check out more on → Vaishali76 – poet at allpoetry


Yes!!! I write poetry.

Here is one of my poetry.
I have composed this in the wake of coming back from, one of my visit to Himalayas.

" Tribute to The Himalaya "
Every time I walked through you,
I realized, how small I am.

I tried to be like you, copied you, followed you
But, alas…, I became "more petty" -(
Every time I talked to you
I realized, how stupid I am
I tried to be like you, copied you, followed you
But, alas…, I became, "more Ignorant" :-(
Then, one fine day,
When the sky was blue and I was with you
you whispered slowly, in my ear
Be kind, Do Love and forget all your fear :-)
Remember that, You are the water
You are The Earth and also The Fire
Believe that, You are not just a body
Then you will find yourself freed already <3
When I was full of agony,
You filled my life with joy, like an alchemy <3
With LOVE <3
A Nomad Traveler :-)
Bandana Rath


To address your first part of your question.
Here is my answer.

Yes, I do write poetry.

I am not a professional Poet however it is my hobby to write poems in my native language Telugu and sometimes in English.
I find it is comfortable for me to express my feelings in my native language as I am much familiar to it.

If I require to address the second part of your question here are my reasons for which I always tend to write poems and why I can strongly advocate the benefits of writing the poems or content.

I hope I could answer your question.


Do you write poetry?


Yes I do like writing poetry, usually I write short one.

Here's a new poem of mine- Choice
Lost in this mirage of work and life,
 She wondered when was she happy the last time
 how beautiful was this world from time immemorial
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 Had siblings for the cuddly hugs and endless fight
 And a heavenly lap of mumma waiting for a hug tight
 There was nothing but loneliness now
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 working nine to five on something she doesn't like
 Is she losing her trueself and becoming a tyke
 She wanted to run away and beat the hell out of life
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 When was she given a choice?
 Never did they let her raise her voice
 All her life she was asked never to question
 But now when everything seems above her control
 It was better to raise her voice than to become a paranoid
 because this was not the life she had dreamed of all this while.

 
 With the help of her loved ones she gained her confidence back
 and now she knew she was on the right track
 A job of nine to five was not her choice
 So she resigned and raised her voice
 because this was her life and it was her choice
 
 Amidst all the chaos she is on her way to find her dreams
 For she knew none but she could walk through this streams
 Working on something she had always dreamed
 Now she is happy with the way she is
 because this is the life she had dreamed of all this while.

:)


Yup I write poetry, but not too much interested! I love to write about fictional stuffs.

Well, I have some poems, though; which I wrote…!
Fate
What a beautiful relation is marriage,
For which we pay lot of carriage!
It is pleasurable for parents to spend the money,
Cuz they love their daughter, who’s cute bunny!
But sometimes Life plays serious games,
Which destroys everything- name and fame!
The Govt.
pours their rules, like Bathroom shower,
Only because they are in the Power?
It broke his Pa, pushed the man in depression,
His family collapsed, plus their relations.

His sister and her fiance are in shock,
His parents are silent, like a rock.

He never cursed anyone for ‘that’ modification,
He cursed his destiny, Misfortune and his Situations…!

Peaceful Night
The night was dark, beautiful too.

I was there, but didn’t know what to do!
The wind blew gently, but my hairs were mess,
I didn’t care, I wasn’t at the Press!
The sky was black, no…no it was grey,
The bat flew high, without her prey.

The branches waved gently, with no more tears,
I smirked gently, with no ghosts or fear!
The moon scattered light, over the earth,
All of a sudden, I thanked my mom, for giving me birth!
‘You may sleep now’- Who whispered in my ear?
‘Was it my Mom, I gazed…no.
.
no.
.
It was my fear’!
‘You should sleep my boy’- said the shallow forest,
I yawned, agreed, ‘Yeah…my soul needs Rest!’

My Soul
I see my face, forming over a cloud.

It was a jocund stage, away from the crowd.

It soon faded away, but didn’t turned me sad.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t stab it hard.

I thought of them as joyous, rustic.

Even, a nightmare was never that linguistic.

The scars and scribbles kept tarnishing my card.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t rip it hard.

I was amazed, bewildered at the fact.

That they weren’t those, they always enact.

Maybe, I was the one who found ‘M-O-M’ hard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t cut it hard.

Just hoped of playing with a Toy Truck.

Still was happy, with these pain stuck.

I saw, who quilled the shrubs in the backyard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t gnaw it hard.

My grave drizzled, but never bleeped.

That’s how peacefully, a 13 year old could sleep.

I was finally dig, deep in the dreary backyard.

It was my soul, not sole, which was torn apart.

I Folded My Hands
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Red, Blue, Green were never the option to choose,
I hunched back as my wallet yelled, ‘You have to refuse’.

Odor is selfish, it only sticked to my hands,
Incense sticks- stubborn, refused to be my errands.

‘Loathing’, ‘Defiant’, ‘Foul’- were my names in vernacular,
Biggest irony- My state is secular.

That was when, my home floated on sands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

The final bite burned her delicate tongue,
‘He is an Anti-Social, he must be hung’.

Anger and Zest killed my pillars, my passion,
Sword and Wailing eyes are deadly combination.

None were breathing in the barren lands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Slivers never actually damaged the palm,
Adorned bangles wailed over the farm.

I still was adamant, will not come to your ‘Home’,
‘What else do you have?’ he smirked from his home.

I could see the ‘stupor’ and realized my fad,
I admit, I was obstinate,
I stepped back and folded my hands.

OK


Yes.

YES, I write poetry.

To me poetry is an art,a rhythm and a flow.

Now to these you can have the add-on
Art of playing with words: Like songs and music have those meanings and vibrations and clinging.
Word chain is also like a music, a complex one.
The words which come ahead and which follow,what they mean in the context or what they intended to do there.
All these together just wound in a piece of writing
Rhythm of the feel: Its a ride unless you fell like one you have not been like the purposeful listener/reader.
One who just enters the car needs to feel the air, the vibe and needs to be a part of it.

Flow of emotions: The poem reveals,relates and sings a song.
A song which portrays the joy,the pain and those feelings which never have a name.

Poems for me is like leaving a message in space where you tell anything and everything.
Now its the reader/listener who has a vision/understanding/feel form it.
Some get it beautifully and some have a even more serene experience.

That’s the beauty of poetry.
Some minds live that part of the poetry which event he writer did not want to create.
The poetry is the key which fits in different into different locks and opens different doors.

Its a momentary thing, mood and the presence of the moment creates the poetry,the feel and the want.
At times when you read your piece after some time you have a all new aura of the world you created.

Just to express:
Core
The wetness of water.
.
.

The heat of fire.
.
.

The sound of silence.
.
.

The stability of winds.
.
.

All wished to be known.
.
.

All wished to be felt.
.
.

All wished to be conquered.
.
.

All wished to be dealt.
.
.

Beyond our imagination .
.
.

Beyond our stealth.
.
.

Lie certain secrets.
.
.

We can never forget.
.
.

Gift of love
Some words of beauty.
.
.

Some gasp of despair.
.
.

Some pain of parting.
.
.

Some act of care.
.
.

Together they bring gift of love.
.
.

Wrapped in all sweetness.
.
.

Wrapped in all prayer.
.
.

A world so serene.
.
.

A world so rare.
.
.

Full of passion.
.
.

Full of glare.
.
.

Creating the magic of love in the air.
.
.


yes
YESTERDAY MANKIND DIED
Why?
This day’s kind of mankind,
Is not in any way kind,
Not in heart soul or mind,
He just doesn’t mind,
A valued sensible deed,
How?
When I look through the window,
I see tears of a neglected widow,
Crying for a truth that we know,
As they stage a regrettable show,
To milk and sell her family cow,
So that their joys can flow,
This makes her life to be very low,
Thanks to our greedy Heartless law,
That puts her on a death row,
When I gracefully walk out of the door,
I meet the child, who begs from store to store,
Thinking of neither school nor score,
This is the angel we should adore,
Our future that should beget us more,
To be better than before,
But we only see a social sore,
As I jog along the wonderful boulevard,
The images I bypass are very sad,
Wearing a deadly scaring red,
They perpetually shout hard,
Hoping that they can be heard,
They call all to be given a hand,
So that they can softly land,
In the usual public graveyard,
To be another one numbered,
If I sit down to feed,
Needy cases attack with speed,
Their eyes virtually eat all my food,
When I sleep with my ever open head,
I dream of the original creed,
The call to be a fruitful seed,
Never to be the bad weed,
Ever to be the fountain of good,
Then I conceive that I am mad,
Because mankind is no more kind,
Mankind is now madkind,
Man’s kind is dead,
Mankind died,
Mike N Nyaga
0726 813493
[email protected]
com


In this poem I attempted to show the blindness of modern society.
The monsters dance around the fire and cause havoc and bloodshed, but the people are in a hypnotized daze, and cannot make judgements for themselves.
They have lost all ability to think for themselves, and do not see the destruction that is caused as the old virtues that had once kept society together are falling apart.
To them, everything is relative, and the site of the monsters does not alarm them, causing them to become oblivious to their impending fate.

All is well
Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They dance around a bonfire
Shreiking and howling like dire wolves
As the old world withers within the flames

Beauty, truth, honor, courage
They are nowhere to be seen
They molder in the sweltering heat
As ancient towers are ground to dust

The people sit around in a daze
They no longer have control
Souls have been sold, and hearts emptied
They carry eyes of coal

Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They revel in their trance
As into flesh their fangs pierce
And blood is smeared on their wicked lips.


Yet the people refuse to see or hear
They blankly stare ahead
Without any spirit they repeat
"All is well, all is well"


I enjoy reading poetry.
However, sometimes I do write words in a strange rhyming pattern and shamelessly call them poems.

Here’s a one that I wrote recently: It’s titled ‘An Ode to a Deluded Generation’ adn it’s dedicated to my generation or as we call it, the Generation Z.

It goes like this:
They're out there in the dark alleys,
of shady bars and posh restaurants
Dancing and drinking away on a Friday night
losing themselves to the loud music.

They're out there in their trendy sneakers, striving.

The shoes for which they sold a chunk of their soul,
just to show the world that they're arriving,
gradually moving towards their estranged goal.

***
He still remembers those days,
how they used to tell him those tales
"Strive and struggle son, for just this one time.

Later on, life is as blissful as that delicious glass of sweet lime!"
He still remembers those days,
when he burnt the midnight oil to write his own story,
for he believed them all, he believed those tales.

He believed that slow and steady wins the race,
Like a mouse turning the wheels of time,
running away to be in a better place,
to stay alive in the rat race.

***
They're out there sitting in fancy cafes,
sipping that cup of mocha latte
Their gaze is locked but the moments fly away,
as they tap those fingers in that ashtray.

They walk out through the door,
One more night with a known stranger,
lost in the wilderness, making love on the floor.

One more night of nothing but empty promises,
Like the desolate words,
flowing out through a miserable poet's verses.

***
How they all smile,
like broken mirrors on the wall.

How they all laugh, even when they fall.

Because they've learned to feel, but not to cry.

They've been taught to walk, but not to fly.

***
He goes home to his mother,
and lays his head on her lap
"Why am I not yet happy, mother? Why do I still suffer?", he asks
Gently the mother caresses his forehead,
"Go to sleep my son, it'll be alright.

Don't you worry my son, just take a nap"
***
The sun is setting now,
the roads are wet with tears
They've lived far too long in delusion
They were promised a palace
but thrown away to rot into a prison.

Soon they'll breakout and gather in crowds
They will flock together to flood the town,
The light in their eyes will shine again
that lost spark in their hearts will be found.

and the whole world will watch in awe,
as these deluded souls burn everything to the ground.

***
Steinbeck had said, in the eyes of these people there is the failure;
and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath.

In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling
and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

One day he'll stand up and the world will be a stage,
He'll look at those rejuvenated faces in the crowd,
as his words written on a page will give rise to a revolution.

lead by a romantic and passionately deluded generation.
.
.

Well, that’s the most recent one I have written.

You can check out my Medium profile for more Neeraj Chavan – Medium
Or maybe my personal blog Skeptical Thoughts
Cheers!


Well we all have to learn things at some point in our life…I learned mine now
This is my first so please bear me and let me know where I can correct.
.

Its titled NOW I DON'T
There I was
A very ordinary person
Living in a teensy world
Enjoying my little life
She didn't know me then
There she was
Like a bright star in night sky
Like rain in scorched desert
Unknowingly she came
Believe me,
Not that I wasn't happy before
That happier I was with her
She was getting to know me then
There we were
Exploring one another's worlds
Hoping to find a better other
We got close
She was just getting to know me
There I was
Seeing her my heart ran like a swift horse
Speaking to her obliviated my worries
Spending time with her, completed me
She was the one I thought
I was getting to love her
She was getting to know me
There we were
Texting all day all night
Impossible to stay apart for a while
Sharing darkest of our secrets
My feet wasn't on earth anymore
I was levitating
I started loving her
She was still getting to know me
There we were
Looking into each other's eyes
Deciding to change our lives
Holding hands till they sweat
With sea breeze waving our hair
luckiest I am, I thought
I loved her
Little did I know
She didn't love me then
There I am
Leaving my priorities,
To spend few minutes with her
Leaving things I loved,
To care more for her
Leaving myself,
Because she was my world
Little did I know
She didn't love me
There I am
Forgetting my own existence for her
Nothing seemed more important
Not the stressful exams
Not my crowded assignments
Not my violent gaming
Not my desperate friends
Trust me I meant it, literally
When I told her you are my everything
I reached the threshold of human love
Little did I know
She didn't love me
There I am
Trying to acknowledge my situation
I didn't feel special
I never got the importance I wanted
I felt alone in my crowded world
Little did I know the reason for this
That she didn't love me
There I am
I felt difficult to breathe
Tears rolled down my pillow everyday
You took me for granted
I was there for you, Everytime
Leaving behind all my troubles
But you, you didn't budge
I burst out on her oneday
Cause I could tolerate no more
I am sorry babe
But I'm only human, with imperfections
I tried to correct myself
But you.
.
you never understood me
You never loved me
Here we are now
She came down on me
Like a lightning storm from clear sky
Shattering my heart to bits
It felt like a million needles
Piercing through my heart, only slower
Broken I was, like a bird without wings
It was a drizzle for you baby boo
But it was a whole damn hurricane for me
All the things I did for you
And You never loved me
Here I am
Clouds of pain are looming in the sky
I now live in a demolished house
Smirking, when I am dying inside
Pretending to be fine when world's coming down
But fret not,
This is what life really is
This is how people grow
This phase is a passing cloud
With time, everything will be alright
One day all this'll be a distant memory
You have never loved me
And now, I don't


Ummmmm ig but like it’s really shitty…XD
Here ya go if you want
The world we made
I look up and see a blue sky
I look down and see green grass
I look to the side and see beautiful birds
Then I fall
I fall and fall and fall
Now I’m upside down
And I see the world
I see grey polluted sky
And yellow mucky grass
I see black greasy birds
And I think
What have we done with our lives
Broken
My breaths become weak
I can hardly speak
There are voices in my head
And the things I draw with silver turn red
You broke me
But you knew what you were doing
And that’s what hurt the most
I cry
And you boast
About how you scored
You broke me because you were bored
So I look at the sky
And I say goodbye
Then I pull the rope
And I say hi to the lord
Grateful
The tears won’t stop
They come down drop by drop
My heart feels like it’s going to pop
The pain won’t go away
Nobody will stay
I feel like I’m drowning
I can’t stop frowning
The sadness comes wave after wave
And I’m so sad I think of my grave
So I grab a knife
To end my life
But you come running in
To save me from my sin
And for that
I am ever grateful
Okay
They don’t know that I cry
And when I’m sad they don’t ask why
They think I’m okay
But it hurts more everyday
At night it’s the worst
My heads gonna burst
I feel so out of place
I put on a fake face
I feel so alone
No place to call home
No one to call a friend
But I guess this isn’t my end
People see my fate
And before it’s too late
They tell me they love me
And that’s how it’ll always be
So I let down my walls
And as I hear your calls
I think
Everything will be okay
Society
Sit up straight
Control your weight
If your gay you’re a freak
And the woman should never speak
Black people are slaves
That were carried over by the waves
Mexicans are illegal
And a white person is the true bald eagle
The natives are peasants
They all should be giving us presents
But that’s not the case
We should all be given equal space
Should the hatred cease
Then the world should have peace
And we will all have a beautiful grace
Today is the Day
Pill after pill
Cut after cut
And now I’m stuck
In this stupid fucking rut
No one loves me
Can’t you tell?
They’re all blinded by my spell
The face I put on
The play I act
But no one can see through the crack
Today is the day
The one where I won’t stay
And the world will have to face that fact
Enough
Click clack
Click clack
You make my heart crack
Your words always make excuses
And somehow I always come back
I shrink as you speak
And take the slap across the cheek
As I try to make up for what you lack
Freak, geek, weak
I’ll never be enough
I’ll never have the things you seek
So you hit me as I shriek
And all that’s left to do
Is leave my blood to leak
I write a lot of these when I’m sad or mad or somewhere in the middle so if it’s depressing thennnnnnnn •_•


I don't intend to, but I end up writing stuff (sometimes you won't even understand what I've written because the time I wrote it, I was in a different zone :P).

I started writing around 2014 or 2015 when I was in class tenth.
Thanks to my teenage years.
All that adrenaline rush and stupid heartbreaks and extra emotional part of mine that has made me write so many poems and write ups.

Now I usually write just whenever I feel something.
I love clicking pictures.
And the pictures inspire me to write something.
It's all usually random these days.
Earlier I had to think about rhyming words but now the words just flow.
I don't know if it's a good sign or not but whenever anything strikes me, I stop doing everything else and note it somewhere.
I don't care if I have an exam the next day.
I just can't let that thought go away.

Here are some of my poems.
Hindi and English.
All pictures have been clicked by me except the one in point number 7.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

wrote this one in collaboration with a friend ^
7.

8.

9.

that's me
10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

this is part of a poem i wrote with a friend.
my part :)
That's all for now, folks!
Pragya Sharma's answer to Can you share some of your own written poems?


Yes!!! I write poetry.

Here is one of my poetry.
I have composed this in the wake of coming back from, one of my visit to Himalayas.

" Tribute to The Himalaya "
Every time I walked through you,
I realized, how small I am.

I tried to be like you, copied you, followed you
But, alas…, I became "more petty" -(
Every time I talked to you
I realized, how stupid I am
I tried to be like you, copied you, followed you
But, alas…, I became, "more Ignorant" :-(
Then, one fine day,
When the sky was blue and I was with you
you whispered slowly, in my ear
Be kind, Do Love and forget all your fear :-)
Remember that, You are the water
You are The Earth and also The Fire
Believe that, You are not just a body
Then you will find yourself freed already <3
When I was full of agony,
You filled my life with joy, like an alchemy <3
With LOVE <3
A Nomad Traveler :-)
Bandana Rath


I am writing Hindi poems from last 17 years.
I almost written 100+ Hindi & 6–10 English poems.
This has started with my first crush.
I had written 50+ romantic+love poetry.
Sometimes I had written depressing or negative poetry.
I was very emotional.
You can say a emotional fool.

Except I was a good poet, I was very shy about it.
I never ever showed these to anyone till I was 27.
I always felt embarrassing whenever someone catch me writing.
I felt like a thief.
I was very much conscious in my home to not let others read these emotions.
This is very clear that I was not mature enough to think it as normal as it is.
After 28–30 I started to understand that there is nothing such to hide these from others.
These are not as personal as I thought.
I was not doing anything wrong except expressing my feelings on paper.

After 27 I have started writing social poems also and social articles.
I have written a short story as well and 2 ideas are on the way to described on the paper.
My poems got published online on AmarUjala.
com
, Matribhasha.
com
and AajSirhaane.
com
.
My company magazine has published a lot of my written material either poems or articles and I have been rewarded many times as well.
I used to show my literature to my friends, relative and even my family now a days.
I am trying to make it professional now.

I rather lough in myself about my immaturity now.

One of my poem written when I was just 18 is present here.

अनामिका की तस्वीर
स्वपन है, यथार्थ है,
क्या इन विचारों का अर्थ है,
या मेरा ही कुछ स्वार्थ है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
जो मूल्य हैं अभी मेरे, बस जाए उन में ही सहज,
या भविष्य के मूल्यों में, रह जाए आकर्षण महज,
कस्तुरी की तरह महके घर-आँगन में,
या चाँद की तरह कल्पित रहे मेरे मन में,
कस्तुरी है या चाँद है,
या मेरा ही उन्माद है,
न बुझने वाली प्यास है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
दिखती है कभी धुंधली-धुंधली,
मिलती है कभी चलती-चलती,
खो जाती है फिर यादों में,
एहसासों में, जज़्बातों में,
में ढूंढ रहा तन्हा-तन्हा,
में पलट रहा पन्ना-पन्ना,
मिल जाए कहीं, दिख जाए कहीं,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
मिल सकता नहीं वह सब कुछ ही,
जो चाहता है इंसान कभी,
मिल जाता है गर जो कुछ भी,
बस उतने में मिल जाए खुशी,
मृग तरसा है कस्तुरी को,
कस्तुरी पल-पल साथ में है,
ऐसे ही लगता साथ ही है,
उस अजनबी अनामिका का अस्तित्व
'किशोर' विमल


Yes, but I don’t ever sit down and go “I’m going to write a poem now”.
Instead, for me, poetry is a conduit for expression.
The words flow when the mood strikes.
If the wave has not washed over me, letting the language present itself as if through supernatural intervention, then I won’t force it.
I write poetry only when it flows naturally.
Most importantly, I write it only for myself.

Thus, I write poetry erratically.
I have written multiple poems within a week at certain stages in my life but gone months without writing any in others.
A lot of my poetry is negative (as those emotions often were more consuming) but some of it speaks of my moments of pure hope.
Some is wistful as I reflected on my cusp into adulthood, some is absurd as I deconstructed the crazy world around me.
Overall, whenever I feel like reflecting upon my personal journey, I reread my works and the story they tell.
In that way, I suppose that my poetry is a record of the journey of my soul.

I shan’t claim that my poetry is good.
As mentioned above, I have not written it for others to assess nor judge, but rather as a insight into a snapshot of myself – a flawed capture of a time when emotion overwhelmed me.
However, I shall share a sole example here.
A poem that is one of my personal favourites.
It no longer applies to me; that doesn’t mean I should merely forget the time when it did.
But seriously, don’t we all write poetry in some form or another?
Dark Skies
In a perpetual darkened sky,
What do a few clouds matter?
The shade they cover, meaningless.

The ground already shadowed.

What does rain mean to a man
In a world that's cold and wet?
What is the sound of thunder,
When cries of the heart left you deaf?
Snow is no longer cold,
To one whose heart is stone.

Wind's bite cannot touch the man,
Who has already been worn to bone.

To me the world is nothing.

It holds no power over me.

Cause I already lost myself in the dark,
Already lost my will to see.

The light that always beckons,
Out of reach, it taunts.

Tis high time I abandoned hope.

It only leads to naught.

The weather cannot touch me.

The storms live in my heart.

No matter what the world does to me.

No more can I be hurt.
.
.

-Daydreamer 25/06/2015


Yes, I am 13, an aspiring author, and preparing my first novel, so, I read some brilliant poets such as Pablo Neruda, Kipling etc.
and also the new age poets, for example Arch Hades.
And on reading them, I realised, that poetry is about expression, making it more relatable to the readers, so I too, tried my hand at a verse or two, now note that I wrote my first poem sitting in my classroom, while studying Maths.
I liked them, and so, I decided to open an Instagram account by the name ‘theblisspoetry’ you can search it too on IG, and the response I got was amazing, most of the appreciation was from my classmates and parents, so I continued.
I have written numerous fragments and also long ones.
I would like to share a few here…
Magic
After so many years, too,
I find solace in you.

I see dreams in your eyes,
On seeing you my heart cries
You seem to be made up of stars,
On seeing you I forget all my wars.

I see your face in the moon, and
I’ve decided that I want you to be the cause of my doom.

I know that in the end, it will all be ok, but even if it does not, too,
I’ll still love you like the first time I saw you.

I don’t know if a heaven exists,
But you are quite close to it
And when you look at me,
I still feel magic, a magic that no one felt,
Which makes my heart melt.

I added love to my bucket list,
For on seeing you, I realised,
That magic does really exist.

-Aadit
India of my Dreams
In the depths of the night, a beggar struggles in his fight, his boy lies wounded and his daughter naked.

Living like scum, in the corner of a slum, a pile of dirt on the left, and the dark silhouette of a building on the right.
In the bedroom, a rich man sleeps sound, while in the slum lays a dead hound.
He lives like a king, on his finger, he wears a gold ring.
A helpless sweeper lives in dread, while, in front of a hundred people, a man shoots a girl in the head,
And still, no one killed Jessica.

The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say India has a strong social base,
While in Munirka, a 23 year old Jyoti Singh was raped by 6 men in the Nirbhaya case.

They say peace comes in the right season,
But then why were Sikhs were killed in 1984, without any reason.

Bones were found behind tanks, of helpless children, who were eaten raw in Nithari, Noida, And they say the ruler of the world will be India.
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say that sleeping on the pavements is all right, while a Raman Raghav comes and kills them in the night.

A murder which made India weep,
When Aarushi Talwar was murdered in her sleep.

They say nothing in India is sinister,
How do we believe that, when Vikas Yadav burnt alive the lover of his sister?
They say there isn’t a lag,
When Neeraj Kapoor was cut into 300 pieces and stuffed into poly bags?
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

-Aadit
PS: Kindly share your comments and check out my Instagram account:)


The irony of creativity is that it at times thrives best with confinement.
Restrictions pushes many creatives to produce some of their best works.
Poetry is that tinge of pressure, to have the right sense of rhyme, the flow of it, the length & selecting the correct word .
You have to get your message & sentiments across but without excessive flourishes.

I delved into poetry to give it a shot & challenge my writing.
I loved its simplicity but at the same time how a string of words could bring about strong emotions.
It’s one of the simplest but most heart-tugging forms of art there is.
One type of poetry that exemplifies how limits can catalyze creativity is the traditional form of Japanese Poetry, Haiku.
It’s beautiful.

Here’s one of my favourite poems I wrote a while back if you’d like to read :)
DAUGHTERS
This is a poem for my future daughters
Who will all be named after flowers
Reminding them
Every time their name escapes someone’s lips
That a flower needs not compare itself to another
A rose blooms when its time comes
So do the lilies, the azaleas
The orchids and the hydrangeas
Flowers do not bother to compete
To see whose beauty they can beat
Flowers do not care
To see who blooms faster than the rest
Flowers do not compare
To see whose colour is brighter
Or whose petals are bigger
I will name my daughter after flowers
So they remember
The lessons a flower teaches
It does not matter
That dahlias are bigger than daffodils
That sakuras aren’t as pink as tulips
Flowers are appreciated as they are
My daughters will be beautiful as they are
Her name will remind her
That flowers too have their seasons
That wherever her roots grow or die
Wherever her petals bloom or wither
Just as flowers have their seasons
People will wait and love and appreciate
As time and the shift of seasons
Reminds them of the grace and beauty in patience
I will name my daughters after flowers
So they remember
To love fiercely
Opening their hearts
Their petals of kindness
For the world to see
To not be like jewellery
Constantly on display
In television and shop arrays
Ever admired but its care exclusive
Whose love is so expensive
Their attention so selective
To my future little flowers
Your beauty is part of nature’s diversity
The death of love is when it is compared
It is a terrible habit to have
Comparison robs us of bliss
Too busy counting the things that are amiss
To my future little flowers
Bloom when your time comes
Worry not of others
Worry not if you are faster or slower
Bloom when your time comes
Of others, you pay no bother
Learn from the mistakes of your mother


alot actualy heres one.
.

A Love Poem by wolfy
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Verse is graceful,
And so are you.

Orchids are white,
Ghost ones are rare,
Americans are black,
And so is your hair.

Sunflowers reach,
Up to the skies,
Flowers are blue,
And so are your eyes.

Foxgloves in hedges,
Surround the farms,
My place is warm,
And so are your arms.

Daisies are pretty,
Daffies have style,
The nose is cute,
And so is your smile.

Roses are beautiful,
Just like you.

and another ive written in the past
Missing
by wolfy
How happy is the clear gap!
Are you upset by how readable it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the gap so crystal clear?
I cannot help but stop and look at the grief deceased.

Does the deceased make you shiver?
does it?
When I think of the sparse, I see a disdainful face.

Pause to leaf, like the sparse does.

I cannot help but stop and look at the little absent.

"Yowl", said the absent,
And "yowl" then "yowl" again.

I cannot help but stop and look at the lonesome unavailability.

Never forget the solitary and lonely unavailability.

How happy is the away absentee!
Are you upset by how out it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the absentee so departed?


Yes, & I’ll share one of my best two liner with you:
“ Meri maa jaise sutte ka filter
ke pata hai aagey ki duniya jal rahi hai
fir bhi vo mujhe bachaati chal rahi hai … “
I think you too can write original poems using the Rhymly app!
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Rhymly is a one-stop content tech platform that helps budding creative writers search rhymes & meanings of Hindi words, create original couplets while rhyming on the fly, discover & share talented writers & also get themselves featured on the app every day.

We help Poets, Shayars, Songwriters, Rappers, ad agencies, jingle writers, etc.
save a lot of time on their art pieces, break their writer's block, create more & a better quality of content & concentrate only on creativity while leaving the Vocabulary part to us.

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Yes I do and would love to share one of my poem
I know You haven’t left me,
I know You haven’t !!
You held my hand and helped me walk,
You never got tired of my endless talk.

You told me stories when I was four,
I still remember our fights for the Ludo score…!
You enthralled me by showing the star,
Now, I try looking for you in them, far.

You tugged me in and patted my head,
Now, crying for You turns my eye red.
.
!
Every toy I wanted, You bought,
Every Holy Mantra, You taught.

All the love I wanted You gave,
When I was scared, You made me brave.

I wish I could turn back the clock,
And enjoy the evening Temple walk,
You inspired me to achieve great,
You really were my best mate.

Time passed by and I grew up,
But, I will always remain your little Pup.

You gave me courage, to fight all odds,
You made us capable, from tiny Todd’s.

Today You turn Seventy One,
Yet, In my heart, You shine as bright as the Sun.

I write this today in your memory,
I know you would be smiling from up there, heartily!!
I know You haven’t left me,
I know You haven’t!!
If you liked it, do upvote it and click on the link to see my blog…The Forgotten Magic
Thank you :)


Do you write poetry?


Yes I do like writing poetry, usually I write short one.

Here's a new poem of mine- Choice
Lost in this mirage of work and life,
 She wondered when was she happy the last time
 how beautiful was this world from time immemorial
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 Had siblings for the cuddly hugs and endless fight
 And a heavenly lap of mumma waiting for a hug tight
 There was nothing but loneliness now
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 working nine to five on something she doesn't like
 Is she losing her trueself and becoming a tyke
 She wanted to run away and beat the hell out of life
 Was this the life she had dreamed of all this while
 
 When was she given a choice?
 Never did they let her raise her voice
 All her life she was asked never to question
 But now when everything seems above her control
 It was better to raise her voice than to become a paranoid
 because this was not the life she had dreamed of all this while.

 
 With the help of her loved ones she gained her confidence back
 and now she knew she was on the right track
 A job of nine to five was not her choice
 So she resigned and raised her voice
 because this was her life and it was her choice
 
 Amidst all the chaos she is on her way to find her dreams
 For she knew none but she could walk through this streams
 Working on something she had always dreamed
 Now she is happy with the way she is
 because this is the life she had dreamed of all this while.

:)


Yes.

YES, I write poetry.

To me poetry is an art,a rhythm and a flow.

Now to these you can have the add-on
Art of playing with words: Like songs and music have those meanings and vibrations and clinging.
Word chain is also like a music, a complex one.
The words which come ahead and which follow,what they mean in the context or what they intended to do there.
All these together just wound in a piece of writing
Rhythm of the feel: Its a ride unless you fell like one you have not been like the purposeful listener/reader.
One who just enters the car needs to feel the air, the vibe and needs to be a part of it.

Flow of emotions: The poem reveals,relates and sings a song.
A song which portrays the joy,the pain and those feelings which never have a name.

Poems for me is like leaving a message in space where you tell anything and everything.
Now its the reader/listener who has a vision/understanding/feel form it.
Some get it beautifully and some have a even more serene experience.

That’s the beauty of poetry.
Some minds live that part of the poetry which event he writer did not want to create.
The poetry is the key which fits in different into different locks and opens different doors.

Its a momentary thing, mood and the presence of the moment creates the poetry,the feel and the want.
At times when you read your piece after some time you have a all new aura of the world you created.

Just to express:
Core
The wetness of water.
.
.

The heat of fire.
.
.

The sound of silence.
.
.

The stability of winds.
.
.

All wished to be known.
.
.

All wished to be felt.
.
.

All wished to be conquered.
.
.

All wished to be dealt.
.
.

Beyond our imagination .
.
.

Beyond our stealth.
.
.

Lie certain secrets.
.
.

We can never forget.
.
.

Gift of love
Some words of beauty.
.
.

Some gasp of despair.
.
.

Some pain of parting.
.
.

Some act of care.
.
.

Together they bring gift of love.
.
.

Wrapped in all sweetness.
.
.

Wrapped in all prayer.
.
.

A world so serene.
.
.

A world so rare.
.
.

Full of passion.
.
.

Full of glare.
.
.

Creating the magic of love in the air.
.
.


The irony of creativity is that it at times thrives best with confinement.
Restrictions pushes many creatives to produce some of their best works.
Poetry is that tinge of pressure, to have the right sense of rhyme, the flow of it, the length & selecting the correct word .
You have to get your message & sentiments across but without excessive flourishes.

I delved into poetry to give it a shot & challenge my writing.
I loved its simplicity but at the same time how a string of words could bring about strong emotions.
It’s one of the simplest but most heart-tugging forms of art there is.
One type of poetry that exemplifies how limits can catalyze creativity is the traditional form of Japanese Poetry, Haiku.
It’s beautiful.

Here’s one of my favourite poems I wrote a while back if you’d like to read :)
DAUGHTERS
This is a poem for my future daughters
Who will all be named after flowers
Reminding them
Every time their name escapes someone’s lips
That a flower needs not compare itself to another
A rose blooms when its time comes
So do the lilies, the azaleas
The orchids and the hydrangeas
Flowers do not bother to compete
To see whose beauty they can beat
Flowers do not care
To see who blooms faster than the rest
Flowers do not compare
To see whose colour is brighter
Or whose petals are bigger
I will name my daughter after flowers
So they remember
The lessons a flower teaches
It does not matter
That dahlias are bigger than daffodils
That sakuras aren’t as pink as tulips
Flowers are appreciated as they are
My daughters will be beautiful as they are
Her name will remind her
That flowers too have their seasons
That wherever her roots grow or die
Wherever her petals bloom or wither
Just as flowers have their seasons
People will wait and love and appreciate
As time and the shift of seasons
Reminds them of the grace and beauty in patience
I will name my daughters after flowers
So they remember
To love fiercely
Opening their hearts
Their petals of kindness
For the world to see
To not be like jewellery
Constantly on display
In television and shop arrays
Ever admired but its care exclusive
Whose love is so expensive
Their attention so selective
To my future little flowers
Your beauty is part of nature’s diversity
The death of love is when it is compared
It is a terrible habit to have
Comparison robs us of bliss
Too busy counting the things that are amiss
To my future little flowers
Bloom when your time comes
Worry not of others
Worry not if you are faster or slower
Bloom when your time comes
Of others, you pay no bother
Learn from the mistakes of your mother


yes
YESTERDAY MANKIND DIED
Why?
This day’s kind of mankind,
Is not in any way kind,
Not in heart soul or mind,
He just doesn’t mind,
A valued sensible deed,
How?
When I look through the window,
I see tears of a neglected widow,
Crying for a truth that we know,
As they stage a regrettable show,
To milk and sell her family cow,
So that their joys can flow,
This makes her life to be very low,
Thanks to our greedy Heartless law,
That puts her on a death row,
When I gracefully walk out of the door,
I meet the child, who begs from store to store,
Thinking of neither school nor score,
This is the angel we should adore,
Our future that should beget us more,
To be better than before,
But we only see a social sore,
As I jog along the wonderful boulevard,
The images I bypass are very sad,
Wearing a deadly scaring red,
They perpetually shout hard,
Hoping that they can be heard,
They call all to be given a hand,
So that they can softly land,
In the usual public graveyard,
To be another one numbered,
If I sit down to feed,
Needy cases attack with speed,
Their eyes virtually eat all my food,
When I sleep with my ever open head,
I dream of the original creed,
The call to be a fruitful seed,
Never to be the bad weed,
Ever to be the fountain of good,
Then I conceive that I am mad,
Because mankind is no more kind,
Mankind is now madkind,
Man’s kind is dead,
Mankind died,
Mike N Nyaga
0726 813493
[email protected]
com


I enjoy reading poetry.
However, sometimes I do write words in a strange rhyming pattern and shamelessly call them poems.

Here’s a one that I wrote recently: It’s titled ‘An Ode to a Deluded Generation’ adn it’s dedicated to my generation or as we call it, the Generation Z.

It goes like this:
They're out there in the dark alleys,
of shady bars and posh restaurants
Dancing and drinking away on a Friday night
losing themselves to the loud music.

They're out there in their trendy sneakers, striving.

The shoes for which they sold a chunk of their soul,
just to show the world that they're arriving,
gradually moving towards their estranged goal.

***
He still remembers those days,
how they used to tell him those tales
"Strive and struggle son, for just this one time.

Later on, life is as blissful as that delicious glass of sweet lime!"
He still remembers those days,
when he burnt the midnight oil to write his own story,
for he believed them all, he believed those tales.

He believed that slow and steady wins the race,
Like a mouse turning the wheels of time,
running away to be in a better place,
to stay alive in the rat race.

***
They're out there sitting in fancy cafes,
sipping that cup of mocha latte
Their gaze is locked but the moments fly away,
as they tap those fingers in that ashtray.

They walk out through the door,
One more night with a known stranger,
lost in the wilderness, making love on the floor.

One more night of nothing but empty promises,
Like the desolate words,
flowing out through a miserable poet's verses.

***
How they all smile,
like broken mirrors on the wall.

How they all laugh, even when they fall.

Because they've learned to feel, but not to cry.

They've been taught to walk, but not to fly.

***
He goes home to his mother,
and lays his head on her lap
"Why am I not yet happy, mother? Why do I still suffer?", he asks
Gently the mother caresses his forehead,
"Go to sleep my son, it'll be alright.

Don't you worry my son, just take a nap"
***
The sun is setting now,
the roads are wet with tears
They've lived far too long in delusion
They were promised a palace
but thrown away to rot into a prison.

Soon they'll breakout and gather in crowds
They will flock together to flood the town,
The light in their eyes will shine again
that lost spark in their hearts will be found.

and the whole world will watch in awe,
as these deluded souls burn everything to the ground.

***
Steinbeck had said, in the eyes of these people there is the failure;
and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath.

In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling
and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

One day he'll stand up and the world will be a stage,
He'll look at those rejuvenated faces in the crowd,
as his words written on a page will give rise to a revolution.

lead by a romantic and passionately deluded generation.
.
.

Well, that’s the most recent one I have written.

You can check out my Medium profile for more Neeraj Chavan – Medium
Or maybe my personal blog Skeptical Thoughts
Cheers!


Yup I write poetry, but not too much interested! I love to write about fictional stuffs.

Well, I have some poems, though; which I wrote…!
Fate
What a beautiful relation is marriage,
For which we pay lot of carriage!
It is pleasurable for parents to spend the money,
Cuz they love their daughter, who’s cute bunny!
But sometimes Life plays serious games,
Which destroys everything- name and fame!
The Govt.
pours their rules, like Bathroom shower,
Only because they are in the Power?
It broke his Pa, pushed the man in depression,
His family collapsed, plus their relations.

His sister and her fiance are in shock,
His parents are silent, like a rock.

He never cursed anyone for ‘that’ modification,
He cursed his destiny, Misfortune and his Situations…!

Peaceful Night
The night was dark, beautiful too.

I was there, but didn’t know what to do!
The wind blew gently, but my hairs were mess,
I didn’t care, I wasn’t at the Press!
The sky was black, no…no it was grey,
The bat flew high, without her prey.

The branches waved gently, with no more tears,
I smirked gently, with no ghosts or fear!
The moon scattered light, over the earth,
All of a sudden, I thanked my mom, for giving me birth!
‘You may sleep now’- Who whispered in my ear?
‘Was it my Mom, I gazed…no.
.
no.
.
It was my fear’!
‘You should sleep my boy’- said the shallow forest,
I yawned, agreed, ‘Yeah…my soul needs Rest!’

My Soul
I see my face, forming over a cloud.

It was a jocund stage, away from the crowd.

It soon faded away, but didn’t turned me sad.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t stab it hard.

I thought of them as joyous, rustic.

Even, a nightmare was never that linguistic.

The scars and scribbles kept tarnishing my card.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t rip it hard.

I was amazed, bewildered at the fact.

That they weren’t those, they always enact.

Maybe, I was the one who found ‘M-O-M’ hard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t cut it hard.

Just hoped of playing with a Toy Truck.

Still was happy, with these pain stuck.

I saw, who quilled the shrubs in the backyard.

It’s my soul, not sole, don’t gnaw it hard.

My grave drizzled, but never bleeped.

That’s how peacefully, a 13 year old could sleep.

I was finally dig, deep in the dreary backyard.

It was my soul, not sole, which was torn apart.

I Folded My Hands
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Red, Blue, Green were never the option to choose,
I hunched back as my wallet yelled, ‘You have to refuse’.

Odor is selfish, it only sticked to my hands,
Incense sticks- stubborn, refused to be my errands.

‘Loathing’, ‘Defiant’, ‘Foul’- were my names in vernacular,
Biggest irony- My state is secular.

That was when, my home floated on sands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

The final bite burned her delicate tongue,
‘He is an Anti-Social, he must be hung’.

Anger and Zest killed my pillars, my passion,
Sword and Wailing eyes are deadly combination.

None were breathing in the barren lands,
Each time I was obstinate, I stepped back and folded my hands.

Slivers never actually damaged the palm,
Adorned bangles wailed over the farm.

I still was adamant, will not come to your ‘Home’,
‘What else do you have?’ he smirked from his home.

I could see the ‘stupor’ and realized my fad,
I admit, I was obstinate,
I stepped back and folded my hands.

OK


Ummmmm ig but like it’s really shitty…XD
Here ya go if you want
The world we made
I look up and see a blue sky
I look down and see green grass
I look to the side and see beautiful birds
Then I fall
I fall and fall and fall
Now I’m upside down
And I see the world
I see grey polluted sky
And yellow mucky grass
I see black greasy birds
And I think
What have we done with our lives
Broken
My breaths become weak
I can hardly speak
There are voices in my head
And the things I draw with silver turn red
You broke me
But you knew what you were doing
And that’s what hurt the most
I cry
And you boast
About how you scored
You broke me because you were bored
So I look at the sky
And I say goodbye
Then I pull the rope
And I say hi to the lord
Grateful
The tears won’t stop
They come down drop by drop
My heart feels like it’s going to pop
The pain won’t go away
Nobody will stay
I feel like I’m drowning
I can’t stop frowning
The sadness comes wave after wave
And I’m so sad I think of my grave
So I grab a knife
To end my life
But you come running in
To save me from my sin
And for that
I am ever grateful
Okay
They don’t know that I cry
And when I’m sad they don’t ask why
They think I’m okay
But it hurts more everyday
At night it’s the worst
My heads gonna burst
I feel so out of place
I put on a fake face
I feel so alone
No place to call home
No one to call a friend
But I guess this isn’t my end
People see my fate
And before it’s too late
They tell me they love me
And that’s how it’ll always be
So I let down my walls
And as I hear your calls
I think
Everything will be okay
Society
Sit up straight
Control your weight
If your gay you’re a freak
And the woman should never speak
Black people are slaves
That were carried over by the waves
Mexicans are illegal
And a white person is the true bald eagle
The natives are peasants
They all should be giving us presents
But that’s not the case
We should all be given equal space
Should the hatred cease
Then the world should have peace
And we will all have a beautiful grace
Today is the Day
Pill after pill
Cut after cut
And now I’m stuck
In this stupid fucking rut
No one loves me
Can’t you tell?
They’re all blinded by my spell
The face I put on
The play I act
But no one can see through the crack
Today is the day
The one where I won’t stay
And the world will have to face that fact
Enough
Click clack
Click clack
You make my heart crack
Your words always make excuses
And somehow I always come back
I shrink as you speak
And take the slap across the cheek
As I try to make up for what you lack
Freak, geek, weak
I’ll never be enough
I’ll never have the things you seek
So you hit me as I shriek
And all that’s left to do
Is leave my blood to leak
I write a lot of these when I’m sad or mad or somewhere in the middle so if it’s depressing thennnnnnnn •_•


I don't intend to, but I end up writing stuff (sometimes you won't even understand what I've written because the time I wrote it, I was in a different zone :P).

I started writing around 2014 or 2015 when I was in class tenth.
Thanks to my teenage years.
All that adrenaline rush and stupid heartbreaks and extra emotional part of mine that has made me write so many poems and write ups.

Now I usually write just whenever I feel something.
I love clicking pictures.
And the pictures inspire me to write something.
It's all usually random these days.
Earlier I had to think about rhyming words but now the words just flow.
I don't know if it's a good sign or not but whenever anything strikes me, I stop doing everything else and note it somewhere.
I don't care if I have an exam the next day.
I just can't let that thought go away.

Here are some of my poems.
Hindi and English.
All pictures have been clicked by me except the one in point number 7.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

wrote this one in collaboration with a friend ^
7.

8.

9.

that's me
10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

this is part of a poem i wrote with a friend.
my part :)
That's all for now, folks!
Pragya Sharma's answer to Can you share some of your own written poems?


I love poetry.
I enjoy it and am good at it too ( im 13).

One poem I wrote recently:
Predator To Prey
The lone hunter, sleek and black, travels through the night,
He needs food, he cannot wait for daylight.

'Crack' goes a twig, head turns at the distraction,
Low growl, he expects a reaction.

'Whoosh' goes a trap; 'Whoosh' goes another one,
He's surprised, he's scared,
His brawny grandeur has been stopped in its sinewy might.

He looks around, wonders what happened,
"Whoo-Hoo!" comes a cry; "We got a big one today, boys!"
He wonders what IS this funny noise!
Suddenly, he feels sharp pain,
Vision goes black and
Body is slack.

He wakes up in a cage,
What is this inside him,
This RAGE!
He is angry,
He thinks: "I ride the night sky, I ride the winds,
What have these people done?
I am not just anyone,
I am the Wolf!"
It was he, who hunted,
His gushing power and strength have lost their nimbleness,
His mammoth force, reduced to diminutive nothingness,
He was never the prey,
Till the path led him astray,
The lone hunter has now become the prey.


I am writing Hindi poems from last 17 years.
I almost written 100+ Hindi & 6–10 English poems.
This has started with my first crush.
I had written 50+ romantic+love poetry.
Sometimes I had written depressing or negative poetry.
I was very emotional.
You can say a emotional fool.

Except I was a good poet, I was very shy about it.
I never ever showed these to anyone till I was 27.
I always felt embarrassing whenever someone catch me writing.
I felt like a thief.
I was very much conscious in my home to not let others read these emotions.
This is very clear that I was not mature enough to think it as normal as it is.
After 28–30 I started to understand that there is nothing such to hide these from others.
These are not as personal as I thought.
I was not doing anything wrong except expressing my feelings on paper.

After 27 I have started writing social poems also and social articles.
I have written a short story as well and 2 ideas are on the way to described on the paper.
My poems got published online on AmarUjala.
com
, Matribhasha.
com
and AajSirhaane.
com
.
My company magazine has published a lot of my written material either poems or articles and I have been rewarded many times as well.
I used to show my literature to my friends, relative and even my family now a days.
I am trying to make it professional now.

I rather lough in myself about my immaturity now.

One of my poem written when I was just 18 is present here.

अनामिका की तस्वीर
स्वपन है, यथार्थ है,
क्या इन विचारों का अर्थ है,
या मेरा ही कुछ स्वार्थ है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
जो मूल्य हैं अभी मेरे, बस जाए उन में ही सहज,
या भविष्य के मूल्यों में, रह जाए आकर्षण महज,
कस्तुरी की तरह महके घर-आँगन में,
या चाँद की तरह कल्पित रहे मेरे मन में,
कस्तुरी है या चाँद है,
या मेरा ही उन्माद है,
न बुझने वाली प्यास है,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
दिखती है कभी धुंधली-धुंधली,
मिलती है कभी चलती-चलती,
खो जाती है फिर यादों में,
एहसासों में, जज़्बातों में,
में ढूंढ रहा तन्हा-तन्हा,
में पलट रहा पन्ना-पन्ना,
मिल जाए कहीं, दिख जाए कहीं,
उस अजनबी, अनामिका की तस्वीर।
मिल सकता नहीं वह सब कुछ ही,
जो चाहता है इंसान कभी,
मिल जाता है गर जो कुछ भी,
बस उतने में मिल जाए खुशी,
मृग तरसा है कस्तुरी को,
कस्तुरी पल-पल साथ में है,
ऐसे ही लगता साथ ही है,
उस अजनबी अनामिका का अस्तित्व
'किशोर' विमल


In this poem I attempted to show the blindness of modern society.
The monsters dance around the fire and cause havoc and bloodshed, but the people are in a hypnotized daze, and cannot make judgements for themselves.
They have lost all ability to think for themselves, and do not see the destruction that is caused as the old virtues that had once kept society together are falling apart.
To them, everything is relative, and the site of the monsters does not alarm them, causing them to become oblivious to their impending fate.

All is well
Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They dance around a bonfire
Shreiking and howling like dire wolves
As the old world withers within the flames

Beauty, truth, honor, courage
They are nowhere to be seen
They molder in the sweltering heat
As ancient towers are ground to dust

The people sit around in a daze
They no longer have control
Souls have been sold, and hearts emptied
They carry eyes of coal

Anger, pride, lust, falsehood
They revel in their trance
As into flesh their fangs pierce
And blood is smeared on their wicked lips.


Yet the people refuse to see or hear
They blankly stare ahead
Without any spirit they repeat
"All is well, all is well"


Yes, but I don’t ever sit down and go “I’m going to write a poem now”.
Instead, for me, poetry is a conduit for expression.
The words flow when the mood strikes.
If the wave has not washed over me, letting the language present itself as if through supernatural intervention, then I won’t force it.
I write poetry only when it flows naturally.
Most importantly, I write it only for myself.

Thus, I write poetry erratically.
I have written multiple poems within a week at certain stages in my life but gone months without writing any in others.
A lot of my poetry is negative (as those emotions often were more consuming) but some of it speaks of my moments of pure hope.
Some is wistful as I reflected on my cusp into adulthood, some is absurd as I deconstructed the crazy world around me.
Overall, whenever I feel like reflecting upon my personal journey, I reread my works and the story they tell.
In that way, I suppose that my poetry is a record of the journey of my soul.

I shan’t claim that my poetry is good.
As mentioned above, I have not written it for others to assess nor judge, but rather as a insight into a snapshot of myself – a flawed capture of a time when emotion overwhelmed me.
However, I shall share a sole example here.
A poem that is one of my personal favourites.
It no longer applies to me; that doesn’t mean I should merely forget the time when it did.
But seriously, don’t we all write poetry in some form or another?
Dark Skies
In a perpetual darkened sky,
What do a few clouds matter?
The shade they cover, meaningless.

The ground already shadowed.

What does rain mean to a man
In a world that's cold and wet?
What is the sound of thunder,
When cries of the heart left you deaf?
Snow is no longer cold,
To one whose heart is stone.

Wind's bite cannot touch the man,
Who has already been worn to bone.

To me the world is nothing.

It holds no power over me.

Cause I already lost myself in the dark,
Already lost my will to see.

The light that always beckons,
Out of reach, it taunts.

Tis high time I abandoned hope.

It only leads to naught.

The weather cannot touch me.

The storms live in my heart.

No matter what the world does to me.

No more can I be hurt.
.
.

-Daydreamer 25/06/2015


Yes, I am 13, an aspiring author, and preparing my first novel, so, I read some brilliant poets such as Pablo Neruda, Kipling etc.
and also the new age poets, for example Arch Hades.
And on reading them, I realised, that poetry is about expression, making it more relatable to the readers, so I too, tried my hand at a verse or two, now note that I wrote my first poem sitting in my classroom, while studying Maths.
I liked them, and so, I decided to open an Instagram account by the name ‘theblisspoetry’ you can search it too on IG, and the response I got was amazing, most of the appreciation was from my classmates and parents, so I continued.
I have written numerous fragments and also long ones.
I would like to share a few here…
Magic
After so many years, too,
I find solace in you.

I see dreams in your eyes,
On seeing you my heart cries
You seem to be made up of stars,
On seeing you I forget all my wars.

I see your face in the moon, and
I’ve decided that I want you to be the cause of my doom.

I know that in the end, it will all be ok, but even if it does not, too,
I’ll still love you like the first time I saw you.

I don’t know if a heaven exists,
But you are quite close to it
And when you look at me,
I still feel magic, a magic that no one felt,
Which makes my heart melt.

I added love to my bucket list,
For on seeing you, I realised,
That magic does really exist.

-Aadit
India of my Dreams
In the depths of the night, a beggar struggles in his fight, his boy lies wounded and his daughter naked.

Living like scum, in the corner of a slum, a pile of dirt on the left, and the dark silhouette of a building on the right.
In the bedroom, a rich man sleeps sound, while in the slum lays a dead hound.
He lives like a king, on his finger, he wears a gold ring.
A helpless sweeper lives in dread, while, in front of a hundred people, a man shoots a girl in the head,
And still, no one killed Jessica.

The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say India has a strong social base,
While in Munirka, a 23 year old Jyoti Singh was raped by 6 men in the Nirbhaya case.

They say peace comes in the right season,
But then why were Sikhs were killed in 1984, without any reason.

Bones were found behind tanks, of helpless children, who were eaten raw in Nithari, Noida, And they say the ruler of the world will be India.
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

They say that sleeping on the pavements is all right, while a Raman Raghav comes and kills them in the night.

A murder which made India weep,
When Aarushi Talwar was murdered in her sleep.

They say nothing in India is sinister,
How do we believe that, when Vikas Yadav burnt alive the lover of his sister?
They say there isn’t a lag,
When Neeraj Kapoor was cut into 300 pieces and stuffed into poly bags?
The tricolour waves strong as a wall, full of deep red blood, if anything at all.

-Aadit
PS: Kindly share your comments and check out my Instagram account:)


alot actualy heres one.
.

A Love Poem by wolfy
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Verse is graceful,
And so are you.

Orchids are white,
Ghost ones are rare,
Americans are black,
And so is your hair.

Sunflowers reach,
Up to the skies,
Flowers are blue,
And so are your eyes.

Foxgloves in hedges,
Surround the farms,
My place is warm,
And so are your arms.

Daisies are pretty,
Daffies have style,
The nose is cute,
And so is your smile.

Roses are beautiful,
Just like you.

and another ive written in the past
Missing
by wolfy
How happy is the clear gap!
Are you upset by how readable it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the gap so crystal clear?
I cannot help but stop and look at the grief deceased.

Does the deceased make you shiver?
does it?
When I think of the sparse, I see a disdainful face.

Pause to leaf, like the sparse does.

I cannot help but stop and look at the little absent.

"Yowl", said the absent,
And "yowl" then "yowl" again.

I cannot help but stop and look at the lonesome unavailability.

Never forget the solitary and lonely unavailability.

How happy is the away absentee!
Are you upset by how out it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the absentee so departed?


Yes, & I’ll share one of my best two liner with you:
“ Meri maa jaise sutte ka filter
ke pata hai aagey ki duniya jal rahi hai
fir bhi vo mujhe bachaati chal rahi hai … “
I think you too can write original poems using the Rhymly app!
Try us out on Google PLay store: Rhymly- Anybody Can Rhyme – Apps on Google Play
Rhymly is a one-stop content tech platform that helps budding creative writers search rhymes & meanings of Hindi words, create original couplets while rhyming on the fly, discover & share talented writers & also get themselves featured on the app every day.

We help Poets, Shayars, Songwriters, Rappers, ad agencies, jingle writers, etc.
save a lot of time on their art pieces, break their writer's block, create more & a better quality of content & concentrate only on creativity while leaving the Vocabulary part to us.

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Yes I do and would love to share one of my poem
I know You haven’t left me,
I know You haven’t !!
You held my hand and helped me walk,
You never got tired of my endless talk.

You told me stories when I was four,
I still remember our fights for the Ludo score…!
You enthralled me by showing the star,
Now, I try looking for you in them, far.

You tugged me in and patted my head,
Now, crying for You turns my eye red.
.
!
Every toy I wanted, You bought,
Every Holy Mantra, You taught.

All the love I wanted You gave,
When I was scared, You made me brave.

I wish I could turn back the clock,
And enjoy the evening Temple walk,
You inspired me to achieve great,
You really were my best mate.

Time passed by and I grew up,
But, I will always remain your little Pup.

You gave me courage, to fight all odds,
You made us capable, from tiny Todd’s.

Today You turn Seventy One,
Yet, In my heart, You shine as bright as the Sun.

I write this today in your memory,
I know you would be smiling from up there, heartily!!
I know You haven’t left me,
I know You haven’t!!
If you liked it, do upvote it and click on the link to see my blog…The Forgotten Magic
Thank you :)


Almost a year ago I had to take my mom for a check up at the Tata Memorial Hospital, if you have been there ever (I hope not) you would know there is always a long queue for everything.
Observing the various patients around it was almost as if i was drawn to write something and this is what it was :
His pain now roaring as high as ever,
For hours In the Corridors, he stands,
In the queue for his life's judgement, he waits.

Staring various people, striving to survive,
His own will to live now began to fade,
All He wanted was to rest in the shade,

He sat in the darkness of his own heart,
Trying to forget the agony , he thought,
About the smile on his face various people brought.

Then he Realized how important it was,
To live and to bring a smile,
To illuminate the darkness people hide.

With restored will he rose, To win the Battle of life,
But he lost, he fell, never to rise,
But He now rests in the shade, after his demise.

-vb
My First Poetry.
It might seem dark but that is the atmosphere there and this was my start as a poet.


Yes, Sometimes I do write, and today what i have written is:
First Kiss!!
Kiss on lips,
For me it's adorable and bliss.

Till 24, it happened but only in dream,
For me it's like licking cream.

Whenevr Saw movie and scene of Kiss,
Just imagine but want to kiss.

Till that, kissed but in dream,
Kiss was love and everything for me.

One day, Fall in love ,
We loved eachother like anything.

One day, I was making tea,
My Love was there but Not with me.

What happened didn't know,
She entered but quietly and slow.

Distance was like feeling warmth breath,
She hold and kiss on my forehead.

This act made me to think
Was It time to make dream true?.

In her eyes, waiting for more
Then where I was to stop.

Both hold eachother and feel warm,
Hugged tight in close arms.

Dream to kiss going to be true
As Between us there were glue.

Kiss, licking lips went in flow,
That time, felt inseperable.

Now, two sides there were flame
One on tea-stove and for us, Like day will not come again.

Don't ask how did I feel, also dont deem,
I was kissing but its not in my dream.

I was flying in the sky
High high and high
(This is on the basis of my first kiss experienc)
Dear readers be a critic and give ur point on my writing.

Thanks for reading.


Eglantine
Beams of light shine as different upon each soul as water flows
For water always a smooth way it takes, and light only pure hearts it strikes
Her heart was with joy filled, mine was with regret
The scent of morning air was fragrant in her room, air in my presence didn’t seem to exist
The sun is bright, all glorious, all exalting except for a tortured mind in aloofness deep it resides
I walked upon the hill with wistful eyes, for walking was still no lax
I wandered and sang and cried, and momentary promises I no longer made
I took the pain and embraced it, and with my life swore to keep it
No more hiding, no more denying, the tragedy of a man is his rebirth
With broken but authentic soul I walked back, and to my past I now looked with peaceful assent
For each man kills the thing he loves, yet each man does not die
She sat across the room, reading the books to which she was inured
She was pristine indeed, and there was a shining quality to her eyes
She was quiet indeed, and there was soft wisdom to her words
She was perfect indeed
But no perfect thing had in jollity lived before, for perfection to man was not made
Her eyes in their glances were as wistful as mine
And her soul was equally with loneliness melted as with purity
More she wanted and much more she didn’t get
And to a giant’s eyes as sad as I am she looked if not sadder
For a virtuous heart’s sadness is more tragic than the tragedy of vicious man.

Sight is the only gift worth having and nature has a smell of its own
To which the skin reacts as strong as the heart beats
In my way back from where I brought healing to the depth of my breath
And within the pacific nature of my post satisfaction perplexity
I saw it
It was of ineffable beauty and elusive appeal
J’ai vu une églantine to which my composition has shown no immunity
To which every part of my body has shown desperate longing
To which I presented my hand, with shyness, with hesitance, with trembling fingers
To which I instantly lost myself, for such creature was surely made to dominate with overwhelming energy
It didn’t disappoint, and with conspicuous consent it presented itself
Almost as if it knew in my undeserving hand for not so long it will reside
My walk became my journey for your journey defines your life beyond your days
A journey of extravagant joy and sadness, of melancholy, of sleepless nights, but colorful days
And as every pair of eyes that touches the sacred stone of love, both our eyes were no longer wistful, not forever
Not since the morning where with a smiling face I handed it to her
In that morning I said, with a trembling voice and tearing eyes:
"Ma précieuse églantine est la tienne".


Yes
I’m a beginner but love writing them.
Here’s a sample
Like I said
Like I said it's a test,
 But no answers are correct.

 Like I said it's a quest,
 there are no clue, no right key, no right door.

 
 Like I said it's a chaos,
 the more you resist, the more it comes.

 Like I said it's a toss,
 But with no head or tail.

 
 Like I said it's complicated,
 the more you dis-tangle, the more you get entangled.

 Like I said it's hidden,
 the more you find, the more you loose.

 
 Like I said it's not very difficult,
 but yet sometimes takes ages to understand.

 
 And like I said,
 it's the path you make,
 it's what you want to see,
 it's how you want to feel,
 it's choosing your right from no options.

 In the end you don't win or loose,
 it's what you are.

 And it's always the perfect ending.

check out more on → Vaishali76 – poet at allpoetry


To address your first part of your question.
Here is my answer.

Yes, I do write poetry.

I am not a professional Poet however it is my hobby to write poems in my native language Telugu and sometimes in English.
I find it is comfortable for me to express my feelings in my native language as I am much familiar to it.

If I require to address the second part of your question here are my reasons for which I always tend to write poems and why I can strongly advocate the benefits of writing the poems or content.

I hope I could answer your question.

Updated: 17.06.2019 — 4:52 pm

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