PadmaShree, Sri Jayanta Mahapatra once said,"There is something in me that refuses to die. It’s there, somewhere deep inside me perhaps. And this is poetry."
The genesis of POETICbug was thus an act of unleashing the curbed thoughts in the form of poems. POETICbug,says, "I praise; I dare; I invoke care; You write, recite my glory; I am, Poetry."
-Taking forward the spirit of poetry !
I desperately scribble on the paper,
As if it would write something onto itself,
I barely get a line completed,
All I want is to escape this block,
This block in my mind; in my life,
Where stagnancy has become permanent,
A hurdle after every inch of movement,
Every time I start afresh,
The same confusion bites again,
The gap between the two questions, What should be done?
What I want to do?
Never seems to collapse,
I wear a barbed tiara,
It will give bruises and cuts,
I know and I fear them none,
What I need is the dose of courage
to escape the block –
in my mind, in my life.
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 54; the fifty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
If life was forever,
There would be no Fall,
No leaf would crumble,
In this world's fancy ensemble.
There is grace in leaving,
Like beauty that Autumn brings,
And for every leaf that is gone,
A new one would be born.
I do not wish forever and live alone,
Writing epitaph on loved ones tombstone,
I pray to stay enough,
With compassion and love.
But when I am gone far away,
I wish my memories may
linger without any grumble,
In this world's fancy ensemble.
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 01
One from the pair
of my favourite socks,
Hidden somewhere
in the hallway block,
That lucky pen, dear to me
and a notebook, nowhere to see,
One missing homework
from tomorrow's time-table,
Lurking in the school bag
to attack in class,
All astray, troubled me lot,
Frenzy, my search, a drought.
Those hurtful words
once a friend said,
Some teasing taunts
on me when laid,
Secrets, I got scared off,
Dreams to dare for,
Tangled in my long hair,
Waiting to be knitted away,
Nervous when I stained first,
Doubtful about my teen crush,
All testing times
when I feel low,
Eagerly waiting,
good times to show.
For all my troubles
and rough times,
Her magic wand ready to rhyme,
With mystic stars in the muggle world,
and little bit of her fairy dust,
She solves everything
and clears the dull.
No pumpkin carriage or lost shoe,
But for all my worries, true,
I am no Cinderella, just a daughter,
But my mom, she is my Fairy Godmother.
"We all have shifted home at least once, from the womb of our mother onto mother earth." This is a fact we very often do not acknowledge.
Moving out of the safe womb to the big strange world, we cling on to the one known person first, our mother. Just like being born is the new thing for a child, being a first time mother is a new thing for a lady. It is amazing how she, even being new to motherhood, manages to keep her compose and understands her child. She teaches her child the nuances of life while she learns about motherhood.
Just like for all of you out there, I know what is right and wrong because my mother taught me so. It is truth that will eventually help my way, is something she had shown me long ago. Also that a lie that could save an innocent is something I should never deny. When I look myself in the mirror today, I do see the reflection of her virtues in me. And undoubtedly, I feel privileged to be her child.
But often I think, is dedicating a day for her unlimited love, enough?
My letter is in fact this poem, for the amazingly, gorgeous being called, Mother.
In the puzzle of this world,
When you arrive,
Strange is the air, the faces,
But there is someone you know before,
Through that magical cord of life,
That strangely familiar one,
Who holds you tight, with her warmth,
Is the one we all call, mother.
Your broken, meaningless words are when,
She joins them together and finds the trail,
Unaware, when you move around her,
She knits your dreams quietly,
cleans your troubles cautiously,
washes your stain with all her might,
you don't get scarred for life.
Every time you think, you can lie,
Your mother somewhere takes a heavy sigh,
Friendship, love and kindness stories,
She also shares her life’s follies,
For she tries showering it all,
Those good virtues to help you not fall,
To speak what is right, no cover,
Truth is all that, you should always stand for.
She is ~
your friend to have fun,
a confidant when you have none,
your recipe for happiness,
that dedication for success,
your partner for long non-sense talks,
the believer when you feel it’s rough,
your vault of deep secrets,
the detective that catches when you’re fake,
your medication when nothing works,
without you knowing; your luck.
Because she doesn't ask,
doesn't demand nor complains,
You think she can deal with it again,
And sure she can, sure she will,
But if you can,
For her unfathomable ocean of love,
reciprocate;
live, laugh, celebrate;
With her, for her.
NB: I am writing a letter about how a mother teaches honesty to her child with the Max Life Insurance i-genius #YoursHonestly activity in association with BlogAdda.
