Death Revolution
Sun, the life Giver,
Is he a life Giver?
He should be, but how?
As I think, we were a part of him
The Earth, of course
The Planet of life
But at first it was ‘Death Revolution’
As she shaped the Sun,
With hot mind and fire.
Of course, the Sun is older,
Much older, than whom?
Is there an answer?
The Earth too is old
As old as the Death Revolution
I think the Sun,
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poem by Aiswarya T. Anish
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The Last Drop
Oh! Where’s it for our crops?
We need the river water drops.
Where’s it for our thirst to clear?
Where are the tears, are they near?
Oh no! It doesn’t fit,
Our little river has become a pit.
Oh! We would lose our corn
Then what would we do just mourn?
Why did she dry?
To make us cry?
She ended hence,
But it doesn’t make sense.
Why did she turn to marsh?
She’s treating us harsh,
She’s playing with our lives,
She’s hurting us sharp as knives.
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poem by Aiswarya T. Anish
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EYE (i) MONSTER
Last night, I saw a monster.
First it was just a shadow
By degrees it became clearer and clearer
Finally it stood out
Clear as clear can be.
Handless it was, really handless
With a shock I knew
That it was legless too
Yet, it was standing straighter than straight
In lieu of a head, all it had
Was an eye unconnected with its body
A most grotesque figure indeed
I was floored, was rolling on all fours
Thought the monster had me down
My eye shutters were shut tight
And a great struggle I undergone opening them
No sooner the shutters fell open
The monster had vanished
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poem by Aiswarya T. Anish
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Oh! Flower, I Feel Sorry For You! ! !
I saw a nice little flower…
Enjoying herself in the nice warm fields…
The place felt fine, what a beautiful sight! !
Why didn’t it come yesterday? !
But the joy didn’t last long enough…what a pity!
‘Cause the flower was plucked away! ! !
It was no longer there
So was the beauty
How gloomy the place felt now for sight! !
Why do flowers bloom, if it has to be murdered this way? ?
Still, they bloom, though they die so prematurely…
But to beautify the Earth! !
Why do we hurt these little things, who give us joy? ?
They are the ones who blooms happiness to the world
Aren’t we too bound to be blossomed into flowers of happiness? ? ?
Oh Flower! ! I feel sorry for you! !
Can you be born again? ?
If I could, I would’ve fixed you into yourself again
But powerless I am…powerless except for eyes that are blind, but see evil thoughts
Why doesn’t man think before his acts? ?
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poem by Aiswarya T. Anish
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The Great Valuable Gift On Christmas Day
“Wow! It’s Christmas, happiness coming
Now for the gift welcoming loving
Then to the church to bow before God
And to the market to buy me a gift
I have the fifty cents all for myself”
Fanny jumped happily, she ran out to shop.
Dancing and skipping she went on her way
Across holy Churches,
Across lit up houses
Across snow laden parks and snowy canals
Gardening, sweating
She had made her money.
“I want a present,
A present I want,
I had a hard time to earn these
Christmas is the best time to forget it all”
She cried out with joy,
To the man in the shop
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poem by Aiswarya T. Anish
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Written In Native Soil
Which is your favorite place on Earth? Hears mine........
The sun promised a charming dawn every dusk,
And went off for a nap in his husk
And lilies never forget to bloom,
Driving away numerous gloom
I see my hometown, standing proudly
Shielded by the sea and the lake, so lovely
Words deny painting her beauty
Paints are scanty to colour her liveliness
God’s own hand sewn stunning dress
Calmness prevails, peace rules
Striking tiaras, green hues
Breezes fan her, beauty shines
Waters wash her, sunshine dries,
When I breathe in the salty air,
I hear the winds chant hymns, everyone care
The sun kisses the sea, the moon’s seen
A synonym of Juno’s mien…
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Winter's Spell
WINTER'S SPELL
Ended, hence, the glorious time of the sun’s lifespan,
The trees were fully clothed, in leaves
Resilient, they had sung merrily
But now, all had gone…
With deserts of sadness …..
What can a ball of cheese do?
Up from the sky…
If it cannot fill the tummy of a poor man...
The Moon covers the Earth down
Looking down at the rows of naked trees
With only a memory of leaves
Nipped by the frost, they want to be freed…
Ended up in the desolate stretches of snow
Eyes begged to see a scrap of light
But what it touched was a bare white Earth
His pale hands overworked
With no snow dogs they grieved...
And his legs were totally numb
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Graveyard
The eyes of the dark
Which see through the dimly lit full moon
The snowy flakes,
Covers the graveyard which wakes
The cracking of lids
The wooden carved coffins underground
Some opened up,
Horrors stood up, stretched and bent
With all their waiting there came the end
The lonely graveyard,
Now filled with unseen shadows
Approaching hot living blood
The clinking of chains, hanging from hands
The one-eyed pirates, dirty and torn
They were white, outlined black
With fearful groans, this enjoyed pain
So the graveyard awoke
No fiction at all…
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A Non-poet's Philosphy
All poets write in insanity
Impervious, to the entire
You,
The king of your own poetic empire
as thoughts get formation
each different, in poetic efficiency
I,
An adulterated soul
You,
With the rein, control
And you make me lurk in your words
Like those lonely, pale birds
Your quill, into that paper, bleeds
And she says in her musical voice: Proceed”
and you portray my misplaced soul
in the veiled privacy of twilight
in your new-born mind of sight, deep insight
You,
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Humans Have Developed, Then Why Not Rats?
Reader Beware: Check weather all the cupboards in your house are closed and all your precious things are rat-free. Yes? Then you can read this. ‘Cause anytime, any minute, any second, a rat attack can occur in your house.
“Humans have developed,
Then why not us? ”
Fired the rats at me;
When I stomped towards them,
For the rest of my juicy plum.
You won’t believe this, guys,
Rats have almost grounded me,
‘Cause they cut the wires,
When I sat down,
For my favourite show on T.V!
Women rats are filled with envy,
At my silk dresses,
This is truth as the day,
‘Cause they stole my favourite
And gave it back in ruins!
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