Of sunrise, noon and sunset...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
I don’t want the time to stop
Or long to turn back the clock.
Am happy just where am now
A bit wild, spirited and mellow.
Does it sound a bit contradictory?
No, no not to me; it’s satisfactory.
Life doesn’t come with a guidebook,
I humbly face the truth… look.
If given a chance to be young again
Chances are its going to be of no gain.
Why, I may again be silly and uncouth,
Sanity hijacked by arrogance of youth.
Eyes wander to grand father’s clock in room,
Its still tells time well; a prized family heirloom.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Shall We Dance
Shall we dance?
He tentatively asked
Love at first glance…
Shall we dance?
I would love to
She was waiting to be asked…
Shall we dance?
If that’s what you want…
Forget I asked…
Shall we dance?
Please give me space,
Contempt on face.
Shall we dance?
Go to our favourite haunt,
What do you want?
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Awareness
Sitting in Costa Coffee,
Sipping my Earl Grey tea,
I wanted to be alone,
And didn’t want to meet anyone
I have known.
I sat and stared
At people passing by,
Talking animatedly and looking at the ware.
Sitting in the Mall
Does ease my mind,
And I feel free of stuff that makes me feel appalled.
Amused I saw escalators,
Ferrying people to and fro
And felt we have really come far.
I just needed a change,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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As the Monsoon Retreats
Besides the smell
Of the earth,
Lush green trees,
Garden weeds,
And the sound of the rain
Music to my ears, after
Dust storms and hot winds.
I loved the
Croaking of the frogs.
After dusk fall
Twinkling fireflies.
The call of the Cicadas,
Although a bit
Eerie at night.
I would exclaim
Monsoon brings
Wild life
Full of sounds
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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In a Reflective Mood
Life has no gurantees...
Mind has no boundaries...
Love has no expiry date....
Compassion has no nameplate...
Soul has no death...
Deception has no depth....
Beauty has no age....
Truth has no guage....
Anger has no friend....
Courage has no dead end....
A lie has no conscience....
Conflict has no sentience...
Violence has no cadence....
Cruelty has no penance...
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Potter's wheel! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
At times the only warmth, colour
Touch, contact, fragrance
Comes from a steaming
Cup of tea.
Hugging it,
Am transported
To the world
Of the potter
Who lovingly gave
It shape with
His warm hands
On the wheel.
Chose a green motif
Of Peepul leaf
To decorate it
And then baked and
Glazed it.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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When Love Is Dead
When love is dead
You move to separate beds.
You try to be polite
And ignore every slight.
When love is dead
You just nod your head,
Without paying attention
To what your partner mentions.
When love is dead
Although you share bread,
And live under the same roof
You do your best to remain aloof.
When love is dead
it becomes easy to shed,
any kind of pretence
as now it makes no sense.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Bliss
Cascading waterfall,
Sound of rainfall
On the windshield.
Terraced fields
Majestic deodars,
A little afar,
So high
Reaching for the sky.
Clouds so low,
Grass covered with snow.
Cool whispering breeze,
Hot cups of tea
On the wayside stall.
Tightly wrapped shawl,
Gurgling river,
Emerald water,
Verdant hills,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Just you wait...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Knock, knock
Who’s there?
It’s me the breeze
Want to caress your cheeks.
Knock, knock
Who’s there?
It’s me the full moon, roll up the blinds
Want to flood you with my silver light.
Knock, knock
Who’s there?
It’s me the pigeon, want you to know
I understand what its like to feel low.
Knock, knock
I just listen to tick tick of the clock.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Promise of Renewal
As I walked in the woods
Feeling sad and subdued,
I stepped on dry dead leaves
And realised autumn had set in.
A sharp gust of wind
Made me unsteady on my feet
I instinctively reached out,
To avoid a fall, for support.
As my hands rested on the trunk
Of the nearby tree, I was struck
That it kind of looked shrivelled and dead
I just rested my weary head
Against it, and thought it would soon
Be cut and pruned
To bear signs of new life by spring
Will my heart ever again soar and sing?
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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