Hand Drum Duo :)
Posted on: April 20, 2013
A classroom snooze..
Posted on: January 29, 2012
- In: poetry | The poetess in me
- 1 Comment
That rotund monstrosity of a creature
with a distorted face and contorted features
Picking me out for not paying attention
what’s the harm in a siesta post digestion
So I fell asleep in the middle of a lecture
it just means she should have done better!
For how could one appreciate the nuances
of those groovy colors doing funny dances
unless you close your eyes after seeing
the sun outside your window gleeming
If I fell asleep it was her to blame
English grammer was never my claim to fame
I know it sounds like absolute gibberish
but hey in my poem i could call it fibberish
After all there are no bespectacled ladies
breathing down my neck, like hades
Always checking if I got my grammer right
now I is getting it wrong, let her do what she might!
May she stand on her head or upright
which sane mortal would see that ghastly sight
There are prettier things that deserve my attention
like the curiosities of what the cat just brought in
Having been blessed with a superior mind
I really don’t give a rat’s behind
for people who are are adversely opined
in matters of resting the human mind
My cerebrum lost it’s cheery disposition
discombobulated with articles and prepositions
As if that were not enough already
her wrath comes down upon me in a flurry
She should be glad that I did not use a club
to express how I felt, give her a nice nub
So ungrateful that I in fact turned up
to attend that class, like eating a death cup
And so I hear her constantly comaplaining
about me not working, not listening
Well that’s all I get I guess for being,
a dutiful student, hey is that a butterfly I’m seeing?
Identity crisis
Posted on: January 20, 2012
The pain I feel when I believe
that I am someone I am not
The emotional roller coaster ride
that is tearing me apart
Am I doing the right thing
I ask myself all along
with answers that confuse my head
I just carry on…
I am changing, this I know
I am not the same person I was
some days ago,
things have changed
and I have had to move on
but it’s difficult to take the leap
Scared unsure of every step
I take out of my comfort zone
This is not who I was once
is this who I am now?
The judgement I pass about myself
is always cruel, so harsh, so low
I would have never done this once upon a time
but why does it not seem so wrong now?
Have I changed to something I am not
or has my definition of myself changed?
It is so confusing to be in conflict with myself
just praying that this wont leave me deranged
I thank those who are there
to hear my woeful tales
All I need is a patient ear
when everything else fails
But this time it is up to me
to push myself to the extreme
for once to make up my mind
about who I really am…
Then again I will never know for sure
for my judgement feels so clouded
with the smoke of society’s opinion
and all the voices in my head crowded
But I guess that is life in all..
in the end there will never be a “for sure..”
Long time due
Posted on: January 18, 2012
It’s been a while since I have posted and for good reason too.. I took off to the “Queen of the hills”, Darjeeling. Apart from sipping some authentic Darjeeling tea while at the tea plantations and witnessing a spectacular sunrise I will fondly remember the experience for all the little things that have now become special memories.. I have lots more to say and will do so soon. But in the meanwhile here are a few glimpses of what I will remember Darjeeling by..
Lucy Gray – William Wordsworth
Posted on: December 15, 2011
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray,
And when I cross’d the Wild,
I chanc’d to see at break of day
The solitary Child.
No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wild Moor,
The sweetest Thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the Fawn at play,
The Hare upon the Green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
“To-night will be a stormy night,
You to the Town must go,
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your Mother thro’ the snow.”
“That, Father! will I gladly do;
‘Tis scarcely afternoon–
The Minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the Moon.”
At this the Father rais’d his hook
And snapp’d a faggot-band;
He plied his work, and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe,
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse, the powd’ry snow
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time,
She wander’d up and down,
And many a hill did Lucy climb
But never reach’d the Town.
The wretched Parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlook’d the Moor;
And thence they saw the Bridge of Wood
A furlong from their door.
And now they homeward turn’d, and cry’d
“In Heaven we all shall meet!”
When in the snow the Mother spied
The print of Lucy’s feet.
Then downward from the steep hill’s edge
They track’d the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they cross’d,
The marks were still the same;
They track’d them on, nor ever lost,
And to the Bridge they came.
They follow’d from the snowy bank
The footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank,
And further there were none.
Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living Child,
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome Wild.
O’er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
Life – Charlotte Bronte
Posted on: December 15, 2011
- In: Life lessons | poetry
- 1 Comment
IFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life’s sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily
Enjoy them as they fly!
What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O’er hope, a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!
In anonymity
Posted on: December 15, 2011
The privilege of anonymity
is a beautiful thing
when you can speak your mind
and always get away with it
Along with it come certain tendencies
like a wicked streak concealed in mysteries
for none will know who it was who spoke
yet the words been said, a lasting blow
But when all know who has spake
you have to accept, cannot fake
For oh cruel this tendency
to bask in glory of victory
you bring out in me the need to share
to tell everyone who you hope cares
But out in the sun with no curtain to hide
you must gracefully reconcile
for now they know who is behind those words
and now you stand on a double-edged sword
For in anonymity my thoughts flowed
liked an uninterrupted stream downhill
but now I check my every word
can my writing be truthful still?
But I continue to write my heart
for my pen will not let me stop
so many things I have to say
Think whatever they may
I would like to thank my dutiful friends
who pulled me out of the shadows
for now I fear nothing again
especially words like critical arrows
It will only make me responsible
for now I know I am accountable
for the words I speak hold some brevity
I am no longer in anonymity
