AbiramiArunachalam
Indian
This is Abirami, who writes poems under her pen name Abie Arun. She had started writing poems from the age of 12 which she is continuing till date. Abie Arun has now spread her wings into writing short stories and novels. Her debut novel “No Regrets” is getting published soon. She has also written a 250 page book entitled “Silhouette of an Epoch” and gifted it to one of her friend’s birthday. This book is supposed to be filled with personal memories of the author and the author’s friend. So, she hasn’t officially published it. Abie Arun spends her spare time writing book reviews for her library and she loves acting.
Advanced in years, advanced in life
There slouches our grandmother in strife.
Winter has set in, no time to laugh
For our grandmother is knitting a scarf.
Behold the nature devoid Earth,
As the grandmother looks through the window.
Everyone step outdoors with a dust mask
For the air so polluted never was
And breathing shall cause dreadful malady.
Every time a man digs the soil
Only plastics found amid the great toil!
Drinking water has been rationalized
Only a liter for a huge family.
And as our granny knits the scarf
She gives up water with a guilty laugh.
Her grandson returns home with a thud
Covered with sand and drenched with mud
But no water to take bath
So he holds himself in wrath.
Grennary pictures he finds
Only in textbook binds.
Grandma is beware of all these
And takes her mind to the trees.
There is only one tree in India
That is the great Banyan tree
And it is among the 7 wonders of the world.
It hardly rains once a year
So everyone gets a holiday
To see in front the nature appear.
Grandma with agony and despair
Explains her children how beautiful
Earth was, when nature was there.
She wrote articles for magazines
Describing the birds chirping in peace
And the smell of the tranquil breeze.
Grandma catches sight of another incident:
Only one rose left in the Ooty rose garden
And before grandma could give a pardon
In Auction was it sold to the highest bidder!!!
Never a rose, was seen then.
.
.
.
.
.
But don't worry, we are not in that age now
And never we shall get that blow.
But our future will, the future generation will
Undergo all these torments calling us evil.
We now see children playing around the trees
We now see animals in deciduous forests
We now enjoy rain and greenery.
But we will be a nemesis for the future.
Let the future not see greenery in books
But in reality, in real life let them see brooks.
We humans seem to be selfish, for I define:
“Only after the last tree has fallen
Only after the last river has been poisoned
Only after the last fish has been caught
Only then will we realize that MONEY cannot be eaten.”
Perhaps our world has simply been hijacked
if man is to survive we need to act.
So, let's act and save our planet "EARTH"
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
I'm head starting the challenging life
12th grade decides my future strife.
Herein lies the mystery of tomorrow
Destiny of the mighty ship in my carefull row.
Not asking for incredible flourishing results
But delivering support for my stupendous work.
Not asking for imaginative unreachable marks
But holding my hands to provide the best of myself.
Not asking to pour elixir for hardwork devoid outcome
But strolling me through the gates of earnestness.
Not asking for your substitution in me
But to confront me with your intrepid grace.
Not asking for grade ten replica
But lending me the same earnest virtue.
Help me ignore the incompatible watchers,
To provide the least hope of comparing
Falling in despair in other's successful fruits.
But to help better and improvise my solitary results
And shelter me in your house of modesty.
No beneficial ranks but the submissive marks
that lends a hair to my cognitive efforts
To grant me light in the death of night.
Let me blossom as tranquily as the sunflower
Yet not vanish in the glory of jubliation
But gradually offer me petals
And extend the reliance day by day.
Mindful and heeding my compatible hardwork
Finally, let me conquer the glamorous colour
Of my utmost individuality.
Rehabilating the small hopes intro pristine reality
Aware of the hunger turning to lime light
To strike a chord for my year before.
Take me on your hands, float me through
legitimate mistakes, rip me apart in the wave
of unquenchable thirst and finally wrap me out as
a champion badge of jaded grade twelve.
Finally,
Bless me God, provide eternal marvels
Bless me God, honour the righteous path
As the testimony of your judicious grace
Bless me God, I'm starting life (grade twelve)
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
Out there I found you as a gallant friend
But now here you lay numb and frigid
Leaving me, leaving the world torn apart.
The days when we played under the sun
and slept under the skies,
Those days when we hunted down
those boars in the wild,
Those days when we ran around
catching ladybirds in the grass,
The days when we basked under the sun
and laid in the lawn.
Where are those days, will they come again?
Now you lay in the death bed,
Speechless, motionless and still.
Yet I wonder if you can feel those jubilant days
Ever wishing them to come again along with you.
The times when we cried, laughed and hugged
Now they are gone, gone forever
Leaving me alone, hurting my sensitive feelings.
And I don't mourn your death, because you never left me
You are still in my heart, your soul is near me, crying over in pain.
When I see those rainbows and the bright sun,
When I watch the sky pouring down the rain,
When I catch sight of the blissful beach,
Yes, I would feel you in my heart,
And cry in bitterness of the elapsed days
And weep for you to come again
And pen a poem like this to see in retrospect
The silhouette of a remarkable era
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
There appears the morning sunlight
That awakens the tress, snapping the spotlight
Getting refreshed for yet another day.
The tress, they stand solemnly
Ruler straight, ***** towering the skies.
A ray of light springs up calmly
Waking up the slumberous woods.
And with that tiny stroke of light
Chirping birds, wandering insects
Breezes in to the limelight.
Yet, some other place dark as it is
Devoid of the ray of light.
The blooming flowers, the swirling waters
Are at a standstill, inactive and undisturbed.
As that tiny stroke of light becomes gross,
The woods would dance with the wind
Lift up their voice with the bird
And bloom with the flowers.
Beyond recall, life becomes alive
At the cracking of the dawn.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
All our heads high from entry,
It was all fantastic with poetry.
Something without distraction,
It was all enhanced by our attention.
We had fun and frolic, joy and pleasure,
That could be our leisure.
They made jokes,
That could touch our hearts too close.
They were our poets,
And we were all absolutely quiet.
It had something with school,
That could make us cool.
It said something about nature,
And not something about creatures.
They asked us to write a poem,
That could tell us about their poem.
“Their poem were a bouquet of flowers,
In which every flower had its own color.”
It was a treasure of poems,
And a mixture of grace;
It was their Read more →suggestion,
And it is my projection.
Nothing more to say,
All in its way.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Exams over, friends dissolved and school also told bye,
Holidays commence; time to wander and to fly.
The first day of holiday-I woke up like an early bird,
Mom preparing stuff for breakfast,
And dad busy with calls and hurrying fast.
I stare at my room window and take a glimpse
Of people rushing their cars past the traffic.
Seeing everyone in routine makes me terrific!
The birds chirping daily without any holidays
And the sweepers taking away the dust without any leavings.
The gardener has arrived, the maid had come
In almost each person’s home.
People terminated their morning walk
And grabbed the car.
I’m still at the window spotting tones of people departing out very busily-
The merchants and vendors shouting noisily.
All the work is turning on without distraction,
Everyone at their workplace in attention.
After some time, my neighborhood turns out to be calm
The tranquil and the ready floating breeze blow past my face.
This assures me that everyone left their houses
And reached their respective places.
I take my eyes off the window and sit-back.
No more to-do lists, no more writing the home works,
And timetables on the calendar looks.
No more wearing shoes at the sound of the school bus
No more books and things at mess.
I see the clock-it’s only eight
Same time yesterday I was in an exam fight.
Spotting everyone at their routine work-
I feel so much desolate and forlorn.
And yet at dusk I watch people returning home from their day’s work.
At twilight, I see the firmament fading into a thick sapphire loom
And ask myself-“What have I done today?”
The obvious answer is-“Watching people drive and return from work!”
I see the calendar-Two more months for school:
Two more months for my homely eyes to twinkle
Two more months to shut the windows
Two more months to mess my table
Till then, my homely eyes-weak and feeble
I just need to nurture and make them twinkle…
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Happy days have turned sorrow
Broad roads have become narrow.
Peace fled its way to the desert sand
Great people have left their fortunes in the land.
They went to a place where there is more calmness
More happiness and more kindness.
They have left their people with sorrows and torments.
Life is a fabric mixture of feelings,
No worries, no sorrows is not a life.
The way we take them in our heart is life
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
My 8th year at school,
Was my very best year when I was cool.
Nine months of friends and studies
Could catch up with those nostalgic feelings.
I wonder if I had one more year to spend time with them,
Rather than sitting in the den.
The last working day on March 24th,
Where flashing combined with lighting cameras;
Everyone saying-“Bye, bye, I’m leaving school”,
And some others-“hoping to see you all next year”…
Crying with emotions,
That was the day when I turned ferocious.
Cries all over the school,
Some voices telling-“Never I could see this school once again”
Some only feel like poking themselves with a knife.
June, July, when chatting goes tremendous,
August, September, when studies goes on rattling,
October, when the happiest month begins,
November, when studies goes on ditching,
Now, I only feel like
Read more →tempting myself with
A new year of Jan and Feb,
And then now,
Everyone runs helter-shelter,
To say “Good Bye” to the old, and “Hello” to the new;
Emotions combined with desire, the only thing that I wanted to say that time was---
“My very best year of school couldn’t be this worse…”
I’d never forget this year and this day in my life.
The nostalgia of this year,
Will always be flashing in my mind.
I wrote a poem and gave to everyone to remember me with this school-
It ran like this:
The very best year,
As everyone knows,
We, students hope to see everyone once again,
And going partying with everyone once again,
Don’t imagine this as a dream,
It’s just an ice full of cream…
Remembering those awesome days,
When we all ran with food stuff;
Dancing and figuring ourselves to the extremes,
Performing huge shows at the stages;
Just for a remembrance, I’d say…
“I hope to see you all once again”
Bye… Bye…
Have a fruitful year with many lots of friends like us….
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
Why need a life with hearts broken into two,
And mind into four?
Why need a life with hatred and enmity?
Something to share,
Someone to contribute…
I cannot get anything better than you-DIARY,
Where memories concoct with desire,
Where contemplations hold up on career,
Encouraging, excluding the heart-broken sorrows…
Where you look like a bird without wings,
Challenging the unobtrusive miracles,
Stimulating the conspicuous sensations,
Co-existing with humanness and laid-back lives,
And at last terminating a year with something special…
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
Days that were, perhaps at the pinnacle of glory,
Years which were, lively and quickly,
Months that were, peaceful and brightly
Are no-where in locality,
But now weeks that are, entangled with serenity.
Ten months of tenth and its syllabus
Ten months of books and its relevance
Now to only have a glimpse of that nostalgia-
Of the hot summer days
And the cool windy days.
Started with books and teachers
Ended with exams and results.
Three sections of bonded unity
Encompassing hundred students of cordiality
And more teachers and staff of humongous sympathy.
Days when we had no books
But went to school blissfully.
The months of confusion and commotion
Are only to be thought and felt
But not be met.
Those were the days that cannot be withheld
But can be relished even after years to be dealt.
The times that were never like before
To leave incredible footprints for the years more
And to leave delightful memories forevermore.
Gently and more tranquilly if we look
There will be significant people we partook
With laid-back fellowships.
But those are the real days of tribute
Ever, that year (2011-12)
To be stamped in everyone’s memory
Ever, that year …
To stand as a much sought-after year in our lives…
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC