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Tomorrow,
you will utter,
no heart for me at all,
you may float in my
river of love
until the next
dream fades,
once you will
come to know
whatever I had
whispered was true,
do not forget to
remember me.

By
Williamsji Maveli

Email:
williamsji@yahoo.com
Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music,people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand
than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities and uncertainties of your existence.
Williamsji Irinjalakuda, who is a well known writer, poet, film critic in the Malayalam Literature and film Industry was born on 23, April 1955  in Irinjalakuda town, Thrissur District, Kerala State, in India.  Williams George, popularly known as Williamsji, Irinjalakuda during early 1970,s wrote simple romantic, enchanting  lyrics in Malayalam Regional language scribbling from four lines to forteen lines (A sonnet ) wrote as many lyrics suitable to depict in love scenes of MalAyalam movies during his school days at Don Bosco English Medium High School. Later while he was a college student  released his first work of lyrics titled “Ragha Pooja” (Offerings to Love) in Malayalam literature in 1973.

Williamsji was attending Christ College in Irinjalakuda for his Bachelors degree in Commerce . He left Christ College after completing his Post Graduation in Commerce (M.com). He was much fascinated with the poetry lessons  of his Master in English literature  K.Sachidananan, Professor in English in Christ College during 1970s. Also Malayalam Literary Critic Mampuzha Kumaran inspired him in developing the poetic talents which was dormant in him.  He turned to writing lyrics and penned nearly 300 songs for popular Malayalam film journals, specially for “Cinerama” , a popular cine weekly during 1970’s  published  from Quilon in Kerala  under the guidance of prominent Malayalam writer *** editor late Kambiserry Karunakaran. Then he became a regular contributor to many Malayalam monthly journals and weekly publications ,writing poems, lyrics, short stories, novels, screen plays and film criticisms.

From among those published  lyrics, Late T.V.Kochubhava, prominent story writer and a close associate of Williamsji, selected nearly 100 lyrics from his collection of literary works  and published  with a title “Ragha Pooja” (Offerings to Love) during 1973 which is the first published literary work of Williamsji. Though he was successful as a lyricist, his wish was to become a script writer. To fulfil that, he became the Assistant Script Writer of Late A.C. Sabu, the only Cine Journalist of that time and  a close associate of  Kanmani Films director Late Ramu Kariyat (Chemmeen fame) who brought the first Silver Award to Malayalam Film for the best feature film during  the year 1970. Williamsji was associated with the screen play works of many black and white films during 1970s .

His latest writings in Malayalam literature are being  titled as “Arramviralthumbath” (On the top of the 6th Finger) and “Aaa Chithrasallabgnalil Onee” (One from those butterflies), both collection of lyrics are ready for publication along with its English Translation. Williamsji (Williams George) was a Freelance writer for    “ Gulf News”, “Khaleej Times” and “The Gulf Today”, three popular  English Daily News papers, published from UAE and Columnist for Malayalam News , the first Malayalam daily paper published from Saudi Arabia for many years.

Authors related links:
www.williamsgeorge.com
www.williamsji.com
When I felt like nobody cared, YOU were there,
Soothing the wounds in my heart…

When I felt life was not worth it, YOU came around,
And proved the opposite…

When no one knew my worth, YOU showed me,
How much I meant to you…

When I had issues, YOU supported me,
Showing me how much I need you…

Now, when I look back, I have no regrets,
Because to know YOU is to know LOVE

Harish Natarajan
12.01.2013
Copyright © Harish Natarajan
This poem was written by my husband :) This is what he has to say about this poem :
"Wrote this poem in Hindi in the year 2001 during my B.Tech years..but left writing after that due to work load...but I think the DNA is still there :-)....Dedicated to all the lovely women out there...including my woman :-)"
A 70th Birthday Poem

My mother had a series of rules
     by which we lived
And by which I think I still do

For instance,
     to keep my brothers and I from fighting
         fighting to cause star-shaped pain,
two-dimensional and primary colored, like on Batman
         fighting to cause welts from
rising like tectonic plates heralding the end of Pangaea
         fighting to bring forth blood
     red blood
      red blood
       burgundy and green and iridescent blood
she said,
         “As long as you’re laughing when you hit them,
it doesn’t count,”
     and it became true
     as the forced, adrenaline-driven guffaws
           tumbled up and over one another
            like rocks shattering one another
              into pebbles exfoliating one another
                into sand
     white and soft and meandering
seaside to tomorrow and forever.
         Know what I mean?

My mother had a series of rules
     by which we lived
And by which I think I still do

For instance,
     to keep from clashing
in a fashionable/unfashionable dissonance,
it’s important to remember:
     “Just because two things are red,
doesn’t mean they’re the same,”
or blue or white or black
     that when held together like paint swatches
each holds a different value,
         and the painter tries to make the best choice
because a purple shirt can be pretty,
     but . . .
“Nobody wants to live in a purple house.”  
         Right?

My mother had a series of rules
     by which we lived
And by which I think I still do

For instance,
     housecleaning should be done to a polka,
or not at all
         joyfully or begrudgingly
as best suits the cleaner
         and the polka,
     because . . .
“Doesn’t a little accordian make everything better?”
         Well, doesn’t it?

My mother had a series of rules
     by which we lived
And by which I think I still do

For instance,
     today is the 31st anniversary
         of her 39th birthday
     just as it will soon be
            the 15th anniversary
         of my 29th birthday

Of *course, it is.
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Dev A
Trust
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Dev A
You asked me to trust you
And you expected a reply
I saw it in your eye.
But I hesitated.

You grew worried,
Unsure of yourself.
So I pointed to the shelf
Where all the pictures stood.

I knew that you finally understood
As realization dawned upon your face.
So I told you a story to erase
All of the tension that had built.

You asked me to trust you
And you expected a reply
I saw it in your eye.
But I hesitated.

You asked me questions
As I told my tale.
But all I did was flail
As I tried to explain.

I revealed that I couldn’t trust
Not when friend after friend
Brought an end
To every relationship.

You asked me to trust you
And you expected a reply
I saw it in your eye.
But I hesitated.

They broke me
In ways you can’t imagine
As they left my heart and soul all barren.
I don’t know how to trust.

I want to trust you
But after end and end
You must comprehend
That I don’t know how.

You asked me to trust you
And you expected a reply
I saw it in your eye.
But I hesitated.
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Julia
Sometimes I
                            p
                                o
                                      all that I have, all of my energy
                                  u                            & time, maybe even some of my love    
                                    r                       
                                      ­                   into
                             **nothing
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Reed Rogers
I buried my heart out in a field,
Beneath an old oak tree.
I'll stop and visit it once in a while,
And tell it stories of me.
The life I live and places I've been,
All the best places to see.
The men and women who make up my life,
Who know a story or three.

I buried my heart out in a field,
Six feet beneath cold clay.
Deep enough to protect it from you,
Shallow enough to retrieve it one day.
To dig it up and check it for wear,
Protecting it from decay.
My poor heart is never safe,
With you never that far away.

I buried my heart out in a field,
Far from prying eyes.
Hiding the scars from my own sight,
Wrapping it up in lies.
I want to pretend that everything's fine;
That the pain's been cut down to size.
But that's not true, it's right near the surface,
As my one and only tear dries.

I buried my heart out in a field,
I did it for selfish reasons.
To shield it from this treacherous life,
And all its mercurial seasons.
The lies, the scars, the six feet of dirt,
Just a few more little treasons.
I buried my heart out in a field,
And I forgot to mark the spot
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Mathilda
-02-
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Mathilda
In my dream
I will give you a long hug

You will be my blanket
And I will nuzzle the curve
Where your shoulder joins your neck
The soft lips you feel against yours will be mine

As will the light touch
As I stroke your ribs with my fingertips

I miss you.

Wish I was there to keep you company
And sleep beneath the roses

2013.01.03
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Ajay
Please.
Stab my heart.
I just want to feel again.
 Jan 2013 A O'Dea
Emily Ophelia
There are certain things I will take to my grave
Wishes, dreams and desires that noone will ever know
I would love to tell you them
You who makes me laugh and realize
Sometimes
I
Take
Life
Too Seriously
Maybe in another place or another time I would tell you
But in this lifetime, I'll keep them to myself
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