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Letter Box: ‘Why does nobody comes this way’?

Me: ‘Maybe, they prefer an email’?

Letter Box: ‘Really? That means I am no more needed’.

Me: Not really! Maybe, they need you for registered posts only.’

Letter Box: ‘Well, what is an email’?

Me: ‘It is an electronic message that is instant moving from one gadget to another’.

Letter Box: ‘Oh, so it is faster than me. It is instant that is why I am discarded.’

Me:’ You are not discarded. You are just less used these days’.

Letter Box: ‘It is instant and faster but can one feel the touch of the paper? Can a mother touch the words written by her son and feel the warmth of his affection? Can a father embrace the letters drenched in his daughter’s tear who is miles away? Can all this be possible in an email’?

Me: ‘No, not at all. But you know what the world has changed now. And maybe, you did not notice. There are more people on gadgets than in the garden, where you are place’.

Letter Box: ‘I know as there are no footballs that hit me anymore. There is no one who looks at me – waiting for that one letter eagerly. They just pass by me – as if I do not exist. Oh, it hurts, it really hurts so much’!

Me: ‘You are still needed, and that is why you are still here.’

Letter Box: ‘Maybe, but still I wait for that football to hit me, and that postman to unlock. I still wait’!
it was a starry night
whirlpool of wind kissed her locks
dressed in a white dress
she embraced the fragrance of roses
light-eyed eyes light up with hopes
she walked silently over the road

unknown to the swing of destiny
she walked under the numerous stars
assuming it was a moonlit path -
though it was a moonless night
believing in her undying belief -
and thinking the world is still pure.

what happened with her
was never the question
she was now distorted and ripped
neither it were her clothes
nor her messed up locks
but only and only her soul!
Time is to tell a story. Every girl becomes a Cinderella for herself atleast for one moment of her life.
It has been a long time
I didn’t see the full moon outside
Clouds passing over clouds
And I hold my feelings deep inside
Yet I wake up every morning
With a hope that shall never die
Thinking today or tomorrow
A day shall give a chance to sigh
Distant tinkling temple bells
Remind me the journey so far
At times my faith shattered
Yet my belief holds me tight
And I wake up another morning
With a hope that shall never die!
Dedicated to a friend who is on the journey to take the flight to heaven. She lived a wonderful life, and losing her is like a piece of my heart will go with her.
in the delivery room,
my heartbeat goes up, and then down,
in pain, yet I smile,
in few seconds, blossoms a new life.
I hold you in my arms,
and embrace you tightly to my heart,
sometimes, I see you in the moonlight,
at times – in the sunlight.
I kiss your little feet,
rub my cheek against your cheek,
I ask myself, endless times,
whether you really look like me?
you keeping looking at me,
hold my finger in your fist,
and lick my lips – now and then,
maybe that’s the nexus of my life!
Poem to celebrate a mother in every woman's life. A tribute to International Women's Day!
At times, I just watch people
Like now - I see a pregnant woman
I think, what she must be thinking
Maybe - ' whether it's a boy or a girl'.

Crossing the Christmas Tree
I see an old man talking to his wife
In so many years of togetherness -
he still finds her benign.

As I sip my red velvet latte
My eyes fall on a couple
Both are sharing the same table -
yet conversing through their mobiles.

Eavesdropping upon the conversation
A daughter tells to her father
The best new year gift for her -
if he stops smoking forever!

I stop looking around for a while
And I close my eyes to realise
There is a world inside me -
that the adversity just hypnotized!
My observations when I was on a break from work and wrting. So many things around me to be observed and captured in words. Happy New Year 2017!
In the mirror I see myself,
There are wrinkles around my eyes,
My black locks are no more black,
They appear like salt on pepper *****.

I squeeze my eyes to try to read,
And search for my glasses - here and there,
Quite often I ask my family,
The same question again and again.

Small things appear much smaller,
Also I try hard to listen something,
Every morning I write my to-do list,
Yet I find myself doing nothing.

Some days I am left alone –
Other days, I am alone at home,
Every day I am told –
That I am getting old.

Yet in my dreams
I relive my old days.
Once when I was young,
And my spirits were high.

Time has changed everything
My people have changed sorely.
No wonders, every day I am told –
That I am getting old!
Getting old is a phase of life. It should be accepted gracefully by a person. But more than that it needs to be accepted by his or her loved ones. We all will age with time - before or after doesn't matter. But what really matters is the support of family and children for the older people. It is a cycle of life. I wrote this poem assuming myself getting old.
What I see is an illusion
Everything wrapped in spider's hammock
Behind the rusted lock
Still fresh are my memories
My doll dressed in years of dust
And the grandfather's rocking chair
Sip of the petrichor in my tea
And this dew upon the barren garden
Everything has changed in real
But it's still the same in my illusion.
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