Dear Poet Friend, I have tried to render a true story in verse, which our school teacher had told us way back in the 1950s! If you like it,
kindly re-post the same. Thanks, - Raj Nandy            

           ON THE PSYCHIATRIST’S COUCH !
A man under depression met a psychiatrist one day,
And began to speak as on the couch he lay.
“Doc I feel depressed all day, as if a pall of mist is
surrounding me,
I move around like a lifeless robot you see;
I wonder what has come over me?”

The doctor said, “Cheer up my friend, from your
daily routine you must now take a break!
A new circus has come to town, and there is that
famous Grock the jovial clown.
His antics will make you laugh your guts out.
For Laughter is the best medicine for you no doubt!”

But the sad old man with his long drawn face,
Was not impressed with what the Doctor said.
He got up from the couch with a frown,
And said, - “Doctor I am Grock, that circus clown !”
                                                -Raj Nandy, New Delhi.

Dear Poet Friends, this is an old poem of mine composed in the style of a
dramatic monologue, being an admirer of Robert Browning myself. Hope you like it.  Thanks, - Raj Nandy.

                          AT  THE  CEMETERY
I came to offer my bouquet of flowers and pray for my father’s
departed soul,
Had he lived on this day, he would have been a hundred years’
old!
But I have watched you all this while my friend, sitting still, all lost
in thought;
Facing that marble grave strewn with flowers, which your grieving
heart had brought.
Fate and destiny we cannot fight, the old must leave with time you
know;
Like the Autumn leaves which gently fall, in the Winter’s breeze both
soft and slow.
Such going and coming is a part of life, do cheer up my friend and
take heart;
Think of your family and life ahead, these passing sorrows do not
last.
You have a wife at home and perhaps children too, who will keep
you happy to forget this loss;
But my consoling words failed to stop his tears, which kept flowing
without a pause!
Who is it you so grieve for my friend, let’s arise and carry on with
life;
But the stranger continued kneeling and softly said, - ‘Sir, it is my
newly wedded wife’!
                                                          ­                          -Raj Nandy, New Delhi.

I have a hard time
linking words to emotions
and emotions to actions
and all this to meaning.

I'll slowly build up
my library of feeling.
But I wonder exactly
what I was missing.

When I scrutinized us,
I did so without seeing.
I thought I knew all.
I saw my own meaning.

Life doesn't have meaning;
what it does have is people.
Now I say what I mean,
and I listen to feeling.

I've struggled with friends,
with parents, and with brothers.
I knew motivations
without knowing them.

Now I start to see people.
We're closer together.
Done connecting the dots,
we connect to each other.

I wonder if the universe listened
To the song of an aching voice,
If a weak heart wrapped in pain
Reached out to its imposing poise.

If it did, oh how I'd beg and plead
for it to tell its stars to re-align
To where I'd left my fairy tale unfinished,
And take me back to those simpler times.

I wonder how much sugar it'll take
To drown your bitter aftertaste

He doesn't have to be
A poetry person
To be my person

The photo of her high tea                            
With its flowery cups,                                  
Its cookies and scones,                                
Arranged in aesthetic order,                      
Filtered to perfection and                            
Posted online soon after,                            
Is her current most-liked.                              

The scene of him frailly
Scouring the waste truck,
His skin invaded by bones,
And bathed in gloomy odour,
Painted with deprivation and
Destitute disorder,
Doesn't make it to the spotlight.

*The High Tea meanwhile, earns another Like

Both
Too much,
and too little
Commotion,
Can mute the poet's emotion

Every time you'll set your pen
To begin a poetic rendezvous,
You'll see it'll never be the same as yesterday,
For your poetry will change with you

Every day is a different breath,
Every breath holds a different sigh,
Every sigh holds a different feeling,
Of infinite kinds of lows and highs

And infinite ways there are, you'll see,
Of putting to words your heart beats,
Every creation will mould itself, closer
And closer to your fluid entity

Of course, there'll be times when the words
Will appear to have forever gone away,
But don't fill yourself with doubts then,
For your heart and your mind are still at play

And when you'll least expect it to,
Your poetry will dutifully return,
With little surprises and anecdotes
It collected while on vacation

Don't be amazed then, when the ink rolls out
To find some wonders and marvels brand new,
For your poetry will change with you,
And, your poetry will change you.