A delicate petal
Fallen from its rose,
Blown down to the concrete ground;
Appreciated by all as a patch of beauty
In a grey, industrial world;
A worthwhile existence,
To spread beauty and joy
Where not much can be found.

A bright red umbrella
Against the dull grey sky,
Providing light to the darkness of day;
To the relentless drizzle
And the misery of the people
It came as a welcome change.

A tiny green plant,
Reaching towards the sun,
Is pitied by passers-by,
But it lives on; it struggles and continues to grow,
And if it can, why cannot I?

What doth the sun say to the moon,
As he takes her place each morn?
And does the soft white lady smile,
Or turn her face from dawn?

When the world is full of strife
And words are launched as missiles
To devastate the beauty of the soul
Everyone’s paradise will be barren
One day nature will be forlorn
No one will be there to appreciate beauty
Struggling within to deal with pain
Then the community of poets wakes up
Seeing with their sharp instinct and intellect
To alleviate the pain, with words of love
Acting as a balm over the wounds
Poets can see beyond the usual
And deliver the sublime messages
Not poetry for poetry’s sake
But poetry for the world to regale
Mirrors of words which shows beauty
Bringing back everyone closer wonder
Realizing heart’s can endure so much

Lilacs and lilies
Daffy-down-dillies
Sugar-sweet sap
Softly dripping tap;
Gardening in the sweet moonlight
My silken roses red
Jasmine curly white
Watering garden beds
Full of life.

When you don’t feel the soft breeze
There is absolute stillness around
Nothing is exchanged with nature
The little messenger brings no tales
From the faraway lands
What’s conspiring in the silence?
Heart is eager to know
Birds too have stopped chirping
Maybe they are one with you
Respecting your inner silence
Feel the soft breeze of change, within

In the sunlight softly sweet
   I hope we shall meet,
By the moonlight burning pale,
   Oh my heart, it fails;
   I yours
   You mine
Shall it be, sometime?

As the great swelling sea
   Laps at hoary shores
So I yearn for thee,
   All the more;
As it swells with desire
But must ever subside,
   So must tire
   My slow fire