Sitting by the roadside, and watching
      Traffic
                 urgent horns
                                        bright lights

Sitting by the roadside, and looking
      Hunger
                  begging children
                                          endless fights.
                                                      
                                                                                                    Mittal S.

In the poet’s mind
Are a thousand whirlwinds
Of thoughts.
Distinct, creative, powerful-
Thoughts that can change
Your perception of
All there is.

In the poet’s mind
There is love – fierce love.
Love that will crush you-
Hold you tight, so tight
You have no room for
Anything but love.
Love, that’ll make you glow.

In the poet’s mind
There is as tender a care
As the soft clouds on an Autumn morn.
Care that will gently kiss
Your eyes and plant in them
Visions, dreams, fantasies.
Care, that’ll lift you.

In the poet’s mind
There is forgiveness
So thorough, it will put you
To shame.
Forgiveness so intensely intended
To forgive that
It’ll set you free.

In the poet’s mind
There is passion- edgy, fulfilling.
Passion that’ll keep you on your toes.
Such passion brimming, overflowing,
Shameless, intoxicating.
Passion so vivid, so real
It makes it almost too easy to let go.

In the poet’s mind
A bird brings hope,
Winds bring change,
Rains bring memories,
Moonshine brings horror,
Snow brings dreams,
And you-
You bring poetry (life).

The sun kissed the horizon,
The waves-the shore.
The winds kissed my hair,
But I...

She wakes up with a start-
Tacit fear in her eyes.
Another nightmare-but I know
That a hug would suffice.

Holding her in my arms I think
Of the first time I’d held her.
Holding her in my arms I think
It might the last time- I shiver.

This makes her look up
To see if I were fine
And lift the weight of her hand-
Tangled in pipes and wires- and place it in mine.

I hold back the silent tear
And the muffled cry.
Helpless, my girl, how helpless!
I can’t save you whatever may I try.

The sanitised scent makes me
Furious at this unfair game.
This tender age-an unblossomed flower
Plucked by the disease with no name.

I know you feel what I do
Child, as you look through your hair’s net,
Because the last words you utter before sleeping-
**“Mama, I don’t wanna go yet.”

I tried.
I tried to keep away from words.
But every now and then I find myself stealing (reading).  

Yesterday, I read:
                      The heart will find a way to reach what it loves,
                              however hard the mind tries to hinder.

Then I tried to keep away from you, too.

But every now and then I find myself stealing.

Alas! the heart found that ****** way.