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Àŧùl Aug 2016
A tire tube without any air,
A boy gone crazy after a girl,
Both are known as flat!
Indian English!

My HP Poem #1106
©Atul Kaushal
Sri Shruthi May 2016
A body of different moves,
seems wrong around here,
isnt it? how do you see it?
calling them with different names.

A person of different likes,
not given the necessary facilities,
climbing up with all their efforts,
to end up with all the basic things.

A human of different organs,
nurtured, loved, raises to be
a superhuman, just like superman,
hold the hand, lead the life.

A heart of different wishes,
patted on the back to buckle up,
is what is to be done, for it wishes,
here I am, to love the different cups.
Austin Bauer May 2016
We discovered a master painter
who hand paints intricate flowers
one-by-one to create
a picturesque landscape painting.

In his paintings, a cardinal sits
resting upon a tree branch,
and a monarch butterfly marks
His signature in each painting.

Indian blankets, greenthreads,
brown bitterweed, and Texas thistle -
all vitally important to his paintings.
Therefore, he paints bees to pollinate

the flowers, transferring life-giving
pollen from anther to stigma.
Yes, the master painter places
all of this in his painting with
beautiful intention.
Anomaly Apr 2016
I am from
Dark furniture within large rooms
Smells of curry,
covered with febreze and perfume

I am from
Ride a bike with one hand
But hold your plate for dinner with two

I am from
Red …white
And then blue
Meaning July 1st then July 4th

I am from no beef no pork
And no I don’t find cows holy

I am from hanging with cousin
Playing with nerf guns
Midnight movies
And dairy queen runs

I am from absent mother
And parents divorced
For English Class
Àŧùl Apr 2016
It is an Indian midnight,
Here it descends so quietly,
But now it is here so quickly,
So sonorous is the zeroth hour,
But none will listen to its music,
Hear the crickets breaking the silence,
In the end, it's midnight.
Midnight Poem.

My HP Poem #1053
©Atul Kaushal
K Balachandran Feb 2016
In to my eyes she longingly gazes,
for a long moment, disarmingly smiles,
as if I am her first teen age lover
broken in to her room,unawares
and did naughty things,like snatching kisses.
her dad would definitely scold her mother
for permitting such nonsense
without his prior approval,
now that all got wrong, she is perplexed,
what would the people think of her
if they find out all about this?
Her lips I kiss ever so tenderly
to prove that I am still a green horn
in matters of amour, callow and clumsy to boot,
I join in her pretension that we just had
our first vanilla ice cream together,
when we bumped in to each other by chance.

Now the scene changes, she signals
like in one of those school dramas she shone well,
in my ears she whispers, now the coy Indian bride,
who never take liberties without
prior parental approval,
"I just wanted to cheat myself,
for this once, isn't it the last chance
forget for the time being that
we just had an arranged marriage"
very smart, yes, yet the Indian bride  still loves the demure act, though not all...
Àŧùl Feb 2016
Begging kids are very often seen,
Performing the ridiculous dances,
In hopes of just some of silver dirt,
Cleaning with dirtiest rags your car,
With a lifeless looking baby in arms,
A teenage mama with another inside,
Such is any Indian big city's traffic.

Manipulating them is a hidden lord,
Report to Lord of the Traffic Signal.

Sympathy is what they hope,
Empathy is what we reflect,
Apathy is what they really get.
My HP Poem #1024
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Jan 2016
****** thought it was a concept novel.
But wrong he was.
India knew Blitzkrieg long before ******.

In ancient dramas like Mahabharata,
And of course the older Ramayana,
The epics are replete with incidents,
Or rather determining acts of battle,
That determined the course of time,
Armies attacked the relaxing armies,
Changed the outcome of war.

So was the ancient Indian ideology.
My HP Poem #998
©Atul Kaushal
Gourab Banerjee Jan 2016
India is my
Motherland
Only democracy on the earth.
United we're
We're one.
We want
Peace.
We don't
War.
Where diversity meets
Unity.
Where abundance meets
Opportunity.
The land of dreams
The land of fairies.
My Motherland
My Pride
I Love my India.-17.01.2016

(Backdrop:-In general,Manager places order but yesterday its was a request(humble).Reason being is;its required for her Sweetheart(Daughter)of 4.6 years for the recitation competition most probably on the Republic Day.So,here we go...)
Àŧùl Jan 2016
Indian people are very traditional,
Still they will move with the trend,
Few Indians will often be bipolar.

First they tickle you the hardest,
As bad to trickle down your tears,
Then they change all of a sudden.

Let their fickle-minds deceive you,
You let the sickle-minds hurt you,
Such examples are there but few.
My HP Poem #972
©Atul Kaushal
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