When I was a little girl
poems had to rhyme
they had to follow a certain pace
like a song follows time

But now, as I grow older
I'm finding that poetry tells a story
My story, yours, hers, his
Poetry... tells. someone's. story.

When I was a little girl
a good poem
meant it moved you
.
but
.
I struggled to find the words
that made me sound fancy
and smart

When I was a little girl
poetry was a form of art
but I didn't understand it,
I just wanted to write

Now I hope to encourage little girls
to just write what they feel
because somewhere out there
someone feels the same way
and they'll be happy you put it down
they'll be glad to know they aren't alone

and you'll know you aren't alone either
I'm starting to doubt free-writing my poems. Are they really poems? Guess I'm still trapped by the beliefs I had when I was a little girl.
I also hope people read this in the voice I wrote it in. I struggle with that, still.
Kaumudi 1d
For me, a poem is not just for display, an appealing art piece.
It's just I'm  v om i t ti ng  the excess of emotions to be at ease.

For me, a poem is not just a  ran d om  rhythmic rant on a  ra n do m  topic.
It's a description of memories where words create a graphic.

For me, a poem is not telling the world to appreciate someone I appreciate.
It's my perspective about someone which is shown in the poem I create.

And lastly, I don't write poems to please YOU.
It's my mind's whimses I'm catering to.
I WRITE POEMS FOR MYSELF. What about you?
©2018, Why Do I Write Poems? by Kaumudi.
the night falls
behind the curtain of the black sky
with a silver coloured bulb called moon
floating weightlessly in the background,
together with the billions of stars
shimmering like the glow-worms.

the clouds fly here and there
with the joy of becoming grey again
leaving behind the dry memories
of summer and sunny days
hoping to become raindrops again
and fall on the soft leaves of earth.

©Dhiman
My muscles pound
My limbs become sore and bulky.
My mind spins a million thoughts in
a single jiffy of emptiness,
and yet I cache it to myself.
Fear takes over and silence turns up.
The struggles are my own, not for the care of others
Why strain anyone with shit that
even I can't feel?
So I just remain here.
Alone.
With the stars and the moon.
-Khushi :)
My form obeys my wants;
My mind obeys my will.
Hear me now and listen, my steeling soul.
I see my destination;
A path, I design.
For this task, my own strength will suffice.
Within my chest, my lungs strain and struggle,
But they breathe the air in the highest, thinnest skies—they struggle,
          and I grow stronger.
This poem is written in "Galdralag" (lit. "the metre of magic spells), which harkens back to the cultural magic of the Ancient Germanic peoples. This is an example poem in my work in progress text on Germanic word magic in general, but here, it will be part of the series called "Galdraz ab Bragiteilen": literally, "Magic Spells of Bragiteilen."
from the other side of the street
our soulless eyes meet,
we send waves of cravings
for our broken hearts to hold
but we don't step forward
you stayed back, i don't move either
we walk along the side of the road,
we smile at each other,
and watch ourselves
getting vanished into the distant,
this is what has become of us:
silent and afraid, forever...

©Dhiman
We have become ghosts to each other, unknown and afraid...
em>Her craziness dripped, soaking
Creativity, they yearned for her
Talent,
Yet the speckled paintings
And graphite-works of art
Poems of broken hearts
And leaked-verses peaked
At the girl's twisted reality
They aspired
A plastic
Sapphire

The last line is like, people want things that a person may kill to give up. I don't see my poetry, or creativity as "talent." it's a way to help me, but I hurt to much for it, you know? I love art, but I'd also love to give up pain, even if that meant this "talent" all feedback is welcome
hope is the antidote,
the torch that transforms
darkness into light,
sadness into ecstacy,
it is the window through which
the sun sends its first ray of light,
the womb that gives birth to joy
and nurtures it,
till it blooms into happiness.

©Dhiman
Hope is always the antidote to every heartbreak you have, for every suffering you deal with. It is the light to see the path...
Ravi gratefully settled down on the cottage bed. It seemed
like centuries since he had slept in an actual bed. Up to now
he’d slept outside and on the thinly carpeted floor of a
Buddhist temple.

In fact, Ravi was very thankful to be alive after suffering
a serious stroke and subsequent amnesia for almost 3 years.
He was discovered sleeping on the steps of a Hindu temple
by a kind priest, named Swami Krishna.
After several inquiries, Ravi was finally given refuge by
a compassionate monk at a local Buddhist temple in Melbourne.

When my hubby David and I first met Ravi there was
an instant connection.
His humble, soft spoken nature touched our
souls as he shared his heart wrenching story. During the
period of his stroke, he lost almost everything,
most of his possessions, his wife and his memory.
Wandering the streets of Melbourne desolate and
forsaken by man, he was never forsaken by God.

It was a beautiful night, stars shimmered above the
colossal golden Buddha statue. As Ravi related his story,
David offered to help him recover his life. We all prayed
fervently to Lord Ganesh to remove all obstacles on his path.
In the coming months, Ravi and David were able to piece
together the fragments of his shattered life.

Marvelously, Ravi was also able to connect with his
parents in India who had not heard from their only son
in three years! Imagine the relief, joy and
ecstasy when they heard his familiar voice.

The other day we invited Ravi to our house for lunch.
Entering the puja room, we made sure to offer
thankful prayers to Lord Ganesh. The huge photograph
of Sai Avatar illumining the puja room smiled benevolently
at our precious guest.

Ravi chuckled almost tearfully when he told me he had
finally gotten his own bed. He recalled in the past how
he had purchased a $4000 bed for his ex-wife and
now he was so blissfully grateful for this simple cot.

As I reflected on Ravi’s story I thought to myself how
unpredictable life is. Wealth, property, spouses,
everything in this world is subject to change and loss.
It is so important to wake up from this
long, arduous dream and embrace the beautiful,
golden, eternal kiss of God and realize who we are now.
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