#sanket
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Colours curdling, water washing every *****
Out of us evil ever going and playing on
Land of character cherished by coloured lawn.
What a scene to see! Gracious glory gone
If you miss this mesmerizing festival upon
A folly. Foolish will be called such a conn.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Holy played in school is highly pleasing crayon,
For Kinar, Aayushi, Kunal. Aryan or John.
Monorhyme has one colour, holi many micron.
Mital, Mitesh, Vaikhu, SIddhu, Saurabh are don.
This day even principal thinks to prevent throne
And join joy with teachers - see anxiety thrown.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Songs, screams; dance, D.J.; homage and hymn on;
This day with Holika heavy burdens and sins thrown.
Cruel Hiranyakashyapa was killed; glory was won.
Kunal, Arpita, Sandeep, Amit and Shreyas on lawn
Play water and colours with cool Pari’s scone
In Jalgaon, Agra, Kanpur, Karanja, Surat or Bonn.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 4:22 AM UTC
See my cool family, Pari or Emily.
Father is the head of the family
Mother is the tail of it. Like simile
They work for one another early
Keeping all things together surely.
All children and grandparents lively
Are the bogies of this train Charlie.
All guests are passengers in hurry
Who come and go without fury.
Such people are good and chilly
Whom you can find in wood easily.
Daughters, sons are joy sheer to see.
Mitesh, Kunal and Siddu speak eagerly,
Pallu, Paisa, Deepu and Apu are showy,
All my cousins with Mital and Vaikhari
Punam, Amit and Shau talk truth clearly.
But the Family is never ending journey
The elders are turning on its cool key.
I too am a member of such dear Family
And would invite to join it Sam or Lily;
See my cool family, Pari or Emily.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 9:08 PM UTC
The most dedicated, obedient, one who rings bell,
One mighty who formulates sentient of time shell
By ringing school bell, making us aware, alert and knell.
Vijay, our peon, a smart, vigilant but never did yell
At teachers or students who bugged in room or cartel.
Fair looking Vijay is a joyous lad who got never expel;
Nor did he remain quiet in vespers nine to spread his spell.
Caring, gentle, cherishing, poor but self-efficient in nutshell
Can be told about him in this Monorhyme – describing well?
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 8:55 PM UTC
Full of good thoughts and memories refine
Full of wise words for all to opine
Never behaved in school against doctrine
Varsha is prepared without any supine.
Growth she made in the school is fine
Even the students could no longer define
Her aid for others was just like brine
So that they stand still like a pine.
She was a dear mentor, and a gin:
Separating vice from us and combine
Our grief with joy to keep all in line.
From whom I learnt how to always grin
In adverse situations and start from begin
So that new fight and efforts lead you to win.
She had a dream to make everyone Einstein.
She is one who is behind us against decline
And forces us to proceed in God’s design;
Ecstasy, Elation, Rapture is solely mine
When I went with her knowledge to dine.
Can there be another Varsha Madama inn
Where pilgrims like Monorhyme mine
Rest and prosper and flourish divine.
A lady so acute, dedicated and divine
Is scare to find and is the wonder nine.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
Books – a medicine saturnine.
Those who have books shine
With lively bright colour twine.
Books – a Daniel – be in shrine
To take us all up with whine.
Saraswati, indeed, did opine
My talents with saccharine
And help me for Her to reassign
Her position in the world malign.
With her help I Monorhyme define
And made many people it dine
With garlic or ginger or brine.
Oh! Goddess! Help me refine
The world with your dyne –
Books – a medicine saturnine.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
In the month of July during whirlpool
A Legacy was born to challenge a fool
Who in sphere of market did money drool.
As all feast and dance and sing in yule
Many people like Vipul, Maulik and Sanket rule
Over minds of customers who remain very cool
In our D-Mart which served as a perfect tool,
Come and join the ever-widening D-Mart Whirlpool.
All - cashier, attendants, owners, sweepers - pull
Praise, sympathy, good words and have globule.
There are many wicked, old, shrewd ghoul
Who conspire against you O! D-Mart, My soul!
ACs, clean floor, smiling faces and nature cool ;
Bhaiya, didi, managers, workers, watchmen Spool
Are the real source of income than other tool,
Come and join the ever-widening D-Mart whirlpool.
Future is bright of D-Mart with such module,
It also includes good products, service Gruel.
No judge can verdict anything like rice overrule
Or China food item never finds in its pool;
Clean and healthy food items, fine variety gul
And great discount on many items that ridicule
Those who conspire despise it for its fame and tool,
Come and join the ever-winding D-Mart whirlpool.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
Remote area where there is no screen
Timidity rules alone trying to save skin.
Of all evils in the creation under discipline
Timidity – a curse – is like a Saccharin.
Sugary as tweet, booming as a violin
Wicked as a fox, ill-mannered as Bedouin;
Timidity sneaks secretly physique within
And remains there undisturbed and akin.
When obligatory duty or slog is seen
Sharpens us, whet us till found Lenin.
This makes us skinny, lanky and thin.
Living timid for me is no than a sin.
Hence precaution must be taken, O Kin!
Timidity, a severe knight, should not reign
Over us from beginning to let out jinn.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
Sanmati, my guide, though is callow
Abnormal not in knowledge, not a bozo.
Negotiates well joy broad or narrow;
Merry as a lamb, sharp as an arrow –
Agile as a gymnast, as sweet as a cello.
Time and again found, never let her gizmo,
Ignoring angry love or any strict credo
Jib her down to cry and sit quietly in shadow.
Almighty will design her future like dido
Illuminating the world with skills and less ego.
Never be dull or extra-ordinary – no one follow.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
Sanmati, my source, is equine
Arising year by year to twine.
Naming ceremony like a mine –
Mining gold, silver, bromine.
All averse to Sanmati divine
Time and again – old shrine.
I will support her – Him within
Jains as do by going byline.
All will succumb to Him by entwine.
I presume the same qualities spine
Neatly in the world which He assign.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC
A Family that will always save you bloat
Is none other than Patel’s says my throat.
Boasting? No, really. They are like a tote
Fill whatever from them, they won’t denote.
What a family, what a love, what an antidote.
Whenever you go to them, they are remote
To say “No” – a habit which they wrote
For them – gentle, docile and elegant coat.
All children – Deep, Arti, Nand, Dhir are raincoat.
With their parents and cousins ride a boat
Of success; all creative and ready to devote.
I never forget this family. This a way I emote.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
Dear readers, Reader’s Digests denote
That readers read and clearly emote
Their feelings out and try to devote
Their money and time for this rowboat.
The mind that reads it will surely vote
Their success that is sure to roam afloat.
Let be a doctor, teacher or student tote
This is a boon that always does quote
Famous personalities known or remote;
Ideas or thinking or reports wrote
Jokes, humour or news or misquote
All are fitted in just a little groat.
Unlike Narada, RD does connote:
Little price, high yields in a mote.
The only book with a lot of footnote,
This will save us from being a dote.
Lastly, it is like Gita a good keynote.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
The only book teaching humanism;
The only which cures locoism;
One and only poem for lyricism
Is Reader’s Digest’s mechanism.
If you see it through any prism
Can find joy, fun, thrill and sarcasm
This is a weak agent of nihilism;
This is the best known idealism
Where all spend individualism
To receive mental masochism.
Reading it is just like mesmerism.
Without it school suffers gargoylism.
Indian tradition or let be Maoism,
It is well read and accepted optimism.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
One of the resourceful books unbeatable;
Children’s love, care and comfort biddable
Is none better than Reader’s Digest – capable.
Articles, reports, jokes and anecdotes audible;
All are present in it; all are undoubtable.
Changing the mindset of students capable
Is a new, systematic thing coachable.
Changing the world and its cannibal
Into the virtues and values bindable.
Explaining itself if anytime culpable;
And so is famous for being countable.
Teachers, parents, students ennoble
Reader’s Digest for not being enfeeble.
Leaders or followers who are like a crucible
Change their minds and be bendable.
Behaviour and conduct – key undoubtable
Will keep you atop, elevated, lofty and able.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
Books are our friends hey!
Don’t throw them away;
Keeping ourselves array
So that we be at assay
With books positively lay
For scrutiny at a ballet.
They – best pals – do say:
Read lavishly and do play,
Or in bright sunshine splay.
All healthy tips; no betray,
No deceiving, no astray.
Hence be ready to little pay
And be free as that jay
And soar up in the airway
Knowledge and wisdom to flay.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 8:13 AM UTC
Browse through the history
Money is increasing industry;
Let it be business or peasantry
It is omnipresent mystery.
Everyone for it see palmistry
Ready for money do idolatry.
Money make man go to optometry;
It has capacity to test sociometry;
As without it there is no entry.
With main, welcome complimentary
For development of our poultry
In which we live and do sentry
Our future which acts on ministry.
Browse through the history
Money is increasing industry.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
The materialist item creates anger
Is none other than ‘Money’, ogre.
If it is available with us meager
We become a source of hatemonger.
It can make us sit or stand with finger;
It can taste sweeter than sweet sugar;
If in hands, it makes its owner stronger;
So that he can fight with wildest tiger.
You have it, and live even longer;
And will be called even younger.
The materialist item creates anger
Is none other than ‘Money’, ogre.
With it tensions, no doubt, linger
A lot of worry and threats augur,
What use is Salad without vinegar.
More joy of money leads warmonger
Lack of money people did malinger
The mundane things calling it ******
All those who to receive it eager
Know well that demon in it appear.
The materialist item creates anger
Is none other than ‘Money’, ogre.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
The only big struggle
Is for money bristle
Finishes like a bubble
When we see Sin puddle.
Is this so thing doddle?
Actually it is a circle
Vicious; none to fiddle
As it makes one nuzzle
In their cozy castle.
Earlier there was raffle;
Making us quite subtle
In all innate our struggle.
Money’s single ripple
Can conscience straddle
Into treachery subtle.
So dear when see boodle
Don’t forget to whistle;
And flee away with chuckle
From this vicious girdle.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
A beautiful and sweet girdle
Collecting it is quite doddle
Counting is like a hot fettle
Touching it is a bit brittle.
Let be the Geeta or the Bible,
Let be grapes or pineapple,
Importance of money able
Is not be explainable.
Money can make a castle
Or buy handful cattle
Or can earn a good title
Or can bound to peddle.
All is easily possible
By the mint boodle.
Carry them in a duffle
Or in a golden vessel,
It is going to be a rouble.
So friends value a boodle
And crave for it to chuckle
The taunts of world little.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
Sardonically, lightly, he trips around the argument from last night
The night-time affair-morning despair
Whiskey and gin, liquor scented promises
Still droop over the dawn's proceedings
No wonder he waned quick and rose slow last night
His instincts took form, primal release
Inhibitions lulled by the dull lust quenched senses
Now all come back to the brim
And resurface with surmounting terror in the peak of morning
What might have been found ,
In the quiet moments, between the pauses, sighs and naked glances
Has already been lost
No words escape his,
Or hers-
Save for a kiss
Once drenched with wet lust
That now gathers rust;
Hangs in the heavy silence of their confession
Where none of them utter a word,
Yet the verdict rules:
both guilty.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
Lost in the scansion of a cool iron box
I struggle for air from the confines of metal that blocks all fresh of life from the cage
Bound in gagged suffocated reflexes
I utter muffled screams of my nights spent in lost days
Held in suspended motion, mid-flight to a descent
I train myself, my senses already know what comes next
meanwhile the art of stillness, in vivid stasis I contemplate.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
I want to be the me that I wanted to be when I was a kid who dreamed of being the me that I’ll be when I turn 70
I want to be a race car, a ******* rush; I want to be a daredevil on both
I want to be a tight-rope circus act, and tread daily on loose strings with firm feet and handstands
I want to be a shaman with normal senses, instead of a normal person with shamanistic pretenses
I want to look what I saw, I want to listen what I heard, I want to speak what I said with absolute, immaculate, immovable conviction
I want to be like Jim Morrison, and sail to the moon on a crystal ship
I want to be 25% pessimistic, 25% optimistic, 50% opportunistic surrealist
I want to be an Anti-Christ neutral anarchist, and go on a nihilistic bowling spree
I want to be like Jeff Lebowski
I want to be an unintentionally over-achieving burnout who’s proud of his very human frailties
I want to be my own version of Salvador Dali’s first drafts, Allen Ginsberg’s papers and Jack Kerouac’s path
I want to write serenades about melted ice-cream, burnt sausages…and similar tragedies
I want to be a comedic prophet with bad timing; I want to laugh at a funeral-my own funeral
I want to be a suicide note; an obituary that says, **** Condolences! I’m dead. Now, just let me be’
And although, I’m not half the things I said I wanted to be,
I’m an ancient nutshell with reinforced-concrete casing and recent cracks that show the me that I am right now,
I’m an educated, at most times mostly illiterate kind of bloke
I’m a six feet tall hormonal speck of snowflake on snow
I’m a growing ukulele, dreaming of bursting out an improvised, deafening, soul scathing Electric guitar solo, on an amp that goes up to 11!
I’m a short-tempered, soft-spoken, heavy-breathing embodiment of all I’ve wanted to be and the things I’ll never be
But right now, I am the me, that I want to be
And all the other ‘me’s would be proud if they could see me.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
I couldn't make up my mind on who she was. Really,
A premonition? Foreboding an inevitable storm
Or the storm's aftermath;
All dull and vivid juxtaposed in parallel reflection
Yet even though debris seemed to follow the destruction around her,
The centre of all the chaos was calm, grey
I called her Grey
She liked it
She thought it resembled a fading, translucent characteristic within her that most people seemed to miss without confirming a second look
"It’s like you lifted my eye-lids with clamps-long and hard enough to gaze and wonder just who I was"
That the easy facade on her outside was just a complex elaborate hoax and her intricacies were much simpler inside
But even with all my sensors of human emotion detection and learning to wade and blend through
derelict sage-nuances
I still couldn't figure her out
For I wasn't sure what she was:
A premonition or an aftermath of new color.
She was always Grey
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
The crazy demography of death in our minds; our shine-clad generation suggests our invisible escape to depravity
we are Not innocent, we are Not cured-
of whatever disease we choose to hide in our black cages
we are afraid without pure fear; we are a disgrace
And so much happens in the streets at night-
as each man loses his faith in (?)you-name-it, that we breed either
poets, prophets or politicians, vegetables.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
And before I extended my claws onto your hearth,
I dwelled within a secret passion: I brushed up on sneaking and marking the spot for my next apocalyptic arson
And yet I could never spout the rage that fuels my husk of a being onto your haven
Your abode stinks;
The reek of naïve youth and ***** lust at night
And yet I could never expunge the puny shred of mercy embedded on my aortic psyche
You win this round
For now,
my claws will try to cut the life you absorb from the air that pervades your hearth
Before they turn to fingers, before my wrath subsides in mortal disbelief of its own vulnerable
humanity
I shall incite fresh fear and death inspired odes within me once again

And on a fateful humid night,
I shall let myself perspire at the sight of infant wreckage burning with fervor and life
Your abode in flames of red and azure
And if you burn,
Apologies.
I merely hope your ashes will spark the flame bright for at least a little while
Ahh...such sweltering warmth
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
She scans his face for familiar lines
But in the face of her lover, meets a stranger
Taken aback, she closes her eyes, urges him to whisper,
gently, her name
'...' the word is same, he pronounces it exactly the way he used to
But she hears the name of someone else;
Someone new.
Struggling for old shape and sound
She reaches for his arms and folds herself an embrace
But feels no familiar touch,
Her ears quiver no more
At the once-soft breaths that gently nudged and tugged at her hair
She gradually breaks down;
Forced smile by smile, by frown,
And steals a final gaze at his eyes
And in their reflection,
Sees a stranger-smiling, shivering, unfamiliar
A stranger.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC