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Shyamu Jul 2020
The music of the night
concert by the moon
When the cool wind plays the flute
The trees shake their heads cute.

The long green weeds
grown aside the bay
become the violinist
soulfully playing it to the finest.

lost its sleep, the fish in the lake
leaps out to beat the drum for a sake
The lapping water waves the piano
playing the notes instinctively, you know!

the clouds are busy
Who drift restlessly
to organize the show
and see in the flow

Bettles, crickets, firefly in the lawn
Singing their heart out
To let their pain go out
And ready for the dawn.
Shyamu Jun 2020
It was a beautiful butterfly.
It has yet to see the one,
who will not admire its beauty,
but deep in its heart it had a desire.
It was longing to fly
Nobody knew its wish
Alas! Even the butterfly itself
was not aware
it was a painted one
in a frame
hanging on the wall.

If a painting had a wish,
Was it the fault of the painting?
Was it the fault of its Creator?
Shyamu Jun 2020
A grand hotel,it was
With all around cheerful face
Before the master chef's entry
Entered the grief into the kitchen.
The sensible saucepan was sobbing
Upon seeing that,
her younger brother, the adamant
Frying pan was also feeling heavy.
The three supportive sisters
bowl,teapot and jug
Were shedding tears
looking at their family's despair.
The little ones spoons and forks were wailing aloud,their cousin knife
Who was strong and sharp,
Couldn't control his tears.
There came the friendly neighbours
Apron and the gloves
To wipe their tears
And trying their best to console them.
The head of the family
Old pressure cooker was with them.
Watching its family's lamentation
Continuing for ages.
The whole cooking family
Was crying their heart out
Thinking of their situation
in all these years.
The delicious food made in them,  were only to entertain the taste buds
of rich guys not to satiate
the hunger of poor children.
Shyamu Jun 2020
It was a beautiful butterfly.
It has yet to see the one,
who will not admire its beauty,
but deep in its heart it had a desire.
It was longing to fly
Nobody knew its wish
Alas! Even the butterfly itself
was not aware
it was a painted one
in a frame
hanging on the wall.


Was it the fault of the butterfly? or
Was it the fault of the creator?
Shyamu Jun 2020
The beams of moonlight
roll down a silver carpet
in the sandy bank.
The soft singing gentle
lapping waves glitter
with its milky jewels

Became the moon's messenger
carrying its silver pamphlets
to the silvery shaded tree.
The milk white pamphlet
with silvery words carrying
message to the Sun to rise late

The moon became the silent audience
enjoying the love birds
perched on the silver tree.
Poetry is all about inspiration...Inspired by the Silver by Walter de la Mare...
Shyamu Jun 2020
Her husband presented her
a very long blue saree
Since she has been using it for ages
it has many white patches
hither and thither...

When he roared in anger
striking her with a (f)lash
She'd use her grey saree
and weep bitterly...

Her s(u)on would often come and go
He'd give her a reddish orange saree
in which she looks dazzling...

Her daughter'd visit her in the night
with thousands of her grand children
At the time she'd wear a black saree
She'd narrate them many stories
they'd listen curiously with winkle...
Guess the other characters...
Shyamu May 2020
Learn something
do something
either it is useful
or useless...
doesn't matter...
never allow yourself
to think about
the past...
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