"kalwadia" poems
i remember the day when i saw you for the first time....,
i thought i am seeing you for the last time.........
but no,you met me again and again......
each time you made me feel i am born for you to gain.....
the way you looked at me that day......
made my heart to fly away and away......
everything was going fair......,
and love was in the air.....
but suddenly i dnt know what happened to you.....,
about Me,
you changed your view......
there was a day when we use to read each others eyes.....,
and this is the day when we both want to rid off from each other lives.....
i just cant believe that you are the person who made my world go round and round......,
because now you made my world go down and down.....
you know it very well that i never begged love from you.....,
because i never expected in return from you......
you know it very well that i never forced you for anything....,
but then too you insulted Me without thinking........
but never mind,
i am happy that you came in my life as a special person .....,
because you are the one who teaChed Me life's greatest lessons.....
the only wish is ,i want to see you happy forever....
but yup.....,
now i made my heart to fall in love never......!!!!!
-by MohiT CristO KalwadiA
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 7:03 AM UTC
There was a star in life
agreed, it was much loved
when it sank, it did sink.
Look at the sky’s vastness,
so many stars have broken away
so many loved ones it has lost
the lost ones, were they ever found?
But tell me, for the broken stars
does the sky ever grieve?
That which is past, is gone.
There was a flower in life
which, I doted everyday on
when it dried, it dried away.
Look at the garden’s breast,
dried, many of its saplings have
welted, many of its flowers have
that which welted, did it ever bloom?
But tell me, for dried flowers
does the garden create an uproar?
That which is past, is gone.
There was a cup of wine in life
which, you gave your heart and soul for
when it broke, it did break.
Look at the winehouse’s courtyard
shaken, where many cups are
fall, and merge with the ground
that which fall, do they ever rise?
But tell me, for broken cups
does the winehouse ever regret?
That which is past, is gone.
Soft mud, we are made of,
wine drops do tend to fall.
A short life, we have come with,
winecups do tend to break.
Yet, inside the winehouse
there is a winepot, there are winecups.
Those, struck by intoxication
do splurge away on the wine.
He’s a raw drinker,
whose affection escapes no cup,
one who has burnt from true wine
does he ever shout, or scream?
That which is past, is gone.
By- Mohit Cristo Kalwadia
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 7:39 AM UTC