Profile cover photo
Profile photo
Poet Desh
330 followers -
Poet and novelist
Poet and novelist

330 followers
About
Posts

Golden Dust of the Past

I met a childhood friend after many years,
And was sad to know from him that the house,
Where I was born and grew up, is no more.
I felt as my father had died once again,
And also within me the dust of that house.
I soon lost the track of that conversation,
Because you suddenly had come to my mind
Still as a little girl about eight years old,
Who was then my playmate, my everything!
How you used to taste the mangoes first,
Only to bring to me the real tasty ones,
Which tasted more sweet only because
They were 'certified' by your tiny teeth!
How you shielded me from my mother's anger,
And how you understood my frustration and anger,
And silently put your hand on my shoulder,
To make me feel that everything is alright.....

Perhaps my friend understood my silent thoughts,
And putting his hand on my shoulder just like you,
He said softly,'Well, she is also no more.'

© Poet Desh

Golden Dust of the Past

I met a childhood friend after many years,
And was sad to know from him that the house,
Where I was born and grew up, is no more.
I felt as my father had died once again,
And also within me the dust of that house.
I soon lost the track of that conversation,
Because you suddenly had come to my mind
Still as a little girl about eight years old,
Who was then my playmate, my everything!
How you used to taste the mangoes first,
Only to bring to me the real tasty ones,
Which tasted more sweet only because
They were 'certified' by your tiny teeth!
How you shielded me from my mother's anger,
And how you understood my frustration and anger,
And silently put your hand on my shoulder,
To make me feel that everything is alright.....

Perhaps my friend understood my silent thoughts,
And putting his hand on my shoulder just like you,
He said softly,'Well, she is also no more.'

© Poet Desh

Wandering in a soulless city...

I have filled my lungs with
The abounding cold darkness
My eyes have become dry like sand,
Yet I wander in this soulless city
Which has become almost a dovecote
Where people breed restless souls
Just like themselves, who seldom see
The sky, the moon or the stars,
And know about each other
Only through lifeless instruments.
No, my road does not come to you,
And though I wander listlessly in gloom,
I am not searching for you.
So, you may happily remain indifferent.
I keep on walking only because
My feet find roads, though I don't know
Where they may lead me ,
Nor I am interested to know.

© Poet Desh

Wandering in a soulless city...

I have filled my lungs with
The abounding cold darkness
My eyes have become dry like sand,
Yet I wander in this soulless city
Which has become almost a dovecote
Where people breed restless souls
Just like themselves, who seldom see
The sky, the moon or the stars,
And know about each other
Only through lifeless instruments.
No, my road does not come to you,
And though I wander listlessly in gloom,
I am not searching for you.
So, you may happily remain indifferent.
I keep on walking only because
My feet find roads, though I don't know
Where they may lead me ,
Nor I am interested to know.

© Poet Desh

Moonlit Night

We have come to a friend's farmhouse,
Set near a village at the feet of hills,
Among a throng of the mango trees,
By the side of a rocky mountain stream.
Tired with the travel, you've gone to sleep,
So has our friend and his demure wife,
But, how can I sleep in such beautiful night
When The moon is shining in all her glory,
Waiting to bathe me in her loving light?
But, at the same time how can I be selfish
To enjoy such ethereal beauty all alone?
Like always, I must have you by my side.
I want to wake you up, but just a look
At you, and my heart gets overwhelmed
By the serenity spread all over you,
Making you look almost like a child.
You seem so pure that before touching you
I should get bathed in the moonlight.


© Poet Desh

Moonlit Night

We have come to a friend's farmhouse,
Set near a village at the feet of hills,
Among a throng of the mango trees,
By the side of a rocky mountain stream.
Tired with the travel, you've gone to sleep,
So has our friend and his demure wife,
But, how can I sleep in such beautiful night
When The moon is shining in all her glory,
Waiting to bathe me in her loving light?
But, at the same time how can I be selfish
To enjoy such ethereal beauty all alone?
Like always, I must have you by my side.
I want to wake you up, but just a look
At you, and my heart gets overwhelmed
By the serenity spread all over you,
Making you look almost like a child.
You seem so pure that before touching you
I should get bathed in the moonlight.


© Poet Desh

The Word

By : Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Oh, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song,
Or a flame, or a two-edged sword;
Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume,
Or a drop of gall is a word.

You may choose your word like a connoisseur,
And polish it up with art,
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays,
Is the word that comes from the heart.

You may work on your word a thousand weeks,
But it will not glow like one
That all unsought, leaps forth white hot,
When the fountains of feeling run.
Add a comment...

Abode Of Flowers

Time is drawing near for me
To return to my abode of flowers
From where I was sent here
With some fragrance in my breaths.

But soon I lost myself in the crowd,
Became faceless like many others,
Getting tuned to the jingle of coins,
Forgot the music of my own songs.

Only thing that mattered to me
Was my place in the racing herd,
I kept puffing my way forward
Only to stumble and fall aside.

On hitting the ground I found again
The long forgotten scent of grass,
It tickled and woke up the flowers
Which were dormant in my heart.

They are now urging me to return
To the place where I really belong,
Leaving behind some seeds of flowers,
Humming happily a merry song.

© Poet Desh

Abode Of Flowers

Time is drawing near for me
To return to my abode of flowers
From where I was sent here
With some fragrance in my breaths.

But soon I lost myself in the crowd,
Became faceless like many others,
Getting tuned to the jingle of coins,
Forgot the music of my own songs.

Only thing that mattered to me
Was my place in the racing herd,
I kept puffing my way forward
Only to stumble and fall aside.

On hitting the ground I found again
The long forgotten scent of grass,
It tickled and woke up the flowers
Which were dormant in my heart.

They are now urging me to return
To the place where I really belong,
Leaving behind some seeds of flowers,
Humming happily a merry song.

© Poet Desh

Winter song

In this winter of life
When one by one leaves fall
With each fading breath,
The warmth of your presence
Keeps intact
The petals of my heart.

© Poet Desh
Wait while more posts are being loaded