Friday, December 15, 2017

Yes, I got a friend.

And another fine morning,
I sat on the same wooden stump,
to feel those pearly dews-
And to introspect-
How beauteous, that silence could be!

And, I saw that love coming to me,
As fast as she could run-
She came and sat beside me.
We did not share our words.
The warmth of possession-
Though, overwhelmed.

Yes, I got a friend.
Unlike me, she talks less.
But, she can express!
Deepest of joy and saddest of her thoughts!
Just through her sparkling eyes!
I envy sometime…
I wish I could do the same. 

I kept my hands over her. 
She wagged her tiny tail-
Looked into my eyes.
And rested her head!
Yes, I got a friend…

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

I saw my anger speak!

When my words were confined,
And my thoughts suppressed,
And my fear being nurtured-
I saw my anger speak!

It spoke-
The words, no-one heard!
Drenching my lashes and heart!
My thoughts yelled-
And yet the silence remained!

Within me-
The agony stood-
Though no-one saw!
But, ssh!
I heard my tears!
As loud as they could be!
Roaring at the top of my mind!
And yet the silence remained!
My anger, like me!
Stood numb!
But, I saw my anger speak!

When my freedom of being myself-
A drop of hope!
Drying out on the concrete!
I saw my anger speak!
A thousand words of silence!
And a thousand phrases of pain!
And thousands of them!
Running silently again!

When I crawled to the corner!
My shadow-
Stood numb!
But, I saw my anger speak!
As silent as ever, it could be…

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel 'Hridayaninadini'


Sunday, June 11, 2017

A sculptor

Gently strikes his hammer-
And dusts off-
Coughs and clears his throat.
Some pieces of rock!
When his fate itself deludes!
Their fates, he assigns!
Some as angels!
Some as Gods!
Some shall remain as it!
Some shall not!
Beautifully, he crafts-
Each piece that shall be-
That faith to many!
Many shall bow on the knees
And beg for life!
And money!

As he walks through the lanes-
In between the crowds-
Noticed, he barely gets.
In his worn out rugs-
And his charred hands!
Holding an idol!
He sells-
This faith…
To which-

Many shall bow…again!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photo credit:

Monday, April 17, 2017

The cost of war?

How hard is it, to know- 
The cost of war?
When you have gallons of oils…
And piles of money at one end,
And a dying mother at another-
And we still chose the former,
As the latter, only gave us this life!

When you walk-
Walk amidst the fumes of grenades-
And you see an infant suckling-
Suckling a mutilated mother!
Dead and frozen!
Amongst her thousand dreams!
Buried under her breathless body!
That child will never know-
Who and what took away the warmth!
The warmth of love from him!
Those grenades?
Or, that thirst for power?
When thousand such mothers die-
Leaving behind the ugly truth and orphan dreams!
Knowing the cost of the war- is a tough choice!

And you walk,
Walk amidst the pool of blood-
Splashing your leather boots!
The same pool, where a soldier fell down-
Down, deep and dead!
Quaking his mother’s heart!
The heart that awaited!
Awaited on the threshold of their hamlet!
Awaited to see him return!
Return with a flag of glory-
Now lost in the void- of lost dreams…
When thousand such sons die!
Leaving behind their unfinished stories and love!
Knowing the cost of the war- is a tough choice!

When all those emotions-
Get destroyed for the hunger!
Hunger for power!
A father with his dead child-
Lovers buried under the rubble!
A kid who shall never babble again!
Well, the price- that no one can ever pay!
Still, we dare-
Dare not to stop the war!
We know that cost of war is something-
We fail to pay!
But still, what matter to us-
Are those piles of filthy papers!
So war must go on!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photo credits:

Thursday, April 6, 2017

A woman with a dandelion...

I saw a woman with a dandelion-

In my dream-

She was covered in dirt-

But her aura never concealed!

Forgotten, must be!

She blossomed every month!

That bud of life,

A canvas in her-

Painted in red…

And struck with the pain,

Vibrant, she walked still…

Shackled her legs, might be

But, her spirit?

Well, as free as, a dandelion!

Traversing all the odds of life-

Rested on her destiny-

The journey?

No men can feel!

Yes, I saw a woman with a dandelion-

In my dream!

Puffing the downy tufts!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"


Friday, January 20, 2017

The last flight...

They flew…
Swiftly, whirling together,
Their silhouettes-
Those slithering reflection on the vast sea!

She beheld-
Parking her dying soul,
On the old rugs of memories
She dusted her wings,
She once promised-
Of kissing those limitless horizons…
She beheld-
The fading sun,
The silent shores,
And those fallen flowers…
From behind the bar-less cage.
Something was missing in her,
Missing around her,
Deep in her, rested-
That fathomless void;
Shackling her spirit.

Those withered feathers,
Blame no wind-
Her cascading tears-
Shall meet that destiny!
For, she knew somewhere,
That hope shall bloom again-
From that abyss in her!
And she shall fly,
That day,

To that blank…

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photo credits: