The Gulmohar Marg

When I traverse

This lane of lushness…

Under this shed of shadow…

Every evening…

I behold,

This gush of rare breeze-

And the petals that plunge-

Of the Gulmohar bloom-

On this tarred road…

As I stroll-

Through this tunnel of trees!

The blur shade of couples

In the distant-

Walking, too…

I speculate not-

The ruthless air-

And,

Improbable chance-

Like the gush of breeze

And the blush of petals!

Must be unleashing

Their souls!

This shed-

Must have witnessed

The generation of us-

Roaming underneath

Hopeless thoughts,

Occupied solitude-

And failed attempts…

Their sad shadows-

Must have touched-

The boughs of the Gulmohar-

I less wonder…

“Off for the walk?”

A friend of mine yells-

The clatter of that cycle-

“Yes, I am done for the day”

I whisper-

The Gulmohar Marg

On the backdrop…

I less wonder, again-

About this wonder!

I progress…

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

To the walkway- The Gulmohar Marg

of IISc.

6:10pm-13th June,2014

MRDG

Photocredits:https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQUHYAksmqnwP59ph1DU75FqAAs2Dz1gfUJQdYklbSPdfVqAwUBOu2D37Oz5ndBSbAH2erH059-8iPSoQ5cuKzKNJS5-WBqVEuIUsz87XBFAHUiglPwt-xY2BtTppPN-gS5n_dZu4nnL0/s1600/gulmohar_walk.JPG

http://thumbs.imagekind.com/2360693_650/Royal-Poinciana-Tree-Painting.jpg?v=1390564800

Apology

Sleepless, I called…

to,

That dozen of sombre nights,

When I found myself-

Lost-

In the loneliness, in that crowd!

In the darkness, under those lights!

I searched for the verses

That I lost-

And the rhyme

That hates me now!

With the words-of-meaningless worth!

To find that poetry-

In the flow of the river-

That shall never end!

On the street of homeless hopes

Where lays the dreamless eyes…

And in the cries of destitute-

Those passed by!

I paid no attention to them,

I blame this pensiveness,

In me!

For it was-

When I was caught in-

The bewilderment…

Of the stars that twinkled

On the reflection of that sky...

Yon, on the sea!

And I pretended-

As if,

I was not deluded!

They hate me, now

The rhymes in me-

For the verses, I wrote-

Never stopped the flow so deep

Gave no dreams to that homeless chap,

And I still can heed those cries…

I wrote for the mortals-

For their filthy praise and claps!

I consoled my poetry,

As it gently pushed me away,

The disgust in that doggerel,

It left me-

In this space with no cohort…

Still, I stood accompanied-

In the throngs of thoughts and me!

I promise,

For one day I shall write-

The verse that-

Shall bring down the lethal conceit

With the words of delight-

I fear not breaking the pen-

If the wrong path, it follows

Through that dreary lane-

And to something that’s hollow-

I promise,

For one day I shall write-

Rhyme that shall opt-

The rhythm of rhyme-

And the verse that shall hold-

The tempo of time!

If you see,

That poetry-

passing by...

Through the worn-out curtains of that window,

Through the shadow of that broken lantern,

And the fences, the lovers hold-

Do not forget to convey-

My words-

“I am still waiting

On the street of homeless hopes”

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

I miss the monsoon...

Credits:

http://www.gandynet.com/art//Masters/RyanBrown/images/600/TheLonelinessOfWaiting40x70.jpg

...With Mother

I said:

“The World?
(…Especially the people in it?)

Oh, you want me to

Talk about them!?”

I explained:

“Behold,

They thought that they detached us!

By cutting that cord!

But they never realized that

I am attached to you still!

I was

And I will…”

I regret:

“When I think about the people,

And this world!

Wherever you are Mom!

I feel jealous about you!”

 Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photocredits: 
http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/c1/74/c7/c174c728b688109f88a6397ef7ac9169.jpg
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxAQtYSGTbpaoX9G5x95h4ob7G3IvL3fp0roZdMYvMWdCwimlfZfYzJm9HcCWQFa8WXYBmAlP8r3BMSo4ujooeVabki_dzK4ZnCOntuuTyVbzUgTflJJhUCw_rI-mxTh_OwSM9RKp-dQ/s640/Sanjela-grphx--art--baby--painting--mother_large.jpg

“And many of “that” lures…”

That bell rings,

And he opens that door,

And that newspaper flips…

And many of “that” lures…

That mansion of money…

Of that dirty game, he won!

In that crowd of news!

He walks- that alone…

He read his “name”

In that bold!

That leader, he must be!

And that nation to hold!

He seldom walks on that road!

Where that hamlet has a leaking roof!

And seldom touch that kid-

Without that bloody caste-proof!

That millions of money,

Of those sweats of deprived, in that wallet!

And those filthy hands, that store,

Can buy no contentment, I bet!

Still, he claims that!

He must be that leader of the poor!

That he never knew-

That the poor have a “wooden door”!

Under that skin of ‘fairness’,

Floats that blood of unjust!

Of those thousand tears, he slept on!

And that he can’t pay the cost!

Of that fame, that shall die…

And that laughter for others’ pain!

We vote against- that leader!

Who lead for that personal gain!

And again, that bell rings,

And he opens that door,

And that newspaper flips…

And many of “that” lures…

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel “Hridayaninadini”

Center for Ecological Sciences,

IISc

Review:

I write this satirical poem for the leader who uses the politics for their personal benefits. The word “that” has been used frequently to show and stress the satire!

Photocredits: http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef0147e37204ac970b-pi