A Note to Her

A Girl, A Woman is as equal as to a Boy or a Man.  They are very strong proven in every aspect. It’s sad to see them forced to make believe they are a weakling in the society we live in. It’s in the equal spirit that is a Blessing she smiles and stays strong even when things go bad or in state of mental hurting. She has the spirit to give life with destiny carried in her womb for a Blessed 9 months and give breath to a new life with a smile and Sacrament Love.

She can make it though all dreams to come true to become a spirited Astronaut, a Mother to spread the word of peace, a Sister to smile and speak of peace for her wrong doers and all who are have and will always be an inspiration to me.

‘The path from dreams to success does exist. May you have the vision to find it, the courage to get on to it, and the perseverance to follow it. Wishing you a great journey.’ – Kalpana Chawla

‘It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing. It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving.’ - Mother Teresa

‘There are two powers in the world; one is the sword and the other is the pen. There is a third power stronger than both, that of women.’ – Malala Yousafzai

She has the right to do the same equal things and it’s sad to see cases of death due to dowry or some monetary scrap need. A Girl, A Woman and Her Spirit can be bought or sold only with Love and Peace and not Dowry.

Her

This poem is dedicated to Asifa and for all victims of harassment and abuse. For World Peace.  Ave Maria.

A quiet empty street,

Her precious breath’s a song...

The pigeon finds Heaven’s fleet,

Her orchestral eyes rhyme along....

Her eyes are a sacrament blessing,

She smiles precious to the sky....

A star is the moon’s kissing,

Her eyes sleep in a porcelain cry...

Waiting for the moon to smile,

She looks up to the sleeping star...

The street lamps lights paint a mile,

A chime to rhyme Heaven a par...

Her Breath is a Choir Note,

Dreams breathe in a silent register...

A gale rhymes a poem float,

She sings in a Heaven’s Melodic whisper...

Birth

This Poem is dedicated to my Precious Sweet Mother (I'm sorry for the anger, I was immature. The person that I am today is what You and Papa have sprouted precious. The talent and the poetry that I am Blessed with today is from you, Ma! I Love You Plenty, I Miss You ), My Best Friend  Kavitha (I Miss You a Lot) and my Sweetest Aunt Premila Gupta. I Love You.  God Bless Your Soul Plenty in Heaven. 
My Superman – Papa who is life and the Breath to me! 
Ave Maria!

Eyes named by an innocent sky,
Fragile hands sing to the wind’s Blessed rhyme....
Exemplary is her eyes to the new born cry,
She looks down at her precious handsome shine...

The sickness eats her plenty,
She weeps to the night in seconds...
Hope in expectation’s box spelled empty,
She smiles as God’s Choir plays Heaven’s beautiful record...

The sickness eats her knee,
She cries inside a heart for aching to be free...
Superman* comes smiling with Ghee*,
An Angel’s milk uproots Heaven’s gracious seed...

Her knees weep to the pain’s weeping death,
Hope is thus painted with her precious colour in bed....
Superman pens a poem naming the cotton forehead,
 Her pain’s thus subdued to Sacrament Bread...

Her eyes hurt with pained illness,
A cloud writes a note to a wishing well...
Pigeons weep to the saddened stillness,
 Superman breathes to her eyes’ aching swell...

Heaven’s choir comes to a subtle roaring,
Life writes to itself a Father’s story...
The rain sings her precious pouring,
Blessed Mother thus sings the Lord’s name plenty in Glory...

*Superman – Father
*Ghee - Clarified butter made from the milk of a buffalo or cow, used in Indian cooking.

The Rain and Hope Poem

Blessed rain drop,

How precious ‘areth thee?

The cloud enriched in Heaven’s crop,

Hiding is the moon for her stars crying to be free...

The Rain’s a sky painting,

She sings a song to the cloud...

A kite weeps on a sting thus aching,

Heaven’s choir chimes aloud...

A purple polished wind,

Asleep is the lonely sand...

A wager payer a hand’s stipend,

The Rosary chimes pleasant ‘neath her hand...

Plenty are the eyes that look up,

A pigeon recites the Lord’s pathway...

The sky is Heaven’s blue syrup,

To the left is the Blessed children’s parkway...

The ice cream sings to him,

A wafer dissolves to the milk’s up bring...

A boiled egg speaks to the loaf slim,

Rhyming outside is the Blessed Mother with Miracle Wings... 

The Winter Sea Poem

The windmill sings to the sky,

She writes a poem...

Water to a shore’s imply,

Sands with footprints that roam...

Amazing is a pained line of shores,

The boat stipends an oar...

People smile as a kite roars,

Alas wept the rain as the cloud thus tore...

He runs for shade,

A road where cream was made...

The ice sinks to a fruited shade,

A tree dismembers her leafy fray...

The traffic is out fishing,

A coin looks up its wishing well...

His feet sings to the earth’s kissing,

A cat sings to her brittle bell...

The street is a walking road furnished,

A Stone bench reads itself a book...

Painted winds are not replenished,

A loaf of bread is the butter’s cook...

A Rosary sings to her bead,

His fingers give in to the shiver...

The sidewalk plants a seed,

A nightingale sings to an apple’s liver...

The rich play with greedy dice,

A poor woman begs for rice...

Her little child pays the price,

The street lamp speaks to her twice...

She sells no shells on a sliver shore,

The chicken smiles to the butter pour...

A purple dress to the moon she wore,

The fish attends to his allergy sour!  

The Mid-Winter Night’s Dream

A train of clouds subdue,
The pillow is biting bread...
Drops of rain speak to each in feud,
The walls speak to itself in a silent thread... 

Sleeping bread in a wooden jar,
The moon looks afar...
A knitting cloud weeps a par,
A lonely breath is a crying star...

He waits for her,
The moon still waits a grim...
Eyes pained in spur,
A pale candle sings to the rim...

The crying star spells the rain,
Her eye paints his brain...
The moon wept in her terrain,
None is lost when all's to gain...

Sleeping despair in a painting,
A curtain writes a book in lazing...
Crying are grey roses in wedded plating,
The weeping sky in a purple slating...

The mist thus stitched the winter rim,
A photograph nails a porcelain dart...
Empty is the leaf on a tree that’s grim,
A snail therefore crawl its art...

Asleep are doves in craving,
A tulip finds her root,
Swollen cobwebs in Satan’s painting,
Blessed Mary crushed his pupils with a boot.... 

The No Hand Peace Stroke

‘Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by Understanding.' 

-        Albert Einstein

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