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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The Peace Poem – Part 1

"Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” - Mother Teresa.

The dawn spells a quiet November morning,
A Child breathes life’s precious earning...
The light shines to enrich the crowning,
A Mother satisfies her aching yearning...

The damped clouds weep as the rain falls,
His hand waves to God’s blessed call...
Heaven’s Violin rhymes on furnished walls,
The milking Mother looks past her labour small...

A sky is where the birds flew,
A Father’s forehead is the Child’s blessed rue...
The rain still weeps outside as the wind blew,
A White Dove sings for peace to come true...

With Bismillah and Jesus to redeem,
A *Diya smiles to God...
The moon sings to the night’s eye beam,
Outside is Satan’s mausoleum eating peace’s rhyming chord...

The clouds cry as the sky dies,
His Mother smiles as his Father tries...
A tree outside with honey flies,
The fire outside cook’s greed the wicked rice...

His eyes wait for hers,
He waits for her in return...
The Father sings to a bed’s rehearse,
Hunger gives his stomach a burn...

He looks outside the window,
The Church Bells thus rings...
A Mosque is God’s beautiful pillow,
Blessed Hanukkah is where his breath sings...

The Winter Poet’s Note – This poem is dedicated to World Peace. Religion never divides, it unites.
Ave Maria.

*Diya - A small cup-shaped oil lamp made of baked clay.

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The Sample Shoes

Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty. - Mother Teresa.

Pickles in a pickled jar,

A song sung to a star!

His eyes breathe to the sky’s par,

Birds thus sing afar...

The wind sings song a bell,

Dreams are his cloud’s waiting tell.

A coin talks to him from a wishing well,

On a road is where the rain thus fell...

Fingernails are agony’s weep,

He writes a poem in his sleep.

The street cries to a song that’s deep,

Freedom speaks to him indeed...

The moon and her treaty,

Asleep is the bed of a needy.

A tree lofts the root neatly,

The wind speaks to him all greedy...

His eyes leave behind a footprint,

The street lamp smiles a tint.

Silver’s where no gold’s a mint,

His hair in a lonely sprint...

His yarn sings to a pillow yearn,

His feet cried to a waking burn...

Heaven reads as his nails learn,

A toe smiles in return!

All that’s gold is not wheat,

Waves can make agony complete!

Birds thus find their fleet,

Hence sang the sky to the shoring greet...

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