MY ROOTS

                           

                         My roots inspire me,
                    To keep growing upward,
                   Yet remain grounded all along, 
                            Bound fast to the mother earth.

                          That I gain strength enough, 
                      To withstand the changing seasons,
                         And be able to bear  boldly, 
                        The vagaries of unkind weather. 

                   They provide me with the succour,
                    Needed for growth and wellness,
                    Keep helping me to flourish,
                   Without seeking a return favour. 

                   I can never cease to belong them,
                      And can hardly exist  alone,
                  Am here because they support  me,
                Though remaining ever underground. 

WRITING

                                       




                                                  Writing makes me feel,
                                   Relieved of the undue stress,
                                  That hangs over me sometimes,
                                   Pushing my spirits downwards,


                                   It makes me feel lightweight,
                                   As if  freed from some burden,
                                   Making me free to think afresh,
                                 And regain my waning confidence.

                                  Writing rejuvenates my mind, 
                                  And lights up the memory store,
                                  As I search for appropriate words,
                                  To carry what I am keen to share. 

                                    It helps me build up a bridge,
                                   To connect with the outside world,
                                    Enabling me to share with others,
                                   What I  feel to be of some worth!

WRITING

A PIECE OF PAPER

•                                      I pour down my feelings,
•                                        Onto a piece of paper,
•                                       Which silently absorbs, 
•                                        Whatever I spill upon it.
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•                                      It asks me no questions,
•                                    As to why I'm upset or glad,
•                                    Nothing seems to bother it,
•                                     Whether I'm happy or sad. 
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•                                  I mind not its indifference,
•                                  As it's just a piece of paper,
•                                   And not a bosom friend,
•                                  Supposed to feel concerned.
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•                                   Yet I take this inanimate thing,
•                                     As my most trusted partner,
•                                  Who listens to me with patience,
•                                  Without ever being judgemental!
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LIFE .....

              Life would have been less complicated
                      If it were allowed to happen
                      As per a self scripted play
                      Scene after scene, act after act 
                And we had known what to do next 

           There would be no room for confusion
           No uncertainties, nothing undesirable
               All results known beforehand 
           And the ending be always perfect
            With every player duly rewarded!

     But if ever I were offered such a gift,

                        I may hardly be willing to accept it,                            For a life as smooth as that 

Will be lacking in reality,

           And the joys of natural living.           

                                                               

THE WORLD OF MY DREAMS

                                   
                                                       On the bank of a beautiful river,
                         There is a calm and  quiet hamlet,
                         Decked with little cute cottages,
                          And green grass on the ground.
                       

                       There are no imposing buildings,
                        No markets  with buzzing crowds,
                        No shining vehicles in the streets,
                        No aeroplanes crossing the skies.


                       The people here are simple, 
                      With very few needs and desires,
                       Believing in peaceful co-existence,
                     Which they practise in their behaviour.

                      They live in harmony with nature,
                        And respect it as their mother,
                        They live like one loving family,
                        With concern for one another.
   

Picture  - 
Flam Valley 
Norway

THERE ARE TIMES

                 
                                        There are times
                When everything goes against you
                            For reason unknown
                You feel bruised and broken
                    And existence becomes a burden 

              The whole world appears to be hostile
                 No hope or help comes to comfort 
               The darkness keeps on deepening 
                 And light seems out of sight 

               But it is often in these darkest moments
           That there suddenly appears from nowhere
                   A ray of light dispelling all despair
           Restoring your faith in the power of prayer!

A POEM

                          A poem is not a poem,
                 If it isn't born in the heart, 
                 And flows down from there,

                 Like a mountain river, 
                To bless everyone on the way.
                   

              It is hardly worth the name, 
              If it doesn't go deep down, 
              The heart of the reader, 
              And touch the softest spot, 
              To evoke the desired emotion. 

               It's not a living thing,
               If it breathes out not,
              Some of the lovely  feelings,

             Hidden in every human being,
            Love, empathy and compassion.

               And it isn't a poem at all,,
               If loaded with heavyweight words,

               And  highly  embellished phrases,
               Needs to be taught and explained,
               To make one feel entertained.