Writers' Choice

She came to me with dreams in eyes A promise she held so as to surmise Her presence in class had her to cause Memory and matter in sweet applause. She carried herself ; Time’s sweet chance In open breath when seen askance Talked she well, with friends so few or compete with them In programmes anew. The love she bore to studies and aught Fared her well, laurels she brought Topped in class, she taxed her brain  Time she spent, in revision refrain. She gathered herself more often than not In the midst of crowds Practicals’ brought Even she starred when ‘tests’ were due Her mind in place confidence imbued. She presents to me a picture of time When love’s sweet bells in memories’ chime She owes to me ‘a lot’ she says If I am the Sun, she is my rays

Writing is easy Writing is fun You write things Under the sun. Morning's charisma, treasured drops, gilly danda, Durgapur Rocks! Football badminton in Pepsi's sway Try out cricket on the keypad way. Language no bar when minutes don't count You are the master,doing the rounds Pouring comments can be Indian rain                      Erratic ecstasy tickling your brain. You may find some meanings prop from nowhere near or as you thought. Books and knowledge long past swim                             to the conscious terrain filled to the brim. Write what you think and think as much To carry forth treasures to the Poles and Dutch Love to write and write what you love For love is the message and Writing,the dove.....

Cutting across ages in minutes hence I wrote down my mind in spirit tense Of what seemed to me a life that ought could make me a singer or poet of sorts----- Childlike me in childhood days could well be different in newer ways and fair as make me lessons taught                                           that minute measures in times have brought.    A longing to start anew afresh letters of insanity in phrases race To regain the life and it's drops of dew Cocktailed and flavored and matters few Might land me in Saturn or Sachin's team   or Bacchan's garden or Hussain's dream.. However------ Savour as much the knowledge I got from books and friends and breaths that fought to shape alike the like of me Vicissitudes apart,in moments free---                               ...

The volatile pressures of polity and justice Concoct to affect the sentimental trauma. Human goodness stoop to inhuman gestures. Motivation and health planets try to orbit                                       The mental debris yet to be cleared What are they playing with?- Mind? Money?                                                         The surrealist world paints a picture Of destitute Hope breathing for fresh air. 'Of God and Men' can be titles of books                                               By writers awake and aware to humiliation and injustice that berate the religious scripts.           ...

At 4 in the morning: Sleep waved me a bidding good bye Leaving trails of sweetness that lie. Glimpses of treasure that stocks might price Ilusion and grace are memories’ dice. Masses and escorts in waiting I see Of a greater something that as well might be                 A star maybe, I knew, not I, And waited for seconds and minutes to fly. When presently mids’t heads, I chanced upon A face so calm with a look forlorn Oh no! I hear me think aloud,                                             While He kepts gazing in a haze that shroud. The smiling eyes that His color brought Was the very face which I’d often sought. He walked in the direct I was, I guess Opposite Him, straight, face- to- face. Lost I looked, when the colour bright Caught me unawares in His pleasant light. I moved abrisk in the direction aside That...