The Party

Yes, there’s a party tonight!
And ….yes, you’re not invited!
Yes, there’ll be music and lights,
And conversations over wine.

For tonight, I will host
A special group of guests –
These are the ghosts
From my past, of myself!

To the child that was me,
I’d ask her to play more,
And to not so much worry
About grades and scores.

To my teenage self,
I’d tell her to laugh more,
And not really fret
Over the norms of the world.

To the young lady I was,
I’d tell her to love more,
And to take a pause
When it was needed most.

To me, in my middle age,
I’d tell her to spend more time
On things that mattered to her,
And she would just be fine.

Then, we’d all dance together
Having the time of our lives.
With no one to interfere or bother
Us till the wee morning light.

And I’d wave them all goodbye
As they’d travel through the ages
Leaving a feeling of peace behind
And the gift of self-compassion.

Hope

As the clock strikes three,
In the darkness of the night,
A frightful nightmare steals
Into my pair of sleepy eyes.

I’m walking in the forest
Stalked by animals wild.
Fear rises as they chase,
But I can’t run though I try.

And yet, against every odd,
I’m pushed into wakefulness,
And returned to this world
With a feeling of hopefulness.

Yes, hope is that brave knight
Who rides into all nightmares
Fighting valiantly against fright,
And rescuing people from scares.

And there is no well or storm
That can hinder his mission.
Be it a deep ocean or dark barn,
He defeats all ghastly villains.

And so, I go to bed each night
Unsure of what I may dream,
Yet, hoping to see the dawn’s light
Through the shivers and screams.

From My Dreams

A quaint little cottage on the hillside
With a warm fire burning in the hearth,
And a little window to peer outside.

A cozy rocking chair with a soft quilt,
And a mug of freshly brewed coffee
Placed on a small wooden side table.

A book about magic, fairies, and elves,
A carpet of verdant green in the vale,
The yonder hills wearing a misty veil.

And, me, curled up in that cozy chair
With no deadlines to chase that day,
Just taking in the fresh mountain air.

Sipping the hot coffee from the mug,
Reading, from the book, a happy tale
With my feet on a plush, woolly rug.

This is the place I visit when I sleep,
A place that’s warm, like your embrace,
This beautiful place is from my dreams.

A Wish for You

If there was one wish
That I could wish for you,

It would be for you to see the moon
As not just a rock, lifeless and cold,
But smiling with the light of love at you.

To hear the wind in the trees
As not just a rustling,
But playing a melodious symphony.

To see flowers in the meadow
As not just a splash of colors,
But saying hello as they bob to and fro.

To see the grass in the fields
As not just a scattering,
But doing the flamenco in the breeze.

To hear the birds chirp away
As not just a cacophony,
But singing all they want to say.

To not look at things just as they are,
But find a deeper meaning in them,
So that the awed child in your heart
Connects to all that Nature brings.

Whispers of a Forgotten Time

A forgotten scrapbook –
Of memories
Suddenly popped up in a nook
As I cleaned up the attic.

I sat down and flipped through it.
The pages were yellowish and worn,
And soon, I was transported
To a time long lost and gone.

Colorful stickers of fairies
From a time when magic existed;
Me and my friends wearing wide smiles
Posing in photos that were pasted.

Sketches of flowers and butterflies,
Oodles and oodles of doodles,
The Sun crayoned in the blue skies,
And streams meandering like noodles.

Yes, those were the days, indeed,
When dolls made of candy wrappings
And purses made of mango tree leaves
Brought me immense happiness.

With each page, I walked
Slowly down memory lane,
When deep within, I heard a whisper
Like someone speaking from far away.

“The joy you seek day after day
Is not in the things you chase,
But, inside you, it has always lain,
Waiting to be found from its hiding place.

There is no perfect place or time
For you to decide to be happy.
The phase you thought you’d left behind
Is a map for creating more memories.”

And this was what the voice spoke
As I sat with my scrapbook in the attic.
Enlightened, I was, as I arose
With a song on my lips and a beat in my step.

The Strength of a Promise

The night was shrouded in pitch black darkness.
Even the moon lay hidden under the cloudy blankets.
As, on one side of the steep and craggy mountain,
A small platoon of armed soldiers steadily ascended.

The post near the mountain pass lay ahead,
And from the infiltrators, it needed to be protected.
The soldiers advanced under the cover of camouflage,
And they battled the elements with each and every step.

As they neared the post, all hell broke loose.
Bullets zipped in the darkness towards the troops.
In return, they took aim and shot back at the enemy.
With courage, bravery, and strength, they retaliated forcefully.

They bothered not whether they were shot or bled.
The only way was forward, and that’s how they stepped.
Like a pride of lions, they roared and charged,
And with their might, they tore the enemy apart.

The rising Sun at dawn saw their flag fluttering high.
The post was safe, and the infiltrators slain at night.
The newspapers were flooded with the good news,
And, the leaders awarded prestigious medals to the troops.

And, when asked about the experience, all that they said
Was that it was possible due to the promise they’d made
The promise, to safeguard and protect their motherland,
Was stronger than the enemy and the highest mountains.

The Dawn’s Awake

Every dawn sings a brand new song –
A song full of hope and awakening.
The night is a memory long gone!

The birds flit, and they chirp along
As they welcome the rosy morning.
Every dawn sings a brand new song.

The Sun spreads a light so strong;
Darkness retreats with a hastening.
The night is a memory long gone!

The day is a chance to right the wrong.
As opportunities abound for the taking,
Every dawn sings a brand new song.

To this first light, let your soul belong.
Let it rejoice in the promise, unwavering.
The night is a memory long gone!

The shadows of Sorrow seem so long!
Let in the light, and see them weakening!
Every dawn sings a brand new song.
The night is a memory long gone!

PS: This poem is a Villanelle.

A Secret Carved in Stone

Circa 500 BC.
It was his secret.
She was his secret,
That, in his heart, he hid.

He’d spend the mornings
Gazing at the skies
All the time, imagining
Her in the clouds passing by.

At night, he’d look for her
In the twinkling stars.
They were like her eyes
That beckoned him from afar.

At times, he sat by the river
And, in the sand, drew her silhouette –
The curves that defined her,
Her rose-petal like lips,

Her slender neck,
And her voluptuous body.
Yes, he was addicted
To someone imaginary.

Then, one day, he wished.
Wished she was alive.
So, with a stone and chisel,
He started bringing her to life.

He toiled for days
In a secluded place.
Creating her delicate features,
He etched her beauty and grace.

And it was his secret for life.
She was his secret.
He hid her from all the prying eyes
And never let anyone in on it.

The year is 2025 AD.
The archeologist was excited.
His team had just unearthed
A stone statue at the digging site.

A beauty beyond compare,
Carved with exquisite detail
From the strands of her hair
To her feet adorned with anklets.

With all the dirt cleaned,
She looked radiant.
It was his greatest finding –
A feminine form in stone so brilliant.

Soon, she was in a glass display
In the “Civilization” section
In the Museum of Art and History
Labeled “Goddess in Stone – Ancient.”

The Three Brothers

Once upon a long time ago,
In a village far, far away,
There lived three brothers –
Needy, Greedy, and Wisey.

One day, as they walked
In a forest deep and dark,
They found a dusty lamp,
And, then, a genie appeared.

“O Masters!” Said the genie.
“Your will is my command!
To all of you three wishes
With my magic, I can grant.”

Needy was the first to go.
He wished to be wealthy.
So, anything he would touch
Should turn to gold instantly.

“So be it!” Boomed the genie.
And Needy’s wish came true.
He clapped his hands excitedly
And… became a golden statue!

Now, Greedy said he’d go next
He wanted the ultimate power.
So, he wished to be like a wizard
Who would wall up tomorrow.

“So be it!” The genie spoke,
And Greedy’s wish he fulfilled.
He turned him into an ugly toad
And cast him in a deep well.

Now, Wisey observed all this
And realized the turn was his.
He used the third wish to release
His brothers from their curses.

“So be it!” The genie roared,
And he granted Wisey’s wish.
He and the lamp then vanished
In the darkness of the forest.

The brothers were reunited!
It was like they’d been reborn!
They praised and thanked Wisey
For his selfless act of wisdom.

As this story ends, my friends,
I hope you, too, can decide –
When Life grants you anything,
It always helps to be wise.

A Love Story

Theirs was a match made in Heaven
… And on Earth.
Her effervescence
Perfectly complemented his calmness.

Love was but natural,
As deep as the still waters of a lake in the morning.
It was more than just physical.
It existed in everything.

She loved flowers.
He loved watching her braid them in her hair.
He loved his morning coffee and newspaper.
She loved hearing his views on making the world better.

She’d laugh like a gurgling river.
He loved it when she did.
He’d hum songs from the yesteryears.
She loved it when he did.

Even their moments of disagreement
Deepened their affection,
Like a special condiment
That added a flavor to their connection.

They were the kind of lovers
Who actually lived their wedding vows.
Each year saw them together.
Each year saw their love grow.

But, then, there came a wretched phase
When an ill wind did blow.
It took her away in its grasp
Leaving him pining and alone.

Now, in the autumn of his life,
He yearns to be by her side.
At times, a tear rolls down his eyes
As he searches for her footprints in the void.

The Language of Love

Golden sunflowers
Turn toward the skies at dawn.
If this isn’t love, what is?

Raindrops from clouds
Kiss the earth as they fall down.
If this isn’t love, what is?

White-crested oceans
Embrace rivers with open arms.
If this isn’t love, what is?

Silent Summer zephyrs
Carry with them sweet birdsongs.
If this isn’t love, what is?

Leaves in Autumn
Relinquish their space to new ones.
If this isn’t love, what is?

Silvery moonbeams
Shine their light on everything.
If this isn’t love, what is?

It would seem that love
Converses not in sentences or words.

It is the language of the heart and soul,
And to be fluent, one only needs to love in return.

The Edge of the Unknown

The edge of the unknown
Is a mythical milestone.

A toddler standing for the first time
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till he takes the first step.

A woman who is pregnant
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till she holds her child in her hands.

A girl getting married
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till she becomes a part of her new family.

A child going to school
Is at the edge of the unknown
Till he reads the first letter in his book.

Every hour, every minute, every second
Leads us to the edge of the unknown.

But it’s the decision to take that first step
That enlightens the mind with knowledge.

And the edge of the unknown
Disappears with the expanding horizon.