On Writing Poems

Poems are but feelings, emotions, Experiences If you are ever thoughtful and imaginative, Sentimental and sensitive, Want to put down on paper With what to write and what not, You have the substance of becoming a poet, But forget it not write and write Your feelings, emotions, Images and pictures, dreams and desires Lest they my run out Unless and until catch you them. The hamlets dotted against the hills, The dark daughters smiling, Innocent boys playing in dust and sands On the village ways, Vilalgerly hunger and poverty against The backdrop of the sun-burnt earth of the summer, No respite from the burning, scorching sun, The parching cracked earth, Dry leaves swirling with the wind, Cattle returning home at midday. The landscapes solitary and manless, The hilly brook murmuring, Chattering and flowing down, The woodlands full of new sprouting leaves Telling of the departure of spring, The clouds to hang by and burst After the reddish clusters of gulmohars Blossom and scatter away, The clouds will hang over the hills And the rains will drop and fall To add to greenery spread it all around. Festive seasons will start with Lord Biswakarma, The coming of Bhagabati, Devi Durga, ten-armed goddess In splendor and chivalry Seated over a lion And with the lance into the chest of Demon Mahishasura Emerging out of a buffalo, Kali worship, Lakshmi worship To Ganesha, Kartikeya worships. Heralding the winter, light winter, Chilly winter full of cold waves, Shivering cold, clad in blanket And woolen clothes One going under the misty nights To sit by fire and to warm the body To be overtaken by spring Full with flowers into the basket To add to glee and joviality.