A Collection of Poems That Speak to the Heart
You are my little princess,
Who strengthens my crippled mind,
And banishes my miserable plight,
Envisioning my inner light.
You empower my diminished soul,
Bringing fortune in nocturnal roles.
You too bring me ecstasy,
Restoring my lost energy.
Your texts bring emotional delight,
And strengthen our bond each night.
You ensure my deep, calm slumber,
Healing my soul, my every number.
Beholding you in midnight thoughts,
Cementing all the love we’ve brought.
You, who represent the divine angel’s grace,
Send me peace through time and space.
Witnessing your gleaming eyes,
And your perseverance that never dies,
I’ve regained my clairvoyant sight,
In every moment, in purest light.
Mistakes That I’m Proud Of
Each one is a stepping stone, ever
Up and down the floor:
You never know what comes back strong,
The wings above, the faraway core.
One fall-one crack,
One smash, a sudden sword!
A tear from the smiles,
A fire from the eyes.
They say out loud,
“Your burning body has no life,
But only the lies you’ve swallowed.”
Not worry, just sorry
For the unknown sin, forgiven!
For the Good Lord above sees the heart
Within the learning-soul!
Accused Tears
Dear tear, at times
You showed your pride.
You never took lying down
But drew sub-orbital lines.
Are you a coward
To flee time after time,
As if being frightful
When there are strives?
Once, my little daughter
Got hurt and cried.
Lapping her cheeks and face,
You gave a lovely shine,
Because you are always
Akin to our lives.
Be born and reborn more and more-
It is your right.
Beside the cuddle-ups and passion
At hugger-mugger nights
Of a whore’s laughless life
That earned notes and coins,
For those secrets
That took place in front of your eyes,
Did you put a semicolon
Or full stop for a while,
When she is laden with
Fears and griefs of all kinds?
It doesn’t matter to me-
For you, I would never cry.
All my cumbersomes
I’ll tell to a poem without lying.
Even at a forlorn state
I would fortify my mind,
Just to prove the proof
Of your existence all the time.
Because most of the days
I am not ahead of my time.
If I suicided myself,
Fed up with life,
Would you convince your alibis
You were not at that terror-stricken site?
Whether your answer
Yes or not, I don’t mind.
The Mystery of Nuwara Eliya Night
Long ago I worked in a bank,
At BMICH where the crowds were rank.
Behind a desk with coupons free,
I shared them all with joyful glee.
An elderly man, and a woman too,
Arrived together, though strangers new.
They handed tickets with hopeful eyes,
And won a most surprising prize.
A trip upcountry, grand and rare,
To Nuwara Eliya’s mountain air.
One full day with all bills paid,
A holiday gift so neatly made.
A month went by, she came once more,
Her smile was brighter than before.
“The meals were fine, the room was neat,
The mountain breeze was cool and sweet.
But still,” she laughed, “I wonder how-
This question lingers with me now:
The trip was grand, the views a delight…
But who was that man who snored all night?”
Sumud Flotilla Must Not Sail Alone
Across the seas the Sumud sails,
With bread, with hope, with healing tales.
Its cargo-life for Gaza’s child,
Whose dreams are crushed, whose cries run wild.
The crime they face? To break a chain,
Of siege enforced through death and pain.
Yet warships lurk, and drones may fly,
To drown their mercy, hush their cry.
Shall nations watch with folded hands,
While genocide consumes the lands?
Shall silence cloak the world in shame,
And complicity bear its name?
O UN-rise, fulfil your vow,
The hour of courage must be now.
Send peace to shield these sails of grace,
Let justice shine on Gaza’s face.
Boycott the tyrant, divest with speed,
Close every base that arms the greed.
Recall ambassadors, break the ties,
That fuel oppression, that feed the lies.
No “two-state” mirage, no fleeting dream,
But one free Palestine-clear, supreme.
Let nations sever, hand in hand,
Till freedom blooms across the land.
These steps are few, yet just, yet true,
The least the world must dare to do.
No time for words, no empty vow,
The time for global will is now.
Memory at the Book Fair
Last week I wandered, silent, alone,
Through aisles of stories, yet none my own.
The crowd was vast, their laughter loud,
But loneliness followed me through the crowd.
Children in clusters, voices so bright,
Chattered and giggled, hearts full of light.
I watched from afar, a shadowed place,
Longing for warmth, a familiar face.
I stood in the queue, my book held tight,
When a boy before me met quiet plight.
His coins fell short, his gaze turned down,
A tremble of sorrow his youth couldn’t drown.
Then from the throng, like a fleeting song,
A girl appeared, her spirit strong.
She placed her coin with a gentle cheer,
A kindness rare, yet achingly dear.
And as they smiled, their worlds entwined,
A tear welled quietly within my mind.
For in their moment, so pure, so true,
I felt the ache of what I once knew.
