Earned a mention in fellow blogger's blog...Thanks to all my friends and Sailorpoet for reading and liking my poems...special thanks to two ladies--Meenakshi Di and Gina....
Sometimes some poem just makes you stop and push you in brown thought. This poem is one of such that made me halt to read few more time. A surprising poem by my dear blogger friend Cherry... Why relationships end cruelly, Why there has to be bitterness, Why lovers have to be strangers again, Why … Continue reading IT CAN’T HAPPEN AGAIN-CHERRY
M: A Story of Period is now featured on Friday Guest Author Post
curated by Pradita of The Pradita Chronicle…
Blog: Thoughts of Words
The great Indian society.
We speak in Hinglish or Benglish or a’thing else – whatever comes to your mind. We attire ourselves in Western outfit, we sing their songs as if they are sung by our artists, we dance to the hip-hop, Michael Jackson and all – Bharatnatyam is so old, so boring… Our favorite eating junctions are KFC, Subway, etcetera etcetera. We also like to talk in the Western colloquial – ‘yes man’ becomes ‘yoo maan’…
Where am I going with this babble and habble, eccentric talks? I’m going to talk about the treasured prejudice we hold as Indian. I’m going to talk about the ‘M’.
M = Menstruation
Shocked, I think…I can imagine…disgrace with me…I know…I know…you want to stop reading this, but first of all, you need to deny that Kamasutra had been written in India, by an Indian; you’ve to…
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My Guest Post at The Nostalgia Diaries…posted originally in my blog on occasion of the 14th February…read and share your feelings ’cause as always I like Review besides the Like…and please also visit the Nostalgia blog they’ll make you nostalgic I can guarantee on that…
This week’s Music Monday reader submission comes from Sangbad over atThoughts of Words. He’s a prolific poet and storyteller, and he crafted a lovely poem that heshared on his siteon Valentine’s Day. In his post, Sangbad describes his creation:
“When it comes to writing a story we follow the dialogue and scene format…there are many forms of a story like a flashback, epistolary, etc…but, they adhere to the defined format of dialogue and scene…why not write a story where there’ll be scene and songs…why not write a story in poem (written by self) and songs (listen to or written self)…
It’s Not Going To Be Today had been written when this idea struck me a few days before Valentine’s Day…the poems are written by me while the songs are the songs I listen to (few of them are my favorite)…hope you’ll enjoy this my approach telling a…
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Written by a beautiful talented young lady…can’t resist to re-blog this…
A paroxysm to sire.
A wanderlust, a desire.
Soledad, I come home.
Wish for a glass of Merlot
and dream ofRome
Following my mind,
you pull me close
‘Leave behind the mires’,
you urge me so.
In the dark of theroom,
you lead me on.
Tease me, seduce me,
on the desk, then the porch.
In the scintillating darkness,
I pin you to the sheets.
Ink you with passion,
watch you wriggle and writhe.
In the gentle tweaking
of my fingers,
I see you twist and curl.
As minutesbecome hours,
you bleed in my colours.
The fierce and the fragile
unleash every emotion.
As night approaches dawn,
divinely, both are undone.
Breathless but relaxed,
yearning yet satisfied,
a thing of sheer beauty yourself,
And oh, just howI’m fully alive!
A beautiful Love Poem…
Forget me not
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Three short poems.
Forget me not
She told me, flattery will get you everything.
Please make me feel loved and wonderful.
I need someone, to be their, everything.
Even if just sweet lies dear Poet.
I remember the long Summer days and us stealing kisses and dancing near the lake.
You were my elixir of the sweet new Germany September wine.
Your kind words of love torn away years of misery and regret.
You told me often. Lover’s love and they demand more in the midnight hour.
Forget me not my love , she whispered.
The canvas of life is for us to create.
We can paint with a gentle touch or conspire to leave broken pieces of art,
where love can be dead and bury.
Blood art leave final resting place or love descended to glorious places.
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After watching last night POW episode I was thinking how to express why it is one of the best episode, according to me, of the series…then I recollect this poem of mine posted on 26th January as my ode to the Army (not only to Indian) on Republic Day…so felt reblogging this…
The young Captain stands straight, his head held high,–
As enemy marched forward in rapid fast way towards the camp of his company.
He gave the war cry “Bharat Mata ki jai“; the small troupe of forty joined in unison–
Sending chill down the spine in many of the enemy infantry–double of its number.
They hurled like wild lions, kept in captive for long, and released to hunt.
They progress like a regained power waterfall in monsoon, washing away–
The enemy infantry like a log get washed away in the strong current–
Of a fall down the river.
Breaking out of a war was stopped in one evening followed by the night–
As they fought to keep the Tiranga fly high on the peak.
As the SAFFRON sun bid the night and welcome the new day,
Country was safe, was in peace, was enjoying the tranquility;
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