Fallen leaves, yellowed. Hot winds blast during the day. Sweet Mangoes beckon.
Festival of Colours-Holi
Hues of fire on trees. Festival of hues on cheeks. Pristine moonlit night.
Wet stray on road, Searching for shelter from rain. Thunderclaps exhort.
An entry in Lockdown Dairy
Bare roads, sans human. Nature sets up symphony, With birds, bees and breeze.
The beautiful Taj Mahal-India
On Yamuna’s bank, Love’s monument pristine white; With the moonbeams vie.
Indian Winter nights
Winter nights- Sitting around a fire Waiting for the morn.
A cough, Cold air’s whiplash; Invites sufferers’ curse.
Long nights In a donated quilt. A homeless prays in sleep.
Goutam is passionate about poetry and writes whenever something or someone touches his heart. He lives in Kolkata, India and writes poetry in English, Hindi and Bengali. His book on English poetry “Hues of Life” (Notion Press) can be found at Amazon. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Goutam blogs at Straight from Heart.
Everyone agreed it was a pity The loss of a brilliant mind Most turned away in disgust At the way, the dribble dried on his chin He would groan, shrug, and dribble some more. There’s no way to truly lament The loss of anything Much is hidden from us That others do not wish us to see Life itself is a raffle Inevitably, you receive your number Until you inhale your last That’s not to say life is grim There are brilliant flashes of light Rainbow moments to remember…
ABOUT US: For those new to our website and blog, we would like to thank you for visiting. Between us, we write in several different genres, so there should be something for everyone to enjoy. Anita cannot abide computers, so I (Jaye) do all the technical (oily rag) stuff! Our books tend to be varied, from…
remnants of my dreams flit into my consciousness snippets of illusion co-mingling with the events of the day finding myself colliding into the past to produce an array of emotions feelings of being torn in different directions
where do I find comfort where is the wisdom where is the adventure
everywhere and in all things ...especially in dreams
Little Maddie could feel the sting on her skin, right below the bend of her arm. She cried so hard; it broke my heart as I watched her pull on the frilly lace of her sleeve. The wasp had pricked through on a recent scar—first, the trike accident, now this.
I scanned the list of numbers on the fridge and made the call to the doctor. He suggested a couple of tabs of Tylenol and to spread some anti-itch gel on the sting, making sure to remove the stinger first. Naturally, I managed to spill it all over my hands.