Birds lost to the new weather

Colours washed from their feathers

Climate changed on the blue planet

Birds lost their game, trap for them is set.

Birds saw the horizon blur

A crimson Sun fade ,disappear

With a bird’s eyeview, they saw the land smoulder

No more walls to hit their heads harder

.More ducks made it to the vast sky

Earth and ponds nolonger safe, sang a spy

The ostrich buried his head deep

Loud explosions had deprived him of sleep

Parrots felt very odd, being so green

There were no treetops to be seen

Doves flew away in search of peace

Peacocks danced, tears not to cease

.Birds sensed the hour had come

The earth now a place fearsome

They flew around east and west

In a while flew off, forgetting their nest.


Waking up to the call

Of a new day, new world

Music of the wind and waves

On a shiny new shore

Below a new sky, new light

Waiting is the new life

Longing to laugh aloud.

Unrealistic are dreams

Wild imaginations

Raises hallucinations

Today miserably alone

On an orange printed water bed

None of those acrid medicines

No more the scent of cleansing lotion

Room stinks

.World mourns dead children

Old lives fear to breathe

Smoke masks the city

Sign boards point nowhere

Queues stretch there.

There is light

Must be a nurse

My fingers feel the wound

Scarring the palm

As it holds my palm.

Was it by a shrapnel

Or by an iron nailT

hat had gone deep

Into the cross.


Mother   Goddess

Her countenance radiates energy, breath resolute

She binds her dear one in her heart, wraps with her arms

She fills to the brim, under an instinct unexplained

The anxious mind with soothing care, crisps, sauce added.

Only she can protect with seething fury

Protest to the world that lacks any empathy

Eyes open still in the night, her mind guards, plans next

Fast, she walks up mountains, learns, makes the mute a poet.

Growing for me in love; her mission, toils for all

Blossoms line the path uncured, to the sanctum sanctorum

Where anything is possible, for the will unsubmissive.

She seldom turns trifle mags; webinars beckon her with lessons.

Mundane promises fail to convince her, she seeks weapons of trust

Severing the head of trivial desires, she rides the tiger of challenges.

She is the one, the Mother Goddess, every day marks her victory

She is every mother, every special child’s mother.


 Myself, I Know

My mind wants to fly -over the seas and above the hills

To see gardens and windblown meadows crafted in ink

I am a girl with dreams and a song, a song in my heart

My strength, the fort my poems form, to shelter me

My mind, a fluttering bamboo leaf, slender but abrasive

A breeze caresses gently, but can it withstand a storm?

Words drip in the chaos of my thoughts, in their pile I hide, sleep long

Verses grow wings, fly around me and wake me up.

Out into the bright blue sky, I make my way

Like a flock taking the shape of a dart

Words shoot from my pen, taking me to the horizon.

They give me the power to know my own self and

Tell the world aloud; that I hear the rivers,

The murmur of every leaf, the rumbling of rocks

As I move ahead in the colourful world of words

Armed with trust in myself and the poems from my soul.


Tomi- is this a kind of name you give your pet?

Short for ‘Thoughts On My Identity’; read; fun you will get.

My name is Sherin

Sweeter than a honey muffin

Use it often to tell the world I am there

Yell it out and I stand before you “I am here”.

My thoughts are true and original

I meet my reflection but often feel dismal.

A girl with real poetry buried in her self

For long I think much of myself.

When my momma sees this, she grows tense

And tells me tales to rid my sorrow dense.

Once she read me about Menorah, the frog

who looked for hours at her image in the bog.

Written by rain, Menorah read each line

The droplets read ‘true frog’ and let the Sun shine.

My search is for the me in me

Unnerved all pray on their knees.

World’s every word has a name

My name soon became a game.

When my search for me goes on

All call out “Menorah! hop on!”

Give my poems brightness, Oh light of wisdom!

The seven lamps, fill me with resilience and brilliance some.

When my name, my identity

I write below pieces of my creativity

Will only that matter

Not my anguish, my dreams that I splatter?

With my heart and my soul, I scribble

My name below, which is more visible?

How are the constellations bright?

Their names are owned by the night.

My verses speak my voice

The birds in my heart; with chirping noise

Repeat my name “Sherin,

The sweetness in you be the same therein.”


In Hebrew Menorah means lamp. The menorah symbolized the ideal of universal enlightenment


My eyes meet the unusual

That have no labels

To reveal their identity.

Away in a new land

Where leaves hide beneath roots

Nourished by thin air

I see birds and their nests

Dare stand up against the Sun.

Floods with blood of the unfortunate

Rises as waves that

Beat the callous rocks

Of the sea; withering.

Nowhere have you listened

To such stories that drive

Deep into the soul.

Never told, never written

Only lived

To the last breath.

But they were there! Alive!


Singing every night from the

Sleeping houses

Moving near the window.

Over the clouds it floats

Towards the cold moon

Never the same

Above the manmade miracles

Patiently listens

Promises not to forget

Much of itself slowly vanishes.

Light will cut through the peaks

Wake up another unusual day.

Christmas Gifts

Come fast, blessed but foggy days of joy

Open my letter quick! Mrs. Claus, as you pack the toys.

My hands were sanitized, pen and paper too

From my heart, I have sent you a request true.

For me dear a copy of ‘The Book Of Good Deeds’

That is what the world presently needs.

With it let me try to light up our world

Here poverty, disease aplenty; wickedness manifold.

Gift me mother Christmas ‘The List Of Kind Words’

To ease the people in pain from terror’s sharp swords.

Race, religion, culture and gender churns

lives; and climate change awaits its turn.

Read my note you must dear, in you I trust

Keep those in Santa’s red bag, ready to burst

And to the sleigh winding down the heaven

Bells tinkling, with reindeers Rudolph and seven.

Our world will be henceforth bright

Men and women will smile, spread light

Save our earth I will try; from a gruesome fate

As the Christmas carols fill the night late.


Brooding over this little piece

Of white paper with blue lines

Clipped motionless

To my writing board black.

Over creation of thoughts

Refusing to come out

Can the rushing waves of mind

Be slowed down?

Splashing sprays of disconnected thoughts

Be counted?

What do I write about? me?

Or the world around?

Or should I write about

The nonsense thoughts of my mind

Wandering on the numbness

Of trees facing the axe,

The meanings of unheard proverbs,

Origins of songs heard in dreams.

Nothingness fills everything

Words cannot express it all

The depth of hopelessness

In a heart

Mustering courage to let in

The faintest light ray.


‘State of mind’ has no governer

No one rules here for long

Administrators try their best

Chaos rule here, decide the rules.

Hear with no prejudice, what the mind says

Prejudged decisions saves not a sail in storm

Mind refuses a moulded image untrue to itself

Never the reflection of self, now marinated in fear.

Quietly it bakes inside the oven, door shut tight

From the scornful gaze, red hot and indifferent

The heart roasted in its thoughts bursts

Floats in air, sticks to a paper; a poem.