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.

Monsoon’s fury

Now the hills tremble

I crash down the slopes

My roots writhing in much pain

As the dancing water

Forces itself to freedom

Scatters everything from

-the warm motherly hug of earth.

Rivers take to new destinations

Mud paints the houses anew

In the colour of earth

Her long rejected care;No more redeemed.

Man tries to envelope in the safety

Of his newly made systems.

I drift through his balconies

With a bruised trunk

The towns rip me apart

Roots thrown on the seashore

River’s fury now fizzles

As she cuddles upon the ocean’s bosom.

Sun dries the fractured root; moulds it

Into an artist’s freed vision

Now decorates the hall where experts

Talk on ‘ Monsoon in Climate Change’



Nowhere was a sign!

Was there?

They walked away carefree

Impending danger unattended

Escapes, returns with vengeance.

Glaciers melt

Floods rise silent

Names of cyclones

Names of vessels gone down

Names on tombstones

Clear; in the rains.

Walls painted new

Of community kitchens

Smoke, rises, names of homeless

Mud, rocks, soil

Covered them

Names unknown

Numbers mattered.

Graphs in many colours

World in lines and bars

Screaming the sea arrives

Waves usher salt, more tears

Shores    redrawn

Islands counted

Waters tested; calculations made

Loses recorded; percentages varied

World knew itself in

Names and numbers.

My master’s voice

A new chewy toy

Pleasant days full of joy

Brushed white coat

Brisk walks along quiet by lanes.

My favourite spot near the bin

A quick pee, more run, then back.

Come Sundays

Grandpa took me to the ground

His old police life.

“Waltz! jump! roll! “

And a feast! juicy bones!

One more day; the maid has not shown up

I am hungry, my kennel smelly.

No one calls aloud “Waltz!”

Master, your newspaper

Shouldn’t I fetch?

A man walked in like a cat

Opened my kennel with a shout

Threw stones at me, it hurt

I wondered why, what for?

My calls for my master

His voice unheard.

With fear I walked off

No one called me back.

Silent was my house

Nowhere was grandpa

I walked, ran, never back.

I stood over the bridge

And looked down

The other dog was shaggy, mangy

It had no bone in its mouth.

One day I will hear my master’s voice

He would call out loud “Waltz”!

I will leap into his arms.

Lullabies and sobs

Where angels fear

Their wings to spread

More broken glass

They gently step, toes bleed

Blossoms dare not

Throw open their petals

Lest they surround

Cursed arid graveyards

Not a drop of love left

Dead lies

Culture of a civilization

Relics of a history valiant.

Quiet lay the infants

Cradles rock in rhythm

With each blast in town

Gunshots, familiar lullaby.

Unseen blue sky

Veiled rainbows

Behind black clouds

Stars rimmed with wet black

Never twinkled in dreams.

Where only weapons had voice

Mothers were hushed sobs


Aura around new flowers

Ferns and other things green

A mere glimpse of these

Most fulfillingAcross the window

Mind creates a wide world

Welcomes the beautiful

Everything needs a new look

Stains left by passing timeIdentified, washed clean

Weeds uprooted; scars retained

Droplets of rain try to soothe

Dull! not needed!

Unenthusiastic look of it

Sun chooses some to dry

No turning back

Never nudged by the horizons

To stand up strong

Never met by the moon

Who pretends to sleep

Stars hid among clouds

Battle within goes on

Nothing equates each trial

To any other tribulation

Much remains unknown

About the flowers now wilted

Each story unique

For unique reasons.