Tag Archive: Poems


Half-inch Poetry

Reluctant footsteps
at my door
should I ask him in?

****

Unfinished poems
at my bedside
I will miss evenings like these
smell of virgin rims

****

Unfinished bedside poems
know
to pause,

    sometimes,

is to end

****

I write
to remember
to forget

****

I live life
life lives me
Both lives-
are they mine?

****

A thousand
suns
rise
set
inside me
blinded.

****

Last Night
I made a wish to
a flickering bulb
far away

Sky was thick with black clouds.

****

Scarecrows

scarecrowsA Scarecrow in the field
of Barley Rice wheat

With urn red on its head

A scarecrow in the field
of crows pheasants trees

Like a practitioner
In the field
of prescriptions cautions threats

Neither eats nor let eat

A scarecrow in the field
of men axe sweat

ploughing the field
of scarecrows.

I gotta use words when I talk to you
But if you understand or if you don’t
That’s nothing to me and nothing to you
We all gotta do what we gotta do. – T.S. (Thomas Stearns) Eliot. Sweeney Agonistes
     

Painting by Pisarev Gennadiy© Amsterdam Art Gallery — 2000-2010

Make me word
less, peel
away the rhe
toric, the
      white man’s
burden
o’ words-
that mean
nothing to you 
nothing to me.     

Make me word
less, let’s
delve in Pin
teresque pauses
.
Why do I when I
talk to you
need words-
that mean
nothing to me
nothing to you.     

Make me word
less, like the ligh
                   tning,
the messenger o’ the
black blue bass
drum sky. Why?
should I be
prey to words-
that mean
nothing to you
nothing to me.   

Copyright, Tina Rathore.   

I think that we communicate only too well, in our silence, in what is unsaid, and that what takes place is a continual evasion, desperate rearguard attempts to keep ourselves to ourselves. Communication is too alarming. To enter into someone else’s life is too frightening. To disclose to others the poverty within us is too fearsome a possibility. – Harold Pinter      

Frozen Thoughts

Your frozen face
in my memories, a ray of light
and the smog.

Copyright, Tina Rathore.

I organize papersfire_or_ice
carelessly scattered
on my study table.
There is one paper
bearing burden
of a heart-
eleven year old.
I read it again, a hundredth time.
The world of stars
and galaxies
has shrunk itself
in pink and blue
four lined paper.
Just a few words,
poetry
of a boy- little lone.
He is asking me, over and again

“Will you tell me madam
what is the definition of a family?
Mother says
there is
a destinyuniverse460x276
a dream
yet to be fulfilled.
A sole journey
to eternal happiness
Destiny
yet to be accomplished.
She says
‘When you really want something
the whole universe conspires
to help you achieve’.

Madam will you
tell me
‘Does universe conspire for everyone?’
We all have dreams
my parents toocosmos
have one
or should i say two?
Different dreams
Directions different
‘Are different universe
conspiring for them?’

Or-
Is it just one
in many roles.
Wretched universe
where is mine?
No geography
No Physics
No mathematics
could answer me
just so simple
a question.”

Just to ease
his troubled mind
I asked him
the other day
What he wanted to beuniverse4
when he grows up
like all of us.

“An astronaut.
madam-
for i will go
too
in search
of my own universe.
May be of my parents too.
I will reconcile
both of them
and find a destiny
that everyone shares.”

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