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In the fading lights of dusk,

Made in pure colours,

Amazing human vision,

Gushing life into listless spirits,

I find you mesmerizing.

No! You are not real.

All the same, you are beautiful.

Truth is far from you.

In the oasis of dreams

On eyes you rest and

Nurture fantasies of what will never be.


MultiMenon said…
Wonderful acrostic... :))

WarmSunshine said…

Hey it's Mehreen from Simply Me... changed my blog and blog id.

Do visit!

Hemanth Potluri said…
beautiful acro sis...loved it.

Arv said…
A solid acro with a fantastic finish...

loved it mate...

take care... cheers...
Ria said…
lovely dear!! :)
Thousif Raza said…
you are awesome... thats all i will say.. awesome...

take care and keep writing..........
rainboy said…
I could never write this way.
fantasies of what will never be...lovely
Jogeshwar said…
el magnifico !!! loved this..
Rocky said…
I am sorry to say this but I couldn't get what you are tying to say. Can you elaborate? or explain me this piece of work?
ANWESA said…
thanks!! yes,i've visited your new place :)
ANWESA said…
ANWESA said…
thanks!!!! made me smile :)
ANWESA said…
ANWESA said…
ANWESA said…
ANWESA said…
thanks!!! i miss your poems though :)
ANWESA said…
thanks !!!
ANWESA said…
ANWESA said…

This is an acrostic poem.I guess this will help you-

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Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. 
Maybe appreciation.
Another journey, another dry spell. 
Will it ever be home again ? 

P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017 


I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.