25 September 2017Last updated

Features | People

Last week we asked readers to submit their poems

Here are a just a few of them

15 Apr 2017 | 01:00 pm
  • Source:iStock

While on a stroll recently, we saw a huge number of migratory birds. That’s when my son asked me
a question and it triggered this poem...

My son asked me a question –
It’s something we need to give a thought.
Why do men have passports,
And birds have them not?
How come throngs of birds
Migrate to different countries?
Why not, like humans, we call them
Immigrants and refugees?
Why isn’t there such a hue and cry
To allow them or allow them not?
Why, oh why, do men complicate life
And are battles and wars fought?
Why were these passports,
Immigration rules and boundaries made?
To move about in God’s own beautiful world Why do we need gates?
I was dumbfounded
And answer I could not
Questions so innocent
Yet filled with profound thought.

- Anagha Trikannad


‘Be the man of my thoughts.
Reign my kingdom of dreams.
Be the warrior in every battle I fight.
As time lapses.
I seek you eagerly.
Amoång all the fading faces in my fantasies.’

- Fathima Shareef


Stories untold, visions unseen
The depth of imagination
Lies deep, deep inside
Hung in sorrows, left unheard
Stories untold, visions unseen
Sparks a light somewhere around
Despite its flaws, and despite its woe,
Springs from within, to the path of light
Stories untold, and visions unseen
Blossoms on the apex of the spire
And yes, its too good to be true
A pen, is mightier than a sword.

- Karthika Vijay


My poem ‘Aftermath’ is my tribute to unrequited love:

You gave me an odyssey of pain,
My sanity is now hard to regain!
Oh tell me how these long laborious days will pass
When it is you every moment who I ask!
For a fraction of time, you gave me bliss
Now that joy sublime I shall miss!
Relations promises are so easy to make… and break
I now know that all you promised was fake!
This storm of rejection I have
to bear
Knowing in my heart, that you just don’t care!

- Bobby Ramachandran


Do I write poems?
I vaguely remember
that I used to put words together, which would rhyme,
Until one day my friend
said… Voila!
It’s a poem that you have written and that I should
be writing more of these.
It’s high time
I realised that words will never deceive you when you want to share your thoughts.
However, in actions it may be difficult to put it across.
And who knows, as you unravel the poems of other readers when they share
the thoughts they hold,
you might come across another topic for next week,
which will trigger our mind and motivate us to share the stories untold.

- Deepika Chawla


Going GAGA over Credit Cards
E-World … Where’s the Ex world gone?
From grocer to banker with an E-Grin!
Electronic Credit Cards! E-Buy!
Needn’t go miles and miles to fetch,
With one-touch button
Amazon brings the world home! Amazing!
An empty pocket with fills in fifty?
Never fret… Credit cards in plenty!
Swipe, swipe until the credit exceeds
Wife splurges on lavish things
Later regrets she’s being a credit card-buff !
Credit Card’s hi-fi explanation goes
‘Borrowing in a sophisticated style’
Olden days say ‘debt is dangerous’,
Dead against a disciplined life!
Know something?
World lives in a virtual world,
Virus breeding, values degrading
Is any credit card promoting values?
Selling love, respect, peace, family binding…
Please let me know!
The world in toil looks forward to E–VALUES!

- Clare Francis


The Cream of Oreo
Like two sides of a coin, they stuck together,
Friends forever, always there for each other.
They didn’t care that they were heads and tails – poles apart,
Since they were friends not by brains but by heart.
He would always listen to all her rants and tales,
And smile whenever he recognised all the varnished details.
It didn’t make a difference whether he was wrong or right,
She would defend him nonetheless, with all her might.
Together they formed an Oreo, two biscuits – kept in sync,
The cream of friendship being their link.

Mahika Sethi


During my first year in Dubai, when it rained one evening, this poem, mixed with the memory of my motherland gushed forth. I wrote it in my consultation room.


It came alas, at last
Like an unexpected guest
By knocking on my windowpanes
As I stood watching by.
I thought it’s my doves
Back home after the wander
The flutter of their feathers
And their beaks on the glasses
It came in the wings of wind
Drenching the passers by
Though caught unawares
They smile and smile with joy.
Children down the street
Pick up the hailstones a lot.
They save it in their fridges
To watch it on and on.
Back again in the rain
In this city of joy
Memories flood my heart
Past across the seas.
As I watch it rain
I become the child
Back my memory flies
Across the emerald green fields.
As I cross the fields,
I stop by the ponds near by
To see the king fish sail
Under the crystal veil.
Comes the rain again,
Fast, down the hill
Chases us back to school
Into the rain drenched classrooms.
And it rains again in the night
Drumming the roof aloud
Mixed with the clamour of cicadas
and toads
Makes a perfect band.
I slip into the blanket so warm
And into the safety of dreams
The music fills my sleep
On and on into the night.
Back to my city of joy
Streets become clear in front.
The rain has ended and it’s cool
People are back to the streets.
Back home are my doves
They tap on my window panes.
Shake the droplets away
With the flutter of their wings.
It has rained into our souls,
The burning ones for long.
We will cherish it for ever,
And the rain might come again.

- Dr Salam C Kandi


The recent Syrian chemical gas attack left a scar on my heart. The picture of the father cradling his twins’ dead bodies has been haunting me for past few days. I penned down my feelings in a poem. And the best place to share is Friday!

I cradle you…
In the battered land,
I am a long-lost traveller.
You touched my hand
My heart became a reveller.
With a fancy hope
I cradle you…
In the bizarre land,
I am the wretched refugee.
Your smile was a magical wand.
My life became less gloomy.
In my arms,
I cradle you...
In the tattered land,
I am the immortal father.
Your little body was ready for the sand
As fumes of death spared no toddler
With my cuddled shield
I cradle you…
Like a sea-washed land,
My soul Is now damp.
Quivering in the graveyard I stand.
Your sealed lips and shut eyes
Wish I could revamp.
But still I cradle you...

- Devi Vaidehi, Sharjah


This poem was composed when I was working for a company in Dubai between 2000 and 2009. It was shared during the farewell function of my boss. I had a great working relationship with him.

You made me very comfortable when 
we met first
That enabled me to give my best.
You always encouraged me
Hence the results you could see
We did not hesitate to discuss, debate and argue on any matter
Which resulted always in good results later.
You always kept things simple
So there was not much grumble
All the projects we did together
Shall remain in memory forever
Whenever we travelled together
It was always fun and learning without much bother.
Today when we officially meet for the last time
Let me say from the depth of my heart
All the very best for your future
I pray that you are blessed with all the pleasure.
Bosses like you are very few
So, I can never forget you!

- Shankar Subramanian



It all started with the call letter from my company
‘Be a brave girl’, said my parents and many
‘Mysuru’, the place that
I stepped in
‘Bachelorette days’ started
with training
And suddenly, pocket money changed to income
Lecturers changed to manager said, ‘into the project, you are welcome!’
No more classmates, but colleagues; not my desk,
but cubicle
I needed days to adjust
to the miracle!
‘Home away from home’ is my rented 2BHK
‘Cooking with friends is fun’, I say
As life contains both sweet and bitter without boredom
So, I have responsibilities and freedom.
‘Why so late to home?’ did not yell my mother
Shopping now is cosmetics and groceries together.
‘52 weekends’ is how we define
 a year
This poem is too short to fit my experiences, I am sure!
The enjoyment continues...!

- Lakshmi Anuradha


Wrote a poem ONCE
Took over TWO months
Made me feel like a dunce

- Priya Malhotra