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