I HAVE STARTED TO ENJOY SOLVIING PROBLEMS...

I HAVE STARTED TO ENJOY SOLVING PROBLEMS...

Oh! What a sensation I felt,

I could never say;

It was like the dawn,

The dawn of a new day.

I had a feeling,

I had never realized;

For I had been a beginner,

I never diced.

Now I see things,

I had never seen;

Now I am,

What I had never been.

I feel all-powerful,

I feel omnipresent;

Here I had come,

And here I went.

I am like the air,

Impossible to hold;

Turn me on,

And I am bold.

Time doesn’t stop ,

But I stop by it;

And rectify all,

Which doesn’t fit.

People have problems,

And they come to me;

I am no-one,

But a part of “we”.

He goes,

And again he comes,

For I am enjoying solving problems;

Doing them undone.

WE WALK ON THE SAND

Poem for you…

Living in the sea-side we can walk on the sand

Enjoying the serene breeze, we can hold each others hand

Listening to the waves you can whisper in my ear,

Breaking your ideal rules, you can give in your fear.

Lend me your heart and I will never betray,

Give me a tender kiss and make my day

Not a living miracle but a blessed one,

Setting our problems right, we get the hurdles done!

Trust me and believe me is what I have to say

And things will be beautiful if we give it a way.

Living in the sea-side we can we can walk on the sand

Enjoying the serene breeze, we can hold each others hand

Listening to the waves you can whisper in my ear,

Breaking your ideal rules, you can give in your fear.

- ADARSH

MY DIARY.

[ THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.]

I see them buying candies. I see them playing with toys. I ask God, "Who am I?". God does not reply. I see them wearing costly clothes, I see them enjoying. I, again, ask God "Who am I?". God still does not reply. A thousand questions. A thousand UNANSWERED questions left in my mind.
I am a child laborer. I sleep at 2 A.M. and wake up at 7 A.M. A minutes delay angers my master. Not because he is the burning types, but because he is my MASTER. He has all the rights to beat me, thrash me and exploit me. Who cares about child laborers? Who cares about "us"? No one but we walk in the paths of our misfortune. I want to buy candies. I want to play with toys. I want to wear costly clothes. But I won't. For I am disallowed. I was born poor. It runs in my blood. I celebrate no diwali, no dussehra and no holy.I only wash dishes and clothes. The tenderness of my hand has been washed away with it.My hand has lost it's delicacy and smoothness. It has become hard and rough like me. I do this to make my living. I do this to earn money.

TO BE CONTINUED....

MY FAME...

MY FAME...

(This poem depicts the emotions of a long time forgotten guitarist who is remembering his days of fame. Now, the times have changed. He is sad and depressed. He requests the young guitarists to possess stability in their lives as they attain it.)

I had friends, I had the fun,

It was the time when the sun never sunk.

Life was simple, life was a game,

It was my days of golden fame.

I was the winner, the winner of a kind.

The music when flowed in my soul and mind.

I loved the power, the power of the persons,

My songs were in the lips of the fathers and the sons.

But when the sun sinks, the darkness conquers all,

Seeing yourself defamed is a pathetic fall.

With the bad comes the good, with the good comes the bad.

Balance yourself well, you do have the time lad!