Aurora

It takes grueling strength,
To surround yourself with snow,
And still start a fire in your soul.
A penetrating cold,
Covers your bones,
But still keep spring alive in heart.
Only after you’ve paid,
Only after you’ve drained,
Do you grasp the Aurora.
A mixture of hues, we have never known,
Something much more than mere beauty.

For the gardener, Aurora is the plant,
That blooms on its deathbed.
For a beggar, it is a grateful meal.
For an artist, it is a masterpiece.
For a tired player, Aurora is the honorable medal.

You only get this wonder,
After a nasty brawl,
If it doesn’t take all you have,
Is it Aurora at all?

What’s your Aurora?

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance.

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We are poetry

We are all, made of words,
These mountains, rivers and birds,
There’s poetry, inside of you hidden,
We all are stories, waiting to be written.

A Potted Plant

Spring comes with its own air,
Filling the Earth with life and flair.
In my garden, a potted seed awaited its birth,
Just like many others, to adorn the Earth.

And soon enough, a little leaf, opened its eyes
What birth-giving magic in the soil hides?
Then came others, celebrating their birthday,
Aspiring in their minds, to become a big plant one day.

They had their meals and drank good water,
And grew into a plant, no longer shorter.
Then came a bud, and another,
The plant watched them bloom like a proud mother.

If ever, you’ve known beauty, the plant was much more than that,
Young and green, on nutritional soil it sat,
One day a bird came panting and sour,
The plant her to sit in her home, as she’d come from far.

They talked a little, first a bit shy,
Then no day passed when the bird didn’t stop by.
She built a little home in the pot,
For the plant and the bird liked each other a lot.

One day she came and sat for long,
Gave an egg and life along.
I saw the little wonder and thought it’ll die,
If I pour in water, it will never touch the sky.

The plant was brave, said she was fine
But she withered and aged, before her time.
Few leaves stopped breathing as the egg did thrive,
And the love for it kept the plant alive.

One day the egg, cracked up in life,
As though the plant had actually revived,
And as the home lit up by the baby’s sound,
The last leaf of the plant touched the ground.

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance.

You are Fortunate!

Do you see the boy working at the flower shop?
Do you hear about the women who fight for their right?
Do you feel the pain of the beggar who is ill treated?
Do you think of the people who are killed in the fight?

Have you ever wondered of the old and sick?
Or the homeless hawkers and garbage they pick?
Or the ones who have lost their speech or
vision?
Or the little child who runs the home and makes decision?

There are many in the world unlucky,
Whose eyes cannot get any wetter.
Stop complaining, you are very fortunate,
Go make someone’s life a little better. 

 

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance.

 

Beyond Definitions

Some might think that I am pretty,
Others might think that I’m rude,
Most of them will think what am I,
Cunning, silly or shrewd.

Some will love me, some will hate,
Some will be afraid to state,
Sometimes your eyes can lie,
Maybe people are different from conceptions of thy. 

Dearie you, I am much more than what you think,
I lie beyond the confines of your mind,
I am greater than adjectives,
I am not yet another girl, I am undefined.

What you think of me doesn’t matter,
I might be the destroyer of my own glory,
Before you have any definitions for me,
Just remember, you know my name, not my story…

The Oars Of My Boat

Closely by, I watch them sway,
Pushing the waters, swiftly away,
One after the other, together they work,
So systematically, without any lurch!

Together when they beat back the waters,
Even the miles, look quite shorter,
And when there is just one of the two,
Nothing really works, everything’s in ado!

I don’t know what the magic of working together does,
But it’s quite clear that it shows the way out of every fuss.
Team work is something not everyone understands though,
It’s a secret only the oars of my boat know!

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance.