Latest stories

cardinal business

It has a cardinal nexus, Buyers do not brace flexes, It is hundred percent cotton, Buyers are subtly beaten, Truth in business is wanting, More cotton in clothes lacking.

In vogue is a famous brand, People in stores all stand, Buyers are under the spell, Have no mind to yell, Cheating is almost the cardinal, Of a cheater in busy land.

A poem from ‘Serenading Poems Part One’

Video of a poem ‘Spiralling self’

Hello! Happy winter season. Here is a video of a short poem. The poem is ‘Spiralling Self’ I am a spiral, A spiritual core center, It’s edge is a digressing world, The gross extends into a faint, Poetry is the fringe, Music is its hint, Growing into intuition, Out of the material lather, I travel into adventure, To see the curvature, Of time’s changing signature. Thank you...

commercial glamour

Advertisement must sell, If it has glamour as well, The commodity has the look, Which can even be the book, Of stately ravishing desires, Of racy damsels sparsely attired, Her lips are suggestive, Of a world progressive, A conglomeration of feasting colors, Palatable taste of luring chocolates, Creams, crunches and cakes, Hosting desires voracious, With a pinch of passion sumptuous, Senses...

a formidable treat

My country is nice, It has plenty of spice, Of languages, races and religions, Of varied life and vegetation, Dishes are so many to make, A lifetime is less for its sake, Costumes are so many, I don’t like to miss any. A place for yoga and meditation, Cannot be dismissed as fascination, A colorful country fosters A world of many cultures, It is one string that binds, All kinds of spiritual...

soldiers

The brave soldiers run, To face battle of guns, Young, strong and truthful, To the duty they are zestful, They die for our victory, Not as some say for salary.

Rugged mountains, rolling stones, Ghastly wind, tough snow, Breathless breath, icy steps, Countless tests, timeless woe, Sleepless nights, stomach empty, With full connect, pouch victory.

A poem from ‘Serenading Poems Part One’

video of the poem ‘iconic whirlpool’

( Wishing you the best of the season. The poem is symbolic of life and nature. ) Whirlpool goes round and round, Destiny crawls to new ground, All new in different shapes, A transitory affair with a new phase. A new finding, a new sail, Life is on a smoochy trail, But unlocked fear treads, On nature’s furious bed, Human life never capsizes By deadly traumas and tremors. World is an iconic...

demeaning teacher

An angle shot to a venture, As a teacher do I feature, Teaching left my senses blurred, Knowledge in a pool slurred, Students here go cool, Esteem in me in spool, Litters around I see, A dragging dross in me, A snickering sarcastic laughter, Sets out my teaching chapter. A demeaning teacher, Nods to a peevish class, Knowledge at its trembling foot, Soars not higher than my boot, Language amidst...

distorted tunes

A punch on the face of music, By a mind which is a cynic, Broken tunes with a rhythm, Despair drains to a bottom, Money and music saunter, Henchmen and touts wander, Cacophony enters the den of din, Distorted tunes are poured in, The mind is in a foul smell, Violence, rape and death knell.

But music is a fantasy, When tunes are an ecstasy.

A poem from ‘Serenading Poems Part One’

cricketing game

Scores in life run to a shore, But in cricket runs are a score, An umpire is a seer, Commentator is a cheer, Mind dances high in air, Sneers at people low, Acrobatic soars spin the ball, Down it comes over the wall, It’s cricket, an entertainer, Alert and brisk are the fielders, Hitting the ball for runs, Is the mind’s calculative fun. Balancing bat, ball, runs and wickets, A balanced...

rural teens

The death of awareness Is worming around, The cinders will last, A few moments still, The sloppy behavior, The abusive words, The interfering talk, The violent look, The speech fired, Moments tired, Selfishness reigns, Foolishness gains, A tumultuous class, Education in haze Is a futile maze, Fumbling into heads, Confined to feuds, Arrogant and sadistic. Shall I abandon the class? A poem from...

Usha Raman