“Emptied”


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(c) Pinterest Photo.
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She went out into the world–
Excited and ripe.
The universe was up for her picking
And every novel item made her smile.
Dancing her way
Through crevices and alleyways,
She acknowledged each gaping bloom
And gawking gecko–
Anxious to be friends with all.
Then one gecko approached her,
Armed with an elfish grin on his face.
She said, “Hi!”
With all the charm and wit, about her.
They became close and he toured her
All throughout the garden–
Showing her the shrouded interstices
Of this Newfoundland of hers.
The captivating lizard dazzled her
With everything there was.
They gamboled about, in oblivion–
Him, cajoling her to enjoy;
Her, relishing every morsel of his sphere.
What she didn’t fathom
Was that each thing came with a price.
He was of that complex realm
And she was merely a new distraction–
A marvelous divertissement, he deduced.
She took in all sights and tastes,
Careless and free, at last.
“Ah! This is life!” she announced.
A few weeks of vacuous pleasures
And the gecko got weary of her zest.
He was ready to move on–
She was evolving into a pesty baggage.
He threw her away and vanished.
She woke up, disoriented and alone.
The sheltered lass wept–
Inveigled to find him, yet again.
For years, she travelled all over the kingdom–
Peering into every face,
Desiring each to be his.
But, existence wasn’t always for the naive.
Torn and crestfallen,
She went back to her cage.
“Oh, I shouldn’t have
Ventured out of this hutch.
Now, I’m more depressed than before!”
She lamented.
The world is a wondrous dominion;
But, it isn’t for the innocent and the meek.

©Diwa

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“Helping Someone In Need”


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This is a real-life narrative about my mama. This piece is for her.
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invisible and unseen,
he sits in a corner and seeks;
a kind soul to help him–
someone who can give.
he doesn’t really need much;
only a few coins to help buy lunch;
that’s really all he needs.
a wish to eat, he seeks.
from the corner of the busy marketplace,
he spots a small lady walking slowly;
he thinks she has some money.
she might help someone who’s weak.
he decides to approach her;
only a few coins, he’ll beg of her.
scared and weak with hunger, he speaks,
“madam, please help me.
only a bit of your money, i plead.”
the lady looks at him, kindly,
and sees the sincerity in his face.
she takes the last money in her purse
and gives it to him, who pleads.
“take this and buy some bread to eat.
i had some money and this is all that’s left,”
the madam tells him, as she smiles.
he thanks her and leaves–
happy to have a bit;
what he did not know was this:
the lady who gave him some respite,
also had a hard life;
but was happy to share
the blessings she received.
she was saving the last coins she had;
so she could take a cab home–
her knee was bad;
yet, she sacrificed her own comfort
to help someone, also, in need.

©Diwa

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“Poetry With You”


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Penning down poetry with you,
That’s something I really miss.
The way we just jotted down,
The many things we talked about.

Writing anything for each other,
From love to poverty to politics;
Then, back again, to love.
The spontaneity and harmony,
With which we created write-ups.

Painting pictures with words–
Be it flowery, simple, fancy, or dark.
The fact that I knew you’d get it,
Anything I chose to use or say.

I loved that we had
The same train of thought–
I could use figures of speech,
And I knew, you’d see through it.
Most times, you did.

Sometimes, you didn’t get my meaning,
And I loved those moments, too.
Those were the times, you’d ask–
Ask away, you did, and I’d laugh.

I used to goad you into discovering,
What I meant–what I wanted to mean–
A word, a line, a stanza.
Sometimes, I had to explain
The whole thing.

But then, you’d make poetry, too.
Each day was full of poems for me.
Why did that even stop, anyway?
Why did we allow it to end?

What I really want, to say, is this:
I miss you and yes, I remember you.
I recall the endless discussions–
The steady flow of input-output
Between you and me.

Although, words are superfluous.
Nothing can, ever, fully enunciate
What was really lost,
The day I lost your love.

Because, I lost more than love.
I also lost my friend–
The dear friend I had, in you.

©Diwa

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“Don’t Love Me And Then Say Goodbye”


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I’m not sure if you are someone I should know.
I’m not really certain if I’m even allowed to.
Because, you strike me as someone I’d want to keep;
You have the appearance of someone
who will make me bleed.

I’m not really good with proper discernment,
The way that others can immediately pinpoint,
Those who are only meant to hurt.
Me? I meet someone likeable and then–
Boom! I give my whole world.

Frankly, I don’t want to do that again;
You know, like, giving myself to someone who’ll leave;
And you look like the kind, who gets what they want.
You seem too loveable not to disappear.

No. I’d rather stay away from you.
I don’t want to be the next girl,
Who gets to weep because you’ll go;
For, you don’t plan to stay, do you?

Sometimes, it could be so lonely, like this;
Being alone, this way, gives you that.
You’d wish someone would just spring up;
You’d find yourself praying for love.

You aren’t love, are you? You don’t look like him.
They say, you’ll know him, when he comes.
They say, your heart will simply recognize him.
I don’t think I see him in you–or I’m pretending not to.

Because, I know how it feels to be hurt.
I know how it feels to be thrown away;
Like, you have some kind of disease or something.
It hurts.
Being thrown away–being unloved–
Is pure pain.

So, let’s agree to avoid heartbreak–
When someone decides to untie the string.
That’s the condition I detest, the most.
Don’t love me, and then later on,
Say goodbye.

©Diwa

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“Seasons”


A Collaboration With Krishnanunni Kichu.
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“I have been waiting for you”
Said the floret, opening her eyes
The first bud of the season
Blossomed to embrace the spring
***********************************
“Take me with you…”
Screamed the fallen leaf when
Autumn was about to leave
The last leaf of the season died,
Crawling with the breeze
***********************************
Some are born to love,
Some die loving
Seasons change

©Kichu

“I’ve been waiting to ride the waves,
With you,” says the ocean to her favorite
Surfer–knowing that summer is the only
Time he visits her, each year.
***********************************
“Stay with me, awhile, please? Another
Moment by the fire? Another novel with
Me?” pleads the cabin, of the girl–Knowing
That he is, only, a winter get-away–not a
Permanent dwelling for his beloved lady.
***********************************
Some are born to wait.
Some die, waiting.

Seasons change.

©Diwa

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“111 Poems For The Soul”

“They say that poetry is the language of the soul. These poems are intended to evoke a myriad of thoughts and emotions in you. Sit back. Relax. Have a cup of chai. Let this book infuse you with life.”

A poetry collection,
now available at Amazon.com.
Paperback Edition.
ASIN: 1980407827
ISBN-13: 978-1980407829

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“The Writer”


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i shall write about your pain and mine;
our love and hate poured now in rhyme.
we come alive in the hearts and minds,
of men and women, who read my lines.

the stark reality of a love that can never be,
may now only be a reason and a source for me.
when random thoughts enter the dance
that my hands commence by chance.

the graces that a love–once pure–can now bestow,
are these emotive utterings that grow;
as i painfully write in poetry and prose.
a love forgotten comes alive–magnifies the loss.

–Diwa

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