Saturday, 18 August 2012

She Made Me Stood Still

Small eyes like a speck on a wall
Nose as thin as waist of a belly dancer
Her lips were as usual as red colour of a rose
And skin tone darker than any white
Her body was sleek though
And a dressing style charming
And she was all in whites
But, still there was something attractive
About her..her attire
I tried to notice her hair..may be they were long or bronze
Cant she stood facing me all the time

Me skin got bumpy
And let me remind you that I am a girl
So..i would want to know..
Know from where or what ?
 the lady radiates an aura
That is purer than a pearl
And greener  than any spring season

And then I went closer
Looked into her eyes
There laid a melancholy
Unseen or  seen but uncared..

My eyes blinked..and so they did many times
I felt as if time had dilated for a while
All I see was her..her eyes..
So small as if intentionally done 
to hide from common people
And unhide from lunatic observers

And then they started wrapping her in papers
And packing in brown cardboard boxes
And I stood still and quiet
Still Thinking hard to solve the riddle
Where..from where did the beauty emerge?
It was beautiful..i know..they say..
but ..what was it that all laid?

I felt cherishing her beauty one time
After all she was “my” creation
And then at another moment
I felt poisoned and betrayed
I filled life in her
And she..what did she do to me..
 made me still and stunned?

Its magical to admire your work sometimes
Because you know the flaws in them all the times
And still, you have to find  the beauty
Because you know somewhere it exists...
but… what , where and how much..
You just don’t know exactly…
Its exemplary to realise how ironical is the fact
The creator of beauty is the most ignorant person
About its aura, charm and effulgence
And most important about its “beauty”

Sunday, 12 August 2012

By loving and being loved

When you sent me to this earth
I was crying, weeping and screaming loud
My eyes were red, moist and swollen
And voice was choked by some spirit over

The angels then came and sat by my side
and started hugging me with affection wide
bidding a farewell to one of their child
oh! the child has a heart beating with pace such high
that it may burst with silent crys

"you told me about “being human”
and appreciated the genius minds of this universe
you showed me the beauty of green nature
and talked about the feasts enjoyed by humans
your angels carried me towards my “to be home”
and showed how protective a mother’s lap was
your messenger prepared a necklace of flowers
and earrings of shells near a beach cool and large
they decorated me into a beautiful attire
and mesmerised me with dimples of sparking smiles

but, what about soul ?
The apple will nourish my body.
But Where will the daemon go?
Where will it get its nourishment from?”

“dear! You haven’t  even started yet
 Still, You are thinking too much.
Look! you have already started developing human!
This! exactly..this is the magic of my creation
Go! Go with some flying colours.
Climb, dance, talk and most apart"

" soul...
if it was hungry, thirsty and incomplete
in a house of god and angels
imagine! what its plight gonna be
on a land of greedy and chahoho creatures
it will be assaulted, scratched and mercilessly sucked

"nourish..nourish it...nourish its every fibre and grain
give..give it..fathoms of energy..
and quanta of sunlight..
nourish..nourish it..and then you will apart."


"by loving and being loved”

author's note:
many poets, writers, philosophers and other great minds of this universe have talked about the existence of a soul or some power unseen and divine residing in this dark body made up of matter. often our (entire human race..) activities encroach us..directly or indirectly. here, we criticise or express our helplessness of the human nature. our allegations and complaints even target GOD sometimes. but, remember.."moh-maya" is enjoyed by body; and so, body itself repays for it. but, we can let the sacred flame of our soul burn by the very emotion GOD incorporated in EVERY human. that is, love. and this is not love of a man and a woman. but, divine love. you could love every human around yourself and cherish their being. i say, not human even. you could love any creature. i say, not creature even. one could love some thing non-living. and then, lets think about loving some thing non-existent. then, how divine will that be? and when you love, you are being loved.  
:with love~~isha jain~~

Saturday, 28 July 2012

"because what you sow is not always what you reap"

I saw my neighbour’s veranda
with a beautiful flower blooming 
a fragrance giving joy and pleasure
a feel soft and full of leisure
the petals were red and magnificent
But then there were fences
long, wretched and horny. . . .

i tried to reach
i tried to crawl
giving my last breath on and on
it hurt as it penetrated deep
tears in eyes and bleeding skin
but, all in vain..all efforts futile..
the flower is charming and magnetic
but smiling far apart from me

Give it a thought my dear me!
What if my garden also blooms
with beautys exemplary
Let us do no more wait
Time is precious and over flowing
don’t let the grains go away

Determined I was
Prepared myself up
With seeds, water, soil and a few more things
I went to my veranda on and on
Dig the soil, sow a seed and poured water more and more
Made sure it gets sunshine
To grow, bloom and bear fruits
fruits juicy and rich
giving joy, satisfaction and bliss

That day the night I slept
Was unusual in the sense I ever had had
It was excitement, curiosity and nervousness
But my optimism showed me dreams
Of fragrance, soft and red 

I woke up the next day
To add nourishment to the pot
Talked to it..shared my griefs 
and poured expectations I ever had
It still lies somewhere underneath
I cannot see, listen or even feel
What drives is an everlasting hope
That it will grow one day and bloom
as it does on my neighbour’s roof

“come on! Wake up! You cannot do this.
 Days have passed and so months..
Bear flowers and fruits..
common..I can no more resist you.”

But all what I saw
Were weeds growing
That perpetuated the more i was plucking
Too much of sunshine
Had burned a few of buds that
Once had even ever occurred
The standing water
Became a room for algae
and a beautiful flower was no where to be seen

Days passed and so did months
And then came a time when summers had come
Finished the season for magnificent roses
The seeds are dormant
and so did me

I laid in my bed
Tossing from here and there
Drops a tear down my cheeks
When comes a voice somewhere from within
“because what you sow
Is not always what you reap”

author's note:

we all have wishes, dreams, desires and everlasting hopes in life. we always aspire and want a few things to be fulfilled. some of our wishes are very practical, that is, they always have fair chances of being fulfilled; while others only rest in our figments of imagination..all through our life. whatever be the intensity of dreams, howsoever achieved or failed a person is, each one of us at every stage of life has some wish pending. and, i believe..this is not wrong. we all are humans and it is natural and legal to wish in a democratic country.

the wish of possessing a garden of blooming flowers are metaphoric to our day-to-day wishes and demands. the narrator being inspired for the same by noticing a garden on his neighbour's roof is no coincidence. you will have to agree that most of your desires are perpetuated by noticing that of others! 

the narrator trys to fulfil it by pouring water, sunshine, manure...and even talks and discusses its griefs with it. same way, we work hard, toil and put every torment to fulfil our dreams. we even travel through sleepless nights..tossing in bed..the way narrator did. but, sometimes too much of care and concern rather deteriorates the things; just the way too much of water on standing and too much of sunshine did to his garden. . . .

but then, a candle needs darkness to light. what i mean is "unfulfilled wishes" are sometimes the essence of living on. so, i don't regret for unfulfilled things. hope my readers even don't. 
:with love~isha jain~

Monday, 2 July 2012


A hot shining sun overhead
Its heat was at its peak
Lifted my head to catch a glimpse of it
And then there were contracted pupil
As if even they were afraid from its
 high intensity and ultraviolet
my head down not to prevent the light
but in awe, stress and disgrace

the travelers took their shirts off
most of those were in light or white
dipped them in water meagre  or none
and tied them on head  round  and tight
most of them now ressembled to those dacoits or terrorists
watched in movies or read in newspapers
over and over but never witnessed

no..I don’t say I am a fashion vista
Or a tourist eager to get clicked
But looking like a ran out from some group of mafia
Was completely out of a few girlish things I did
Unwrapped the stole round my neck
And wrapped over head and face
To the maximum I can

I saw a man taking out his clothes off
And then only a red colored boxers on and all
He tored it into pieces which were then folded
To air himself in motion ought to be repeated
My eyes fell as I had the notion
Had I been the eve before eating the apple

I checked my sling bag
For a bottle of water
It had an amount far less than for a toddler
My eyes twinkled and tongue twirled
As it was a gift in a hot and dry desert

And then A gulp of water
Through my throat
Brought  a  gaze of  eyes dark and deep
 With accompalice of a silent plea
“pretty girl! My baby is hungry
a drop of water is no less than an urgency.”
The sound was soft, slow and lovely
When interrupted words from a man dark and eyes bulging
“you are young ,growing and gay
  can sustain without water days and days
  I am  a weak and old man
 who  feels his life coming to an end”
I smacked my lips
With my tongue out
trying to lick
Even a few drops around
My mouth dint utter any words
Nor did the head lifted up
Before  the eyes had grown to refuse them
An empty water bottle is all I showed them

I was seated on a camels back
When I admired a big hump he had
I wished if I too had had
Must have stored water for months long back

I moved my head round and round
To see if any plants on soil I did found
But all I saw was sand and sand
With tiny grains blue, brown and black
Those grains shifted from here to there
 As if they  too were searching for a chill nowhere

But I wont lie if I say
That a line of dots I saw again and again
A fine level of sand all across
I Kept my eye glued over all
Only to find a scorpion underneath it
It moved on that sand
With an ease
As if a show stopper on a ramp in heels
In the task of creeping
That creature left its footprints
All alone and mind not working
Silly! You are noticing so petty things

 And then a lady touched a plant of cactus
(Huh! How offensive appears to call cactus a plant I think
For it neither gives shade nor juicy fruits to eat)
When a flow of blood started rushing out through her finger
And his husband took her finger in his mouth
Unable to guess if to calm her
Or to suck that fluid on a hot and dry desert around
The journey is hard, dry and sunny
All peace and calm
But still commotion within
Time is slipping and so are resources
All mirage and nothing could be trusted
That dark man said it all right
His life was nearing an end hot and dry

Monday, 25 June 2012


"That dress is beautiful
Pink flowers on white
I will look like a princess
Like that of Cinderella or snowwhite”
“ sorry madam! It was the last piece we just sold.
   better if you give a look to something just more.

“I am the best  speaker
The best orator ever lived
What I will say the audience will ever be convinced”
And then is left only a longing for applause
Within no time the hall is occupied by chairs vacant
And you left all alone

“you are the bestest  friend of my life
A companion of love, amity and rise
She is as promising as fragrance from a flower
A Flower  that bears fruits which can only ripe
could you lend me some money dear?
I am afraid I don’t have any.
return you by the instalments made from my salary.”
“sorry friend! I cannot do that
 Borrowing or lending is a job
My husband always  yells at.”

“I am the beauty, I am the charm, I am a girl
No prince in this universe would ever  turn up.”
“you are a girl who is beautiful, pretty and intense
But I already have a princess to be adored up.”

“I loved that man to the breath of my life
I lived to be his and became him and had what he had had”
That man is no more in this universe
He went to the almighty high heaven above
how do I live?
How do I breathe?
How to feel my very being I have ever had?”
Her heart is suffocated and engulfed is its being.
Harboured is pain and abyss she is

“Still when I see a father and a son
Keeping hand in hand
I feel being born as an orphan
Is the ugliest thing I have ever had.”

Life is short, beautiful, intense and on going
But there are hardships, hurdles, turns and twists
People say that wounds fill with time
I say a few simply grow with time
Time becomes a nourishment to them
It’s a demon scratching every now and then
You cry, weep, scream or may be sit calm
But the only thing that suits is accept, accept, accept and accept

God is almighty
He is the strength
All set up with divine beauty and wisdom
That we human beings cant deny ever after
Accepting the final verdict is a fellow’s brain
After all anything divine can how be wrong or disgrace
For those who believe in god
Stick to the word  “divine”
Otherwise, let it be destiny, nature, waves
Or May be your sins still alive
Accept, accept, accept and accept
And that is what will cure that wound
Wounds  Of pain and agony
Dense, dark and deep sadness.

Monday, 18 June 2012

Flowers of MEMORIES

i feel sometimes how difficult it is to bind so many multifarious, vibrant, colourful and fragrant flowers of memories in a single bouquet of life. it is said that life is mortal.  *life: born to die*  but the very fibres constituting life rather develop, perpetuate, deepen and strengthen with time.  *memories: born to grow*  .it is amazing to observe how the most living and eternal essence of this universe is termed to be mortal. 

Times change and so does people
Circumstances change and so does opinion
We grow, develop and become that we never were
Life: goes on, on and on

But what rests with us with beauty, fragrance and sweetness
Are memories of ones that were dear, of ones that were near
These memories have a heart
A heart which beats for others
A heart which knows all others apart from himself
Memories are not born in the procedure of living
In fact, each memory bears  a life to live in

What I feel the same my friends did
And so lasted a group of babbling gabbling crowd
But changed interests, hobbys and lifestyle
May be mine, theirs or people everywhere
Time: ongoing , fast and speedy
You can chase it but you can never compete
And then a little conflict over ideas and thoughts
Clashes some serious comments of do’s and don'ts

And then a new crowd to sit in
A new group of people to chat
A new attire of beauty to be worn
But, what happened and what dint
Relations never die
They grow, perpetuate and develop
In a small beating heart at run
They nourish the very hunger of soul
As it has lust of only one thing on and on
Soul : it grows, develops and wants
Nothing But love, love and love

 These are memories
Dense, dark and deep
It is an attire of beauty
Clothes to my very being
They save me, teach me, make me laugh
And cry sometimes hard and hard
Howsoever sweet or bitter they were
How bad or good the people I met were
But, memories they gave are gonna be somewhere
 within me ever and forever
because these memories are
small flowers in a big bouquet of life
life: born to die
memories: born to grow
17-Jun-12: 5.39pm:

Author’s  note:
life is the most precious gift of god, he gave to you the very time you landed in this universe. He is there watching you all the time from heaven above, keeping a look on what you do, how you did and how things went wrong.  He knows how people perceived you and how you perceived them. The mirror you look yourself in daily is fake. It tells you how you look at yourself. GOD is the true mirror. He knows how others look at you. But, whatever turns and twists the life may take. You have MEMORIES. Moments are beautiful. The times you spend with friends, small fights, agreements, those hugs and hi-5s exchanged. Little trips made with family, quarrels for window seats. Those gossips that were never true and everybody knowing of it. Those linkups discussed in schools and ever knowing it wasn’t linked ever. All are memories. Crying hard on failing, a report card never rising. A few friends we were fond of, who turned out to be never promising. But, all are MEMORIES. As I say, All are different attires of beauty.
So, never mourn for some bad time you saw or cry over good time that is no more. Learn from bad and carry good things with you. Life still has many lessons to give you. Till now what happened was only a grain,A grain of memory. Awaiting are still  many flowers: flowers of memories.
With love~~isha jain~~

Saturday, 16 June 2012


It was a beautiful sight                                 
A small stream was flowing beside
On the other hand of stream
I saw a growing light beam
On a better  look to that
A blurred figure was felt
I crossed the stream
To meet that figure
And asked who you are

It replied,
“ I am strength for weak people
I am comforts for poor people
I am a beauty for ugly creations
I am a friend for every nation”

“I don’t get you, sir!
You talk a lot absurd”

“dear, my child!
 I am the world Creator.
I am GOD.”

“oh! You are that master
Who made the humans slave.
We work for you
But you don’t seem to pay”

“what do you mean?
You all are my children
I am your father
Don’t abuse the relation
By using words dreadful”

“oh! Master, if you really mean
Improve today’s prevailing scene
Food you created
But your many sons starve
Water you created
But your many daughters shower
They shower the tears
Of immense sadness
That we people today bear”

“oh! You are mistaken
If you expect all day and no night
Child! These are people like you
In the face of comforts and strength
In the face of beauty and friend
That need to bring godliness
To other people sad
I hope you got what I said
And felt my words not absurd”

Before I should have replied
That light disappeared.
I opened my eyes
It was a dream
A dream that taught me
A lesson we humans need
To let the humanity breed

Hope you get the meaning of GOD
Hope you too try to see the beam of light
That will some day surely grow inside

The world around us is full of evils, disgrace, sadness and unfulfilled desires and wishes of underprivileged.  One part of world is busy seeking for god, running into temples, mosques, churches and other places to worship GOD. On the other hand, a section of society does not have time to seek for GOD; all they are seeking is  => “a four square meal”. In other words, they have lost the belief of a mere existence of it. What we all need to do is develop a little sensitivity for the situation and realise that HE- THE ALMIGHTY exists some where within all of those who need our help and a little care. I am not expecting my readers to fill bags with lots of money and donate to a charitable centre or stop your work, leisure and comforts to live for others. All you can start up with is=> “start loving” . looking down upon somebody rather shows the state of your helplessness.  Don’t complaint! rather,  try to bring a change; A change in *yourself*!!!.
:with love~~isha jain~~

Friday, 1 June 2012


it was a Sunday morning
a notepad and a pen in hand
i couldn't resist to walk down towards them
they are beautiful, bright and clean
every fibre rushes with green
those fields are a magic of nature
vibrant, colourful and sweet capture

no! those fields are not mine
nor do they belong to my ancestors
but  grandpa says they never had an owner

in the month of January and February                           
with lemony-vanilla fragrance
those fields bloom with winter iris aromatic 
white and lilac and deep blue
these winter flowers are multifarious
i often ask him
if he waters those fields 
or nourishes them with likable amore
his wrinkled face did only smile
his lethargic hands did only pat
his jaw with hardly any teeth noticeable
" you are a small sapling that those plants lefts 
  whose seeds i had cultivated.
  those plants were sweet,gratifying and enchanting
  you are soft, youthful and enthralling
  darling! you are the only field i water
  baby! you are my winter iris. "
people in sixtys are arduous to be understood
but i swear for those winter iris 
their meaning is broad, deep and profound
yeah! i do not have my parents and he his children
but his and my relation is a bond more fragrant 
than these flowers sometimes dormant

drifting in these fields
is an enchantment to my soul 
i wear the transparent clothes of joy
the blood is purified with beauty
provided solace to heeding stallion
the vessels shout  with ecstasy

no! no! i couldn't find anything much a bliss
more amusing than this
nature is all i love
nature is all to pen 
every word i write
every thought i produce
reproduces my magnetism towards these fields                                                                                   
                                                                                    i write about chirping birds                                                      
a big group of white pigeons
they sit on my shoulders and behind winter iris 
to look more beautiful than a sun rising 
the birds sing, dance and flit
making rhythms with the music of my lips

in a group of those white birds
there is a bird with a peck black
its a bird that doesn't move in groups 
nor dances to rhythms of my flute
it flys on a music it creates of its own
it makes sound as if talking to a power divine 
i or you don't know

it seems that it is not a pigeon
but a creation of god
tied to him with smoke of love, passion and intensity
smoke that brings fragrance and rejuvenation
to an intoxicated blood flowing in veins
of a poet.. a orphan
oh! its an alter ego..

yeah! these souls are free to radiate energy                                 
more spiritful than those of dazzling flame
flame of blue with an envelope of red
on which she made food for me and my friends
those are the days when i returned home
from a school which was distant apart
then she went to that almighty heaven above
followed by his only beloved
and grandpa brought me to this small village
that have big fields to provide me deep solace

my grandpa is not less than an angel
singing sweet songs every night
that help me sleep when i cant 
because a sweet face of mother that is no more doesn't let me.
i saw her in books and so i left studies
our home echoed of her presence and so he brought me to this village
her Saree with purple frills still rests in that locker of our closet
i no more use closets to keep my clothes 
but tie them in a jute bag covered by leaves green and big
but, the pleasant songs of grandpa beats a music of zeal
shouts my soul with nourishment
when i can take a sleep at night to wake up the next morning
to write about the green colour of nature i love.

churns the music of a voice girlish
these ears are foaming and fermented
this is a voice to put me in rapture
her echoes are intoxicating rather
these eyes are searching for a glance or a glimpse
she is a fairy descended from heaven above or may be a princess

no! no! i couldn't find anything much a bliss
more amusing than this
nature is all i love
nature is all i write about
writing about the beauty of rising sun                                    
the euphoria of ocean waves 
 waves producing colours vibrant and intense
loving the colours i see in a rainbow after shower
and those winter iris dancing.
and while i was penning down all these

" awww! these flowers are beautiful!
  i love all of them.
  and yeah, mama gonna them love them too
  she will look good if she gets one with her purple Saree
  and i am sure, i can take them 
  because that man is too sweet to 
  object me doing that. "

she wears a dress white in colours 
a dress for a  fashion of 70s
or a time that no one remembers
not you, i or we at least
her long gown is blending in dirt as it only belonged to it.
oh! even the  dirt on her white dress seems pure
pure with her purity..
this is the magic..of of her innocence..
that only a pigeon with a black peck can see.
and her long hair are tied in a bun
this gives an impression that she intentionally did
she did this to prevent attention
silly she! a pigeon is a seeker of beauty
it knows where it emerges from
you are vibrating energy with a dazzling flame
dear! the much you try hiding the vibes you release 
the more lurks brightness with sharp intensity

yeah! you can take all of them
and do gift them to your mama 
do that! after all i can never do that
and yeah! i may talk to grandpa
after all, that man is so sweet to
object you doing that

it is said that good things doesn't lasts forever
and angels not always descend on earth 
don't know to what extent that's right
while i was preparing myself to speak all that
she had already disappeared

no! no! i couldn't find anything much a bliss
more amusing than this
nature is all i love
nature is all to pen 
and i pick my pen to write once again about those iris

when things went wrong
when my ears flute with words of loved ones gone
when my fingers cry for the gaps they have
and nobody to fill in
these fields came up to my rescue
in windy nights that were dark
these vibrating leaves made noise so loud
that under the sky with wide thunder
i never listened to sounds of gone loved ones
the fields have weeds so high that they cover me all over
and no gaps between these fingers or in heart with large void

" come dear grandson! its night
  you my catch cold instead.
  its chilly outside.
  come. i will make you sleep"

this night passes by
to bring morning fresh anew
and me here writing long
about my grandpa's fields i have always adored
mentioning about green
the tress big and canopy wide
she comes up again this time

she comes up again this time
with the same beauty, attire, innocence and magnetism divine
the only thing that changed
was her hands full of baskets
she plucks those flowers with excitement
happy, smiling and joyful
she looked more beautiful than those winter iris
dear nature! how can i write about you
dear stranger! why don't you let me to?

paper and pen lost their significance
a poet a writer became a lover
days past and so did months
my daily diary was left untouched

every time she came to those fields
she collected flowers with eyes bright and big
she bid a farewell to my grandpa
my grandpa : an honest chap
explaining that those fields are not his
but he does take care of them all times
she wished him thanks and so to me

trust me! that her twinkling eyes 
were only an illusion to beauty
because a sweet and pleasant voice she had
was a right expression for her beauty

" dear son! seeing you from long time
  you had not been writing these nights
  our mail box still has loving letters
  your readers are impatient for your work
  tell me, if you wanna join studies back
  we will go to that town left long back
  i have a friend promising and a family big and sweet
  they will look after you even when i am gone..."

" no grandpa! you are not going anywhere
  from me, this village and these fields
  you are the only one i love 

" and? "
" that girl who comes to collect flowers daily
  doesn't let me to write for my readers."
" she is a sweet, poor and young lady.
  why don't you like her? "
" no grandpa! i like her a lot
  and that's why i cant write about things i do. "

grandpa in my life is truly an angel
or may be something more than that
if i ask from an angel for something, 
he may or may not...
but grandpa finds a solution to all problems
sain or unsaid..

she comes up next day 
with huge baskets once again
to collect those flowers that were never fresh
more than her smiling dimples ever wet

" thankyou for these Flowers. they are lovely."
" girl! have you ever read my writings, people say they like a few of them?"
" yeah! i have read all of them
  they were rich, meaningful and deep 
  only a soul feeling green could write it
  it had love, ecstasy and solace
  that only a nature lover could feel for green forests
  it feels that every grain of yours 
  has nature shouting with amour"
" what if i say that there exists a soul 
  whom i love more than green?
  it is a spirit that comes to my fields to collect flowers daily."

her eyes were sparkling
and cheeks pink
my grandpa was right in sixtys
i loved my parents and they left me
and so i loved green because it can never part me
a girl could be promising to me if i love her
the way i had been doing to green

now i move in those fields
and i see that girl in those fields
i write about that girl, the beauty, the charm
that looked more magnificent with a Saree in purple frills
and iris in her bun
she reads my books and i read mine
and i don't see any missing faces in the pages of rhyme

my mail box coming up with more letters                             
they love reading what i write 
nature is all i love
nature is all to pen 
she loves, caresses and adores me in  green
and so i do in green
after all she met me in those fields wide
truly, she is my girl
my girl in green.

: with love~~isha jain~~

Thursday, 31 May 2012


silence could be sounded everywhere
and i had realised i was somewhere
it was dark and grey
trust me! nothing could be seen.... all was in vain !

i move my hands in and out
gave myself a few circles round and round
took a step further ahead
and had almost decided to take it back

when i saw a bright ray of light
coming towards me from my right
" whether shall i approach my right ?
  or right  is just not right ? "

a swap of limbs by degree 90
name of almighty
started stepping ahead
could not listen the footsteps i had

by now the ray of light
had become visibly bright
here started conflict of heart and mind
" it can be everything. "
" it will be nothing. "
" why dont you venture in ? "
" why not to escape out of it ? "
" complexity is magnetic......"
" but simplicity is  adorable. "

the signals were infuriated in nerves
just as a natural geyser is about to bring turbulence
" silly me !.."
dove and the olive branch
had started appearing hazy........

sounds like  a tower of babel....!!
" you ignored the ghoosh sound. "
" but what now !!"
"  you had already ventured into brightness..."
indeed! complexity is magnetic.. !!

" it is bright.. so .. bright..
  me out of darkness..."
there are roses, orchids and jasmine
green leaves are following the rhythm of happiness
finishes the disturbing silence.

" it is the first time
  taste sweetness
  smell happiness."
vision has brightness

close your eyes.
and four

open your eyes
too see darkness.. deep darkness
now its fear and horror
horny touch and ghostly voices
falls a sheet of darkness

that was a trap
to engulf the brightness of ours
not of ours ..but of millions..or even trillions..
that is why it is brightening.....
 a brightning darkness.....

author’s note:
i am feeling that i am moving towards light
but i am entering into a deep and dark tunnel.
as an author, a writer, a poet, a girl..lols..whatever you know me as…this is  one workpiece which is very close to my heart. “the brightening darkness” . the all meaning lies in the title. Darkness: evil, disgrace, negative, hovering, pessimism, haunting…! Brightening: happiness, cheer, joy, love, affection, amore, friendship, light, warmth. But, how could two co-exist? Simple. In life, something that appears magnetic and attractive, like a guy who is handsome and caressing, or a rose beautiful and fragrant, a friendship promising…. But later it is realised that something which appeared to be brightening was an envelope over the darkness it is made up of. The guy is a fraud, the rose pricks you the moment you hold it, the friend was fair-weather.
Friends! Face values are a trap, they are temporary, if you have to appreciate, start appreciating the beauty of heart. Permanent!
: with love~~isha jain~~


it is a  day to be called sunny..
but still there is  dark and deep..
i can see flowers
but they are not sweet !!
i can see bushes dense and lushy
but they are not green..

little girl has fallen down while running
it was the time when i got hurt on my knee
dad said "you are a brave girl, my child !"
mom said, " princess will be alright"
my eyes were showering ..
and i felt it was the saddest moment....
a moment that can never have a strong competitor

but, i can be wrong, so wrong..
i never knew .....
until this happened..

HEART- a small room for large wounds
no bad doctor to give me medicines                        
no bandages, no tears, no more blood to bleed
but what  crying is a small heart
a small room for large wounds

no dad to say that i am a brave girl
becaue he cant see my heart harboured
my heart harboured with tears 
that no friend can wipe for a dear
mom sees a smiling face 
and says that it resembles hers in childhood

i am walking on the path 
trampling over the leaves...
ohhh !! these thorns are painful.. so painful..
that i bleed, i weep, i cry aloud...

when it rains outside,
little children come out of their houses
they run, they shout, they play with fun and frolic
they fall , they get injured and cry with showering eyes..

their crying upsets everybody around them..
silly me! i smile on this..
because i know it doesnt hurt
what hurts when you have a heart
with millions of wounds not seen.

when it  rains, i thank him..                                                  
"him" is the almighty
because it rains when my eyes arent able to shed tears
he crys for me and supports me
and says "because life has to move on"
: with love~~isha jain~~