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~~