It takes a brave heart to know poetry or be a poet.  While the realists may proclaim that poetry is an escape, a refuge from the harsh truths of life, it cannot be so. A poet is a warrior and a magician who has the power to confront his worst demons and cast them out into the world dressed in naked pain, honesty and the cadence of words. And he is a dreamer and a wisher!  Poetry is the answer to the silent whispering of your heart and all that can be felt, but not seen, finds its way into the world of Poets. From the golden blaze of the morning sun to the rosy hues of the evening and everything in between, that, which is called life, all of it is Poetry. One only needs to pause in the endless race of life, still the heart, tune into the world around and a poem will be created. A poet can paint pictures in words, out of the diaphanous, ephemeral clouds of thoughts, that the rest of the world struggles to concretize into comprehensible shape.

We are proud and gratified to be able to provide a platform for almost 5000 such poets who have helped us create a repository of more than 10,000 such original poems over a short span of two years. We started out with just our hopes and dreams and you, dear poets, have made Charles Bukowski’s words come true for us “Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.” 

Thank you and here’s wishing you a Wonderful World Poetry Day!

A Hybrid Of Man

A Hybrid Of Man short poem

Confessional truth is not my aggressive ego, it is my fault. The resolution of my conflicts with time, the smell of the broken limbs, my head in hoisted fever, my eyes searching for a cloud. The ultimate otherness, of an

Bringing Down

Bringing Down short poem

The road breaks here. Give me something to heal the fractured earth. Angels are too much for me, the gash turns inward ripping apart eternal vigil. They head into the burning books and then explode themselves on wet sands, generating

Chemistry

Chemistry short poem

In twilight of pain I blink for a dot to punctuate the intelligence. My incoherence brings the unseen. I stay at a vowel to see the truth. Immenseness versus depth, in shoals of turbulent life. Where do I hide my

Conversation

Conversation short poem

There was no end to looking inside. I was crumbling. Unnamed homing in of anguish, not knowing me. The wasted questions of revival. A depleted dawn of a failed sun? A river war between two hills for a moon? Time

Everlasting

Everlasting short poem

A name breaks on the tip of a pen. Like a wildflower after a violet end. The yellow stripes will enter the past, retracing the path of failures. I pick up a broken thread to weave a shade of blue

Faint Writing

Faint Writing short poem

You wanted to live inside a shell and step outside, in a bowl of habits, sometimes, nudging accumulated sins to offset the aftershocks. Tsunami is here to stay. The crowd was swelling lured by candles on the sea. Each candle

Fatigue Of Wasted Years

Fatigue Of Wasted Years short poem

The wheels find, the track on my body, why do I shiver & tremble? The night gives me the depth, a grim reminder of realism. The consortium of thorns, the splinters float in my eyes. The dignified seizure, takes hold

In Clouds

In Clouds short poem

You walk on burning embers like a black stone to meet the end before beginning on empty landscape. What was the need to cross a saviour? Death had the wedding anniversary in a garden – full of blessings for the

Interlocked

Interlocked short poem

Between the tremors falls the face in a glass of water. Sometimes false teeth reverberate through the pages of history; devastation sinks in. A faun rubs the landscape. Hatchlings come out when death-music stops. A miracle tends to quieten the

Lofty Peaks

Lofty Peaks short poem

The ashes will come back in mauve, in furrowed face of hunger. I will wait for the clouds to welcome the blue flames. I was the one to walk on time and squeeze the truth for finding the essence of

My Questions

My Questions short poem

On wrong side of truth a prophecy burns. A conflict of your own choosing when more was less. Do you need some divine intervention in resolving human questions? The innocence of a sunflower will not blame the moon for dark

Neutral

Neutral short poem

I will need some new words today. To say what I did not want to say, scratching at the surface of truth. I do not fight with meanings. A shade between two borders of lies between right and wrong. The

Ravaged

Ravaged short poem

Cutting across the food wars against adamant century do you think we will become extinct in this uncool climate? The dying windows do not throw any light. I fear in dark alone. The earthworms are nibbling at history of mankind.

Refraction

Refraction short poem

Step aside. The white flowing mane was going to become the adrenaline. Fear of silence was turning into a green wound. The dissenting life-blood has vandalized the moon. There was a provocation from the black stars. The leopard was ready

Season’s Change

Season’s Change short poem

When the debate between temple versus state was heating up, death was passing through a green field. A nervous embrace of solatium was unstable. A heap of flip-flops could not hold steady, little poems fluttering in the heart. Was it

Something Knocks Out

Something Knocks Out short poem

Ceramic memories and terracotta pain; the injured crypt ultimately got opened. At urn burial, the name was absent. A pristine ritual for a nameless martyr. The sword within him was not used and pubescent bomb went unexploded. You leave a

Suspended

Suspended short poem

I had not imagined that you will start an inquiry into the creeping fog under the estranged moon. Oh, sorrow you had taken away my sun when I was still rooted in night. Wading through narcissi I was trying to

Talking To A Friend

Talking To A Friend short poem

Living between the deaths as a witness to a silence between the words. Leaves had fallen: yet a dry tree was still flowering exuberantly under a scorching sun. My day has come, but I was far away from shores of

The Democracy

The Democracy short poem

With stoicism writ on face I invite the chisels for giving birth to a dialogue between me and the shaper. Where did the things go wrong in making the life a simple page to write a beautiful poem? Buddha give

Uncharted Self

Uncharted Self short poem

Do not go like a rose, stay like poinsettia. Now as a brutal encounter holy color will descend. Polygonal wound was too proud to bleed on the street. The scarlet morning will bring night’s blood. And mystery of love between

Unjointed

Unjointed short poem

Watching the externalism I was playing a squid in deep waters to save the raging sears of life. Was it a soft intellect to believe in goodness, when rains had ceased to come and seeds were covered with mildew? The

Untrailed

Untrailed short poem

It was a wake up call invoked in the beginning of serene numbness. Under the veiled threat of a moon celebrating the kill. A path in croci; waiting becomes a torture for a saffron sundown, mercury was rising on snowy

Waiting

Waiting short poem

Under the gaze of bald beliefs a warped dialect becomes a squeezer. Helplessly I watch the slashing of my wrists. Darkness burns, without light only intense heat. The expected miracle digs in around, in trenches of my knees. I become

Watching Myself

Watching Myself short poem

After shaking off the fault the golden thigh ruptured and I moved into the aneurism of a drop. Realization was the key to enter the curve of a moving circle. The time had come to take off the jacket and

Who Was Me?

Who Was Me? short poem

A misbelief breaks into rags. Still I dream of some gods on black pages piecing together the words of light. The rains come in the cage of tears, voicelessly. Striated muscles of splintered faith go to cramps birthing the avatar

Words Are Mine

Words Are Mine short poem

Blood was in season, on your hands. A staged encounter mauling the clouds. Into a hare, you put the lead with a roar of gun and sun wants his share. Beneath the honours lies the guilt of a ravaged moon.

You Don’t

You Dont prose poem

I’m scrunched in partially obscured view seating, hands at my temples, elbows pressed to the balcony rail. Look up, Sherman Alexie! I squint through borrowed glasses, willing your signature pen to drop, your writer’s eyes to find me. I’m cheap.

Ziplocked

Ziplocked short poem

Fear grips a family of words. You are going to where you do not want to go. I remain worried about the unknown. The inevitable was flowering on dead palms. Would you exhume the past to find out, what the