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 Big Idea?

A Big Idea? short poem

The moral dilemma was unlearning. less than truth. Downgrading the- branded witch. Vaccine was spawning new virus. O Buddha, why did you started looking beautiful and began sitting in a living room? Trailing the smoke I was going to find

Ancient Sins

Ancient Sins short poem

Drunk with pride the streets are bursting in self-indulgence. Who was calling the shots? Do you know the words between intermissions, carry a secret- till the brazen scoop finds the hidden meaning. It was grave very grave truice, unmaking love

Armless Enemies

Armless Enemies short poem

In your domain walking with men of straw to immolate myself. If power was sacred why you did not stop the reversing of gender role? Oh, there was water on Mars streaking like the tears on your face. The apes

Backtracking

Backtracking short poem

Leave something for me to imagine. A skeleton in a pond leaps to the moon. In an air bubble lies the history of a suspended name, wasted away on water. A war is declared on the family of words, not

Contraptions

Contraptions short poem

When I was arranging daffodils you send in tanks. The sky was overcast. When I was talking to clouds Fireballs are delivered. That signals the specific gravity is shifting to knobs. The artist was going to disappear. I think of

Silver Trails

Silver Trails short poem

By the moon I drink you again. The night is trembling; ruffles the colossal tears. The terrible ache of the illegitimate mercy. I am not accepting any poem half-dead under my pen. The invisible force, bribing the tears was a

English Cowboy

English Cowboy short poem

I see a Cowboy walking down the street… He looks like he’s a stranger here, from a place I have never been. He tips his hat at the ladies and they are all smiling back at him. If I bought

Enigmatic

Enigmatic short poem

The secular love: you are contaminated between skin and prayer. Back from the odyssey finding a crop-circle in bridal chamber. Rival was an alien with a flat stomach thinking black. The thieving sperms had a glorious end, unentered in grass.

Homing

Homing short poem

Like each dropp of your humbleness engulfing my urbanite woes; the graffiti emerges in tender grace to resurrect a windmill. My spirit, the abode of small birds carrying the sunset on its back was returning home for the final- sleep

I Begin To Think

I Begin To Think short poem

Abdicating the shadows; totemic. I return back to dig up the buried- moon from the ruins of poetry. It benumbs. No response was coming from cajoling the black secrets- of time-cast. A storm was raging in a pack of emptiness.

Ignition

Ignition short poem

Like a butterfly pinned in a collage, fluttering. Death makes a deal. I was appalled standing on the edge watching the withering body. The lake drowns me. Seagulls were waiting for a renaissance. It is not even midsummer. The planting

O You

O You short poem

A monster from a tree jumps and runs around the bushes to mate. A blank statement is issued. The system groans and collective pshyche fails. A stark silence for the food for thoughts. I sit down to meditate- to find

Perception

Perception short poem

Lips of clay tend to bleed my kisses. And the distant moon treads softly on the spent passion. A private crimson blunts the whiteness of moon. The birds- step out from the fog. Last moments – of the bell to

Somalia Calling

Somalia Calling short poem

I met a talking moon on the road of death. What easily comes, goes easily with winds. I was counting the ribs of my dying child. He went into the woods to fight the unknown wars of hunger. Bunker: it

Song Of Unquiet Spirit

Song Of Unquiet Spirit short poem

Staples were traveling on the epiderm, thanking the wounds. The dust, the eternal ugliness were growling. Riveting drama: a royal swanking for a macabre heist. A bizarre charisma overtakes the cozy lips. I was green, and I was a cloud

The Fall

The Fall short poem

You were starving the words to commit the waves of hunger. What I wanted was a patch of shade under an olive grove. No intrusion. It was a miscarriage of justice. We were searching the – missing links between the

The Wheels

The Wheels short poem

The path disappears under the foot. Gently I lay down the book and start reading the blank page. Stainless thoughts.I strip to root. A stunning revelation about a tinned dialogue. Blue hydrangeas were telling something. It was time to become

What Asylum!

What Asylum! short poem

Come and meet me in chamber of death where the tempest comes every night. I start disrobing the anger to find the eye of the moon. Where do I get that ink that writes an unwritten poem on water of

Wishes

Wishes short poem

Nothing was beholden. Colony counts were perfect. You were never guaranteed and exit. I am stalked by lips of a black tulip holding a moonbeam. The world moves wearing a shell of emptiness in a cosmos, inviolable. Aggrandizement beyond the