Want Peace ?

Neither I ask to forget the past
Nor to take flights of imagination
Just I ask to keep an eye on
Who we are or what we do
As that is our today’s destination.

Living on clouds is not the solution
Nor dwelling upon the dead past
Living with what we do have
Is the present which never goes past.
Living with what we have
Gives us eternal peace and harmony
Dreaming aplenty but having none
Causes lots of frenzy and disharmony.
Reason is simple, clear and plain
We can’t delight in we don’t have,
Utility and usability is of only one
That we have; not in we don’t have.
Mind is a busy battleground
Warriors are past and the future
Killing the pleasing present
Which is the source of real pleasure?
Let’s be off from this arena
Where dead fights with unborn
And sway whole-hog in today
That brings peace to lovelorn.

Poet’s Note:
Past is dead and future is unborn. But we human beings are so wise that we dwell in them most of the time and so foolish that we disregard what we have in our hands !

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Dr. K.S. Bhardwaj

Dr. K.S. Bhardwaj

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
I am an educationist and have penned books in Education, Hindi and English literature. My Hindi novel "Shashwat Prem" is acclaimed by Hindi Academy, Delhi. A book of poems in Hindi published by Parvati Prakashan Indore. My books on Education are : Humour in Classroom, Human Resource Development in Education, Shkshan Kshetriya Manav Sansadhan Vikas and Microteaching. These days I am working on Spiritual Education Management Development.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Is This How You Love?

Is This How You Love? short poem

You have no problem leaving me behind. You can easily put me out of your mind. It’s like my presence puts you in a bind. I bet every time you see me you wish you were blind. You told me

The Prince, The King And The Master

The Prince, The King And The Master long poem

The shrine of Madonna stood tall, The high king’s rapier fell down, not anymore was he the young prince, for he was devoid of all feelings. The shrine of Madonna stood strong, The high king’s blood washed the ivory pedestal,

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

*depression

*depression short poem

There was thunder in the hut teeth clattered under the ground. Handcuffed you walk in inequality to qualify for hanging till dead. I may not tell myself what was happening to me. Moving in opposite direction the bird was able

November 22, 1963

November 22, 1963 short poem

My mother had just put me down for a nap And was folding clean diapers on her lap When Cronkite broke in on her show And announced for everyone to know That JFK had been shot in Dallas He didn’t