I have been a teacher for about four decades ,but even more than that , a student and learner all along --literature being my favourite subject with special love for poetry , a trait I seem to have inherited from my father,who was a very good poet ,it was he that instilled in me a deep love for poetry early in childhood . Starting as a science student ,I shifted to literature after graduation and and worked on Emily Dickinson's poetry for Doctoral degree. I don't claim to be a poet ,but do admit my inherent love for poetic utterances as and when I find them and sometimes feel inspired to give vent to my own emotions in words that seem to convey them .Honestly it happens quite effortlessly and also leaves me with an immense satisfaction .If it can be termed poetry ,all the more rewarding. .
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,
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
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