When poetry touches the soul, everything starts making sense. The inner world seems real and the outer one becomes bearable. When thoughts mixed with words travel through the empty spaces of mind, poetry happens to me. It always has been a mysterious force guiding me through. With two published books and one amaturish blog, I consider myself blessed to have started this journey. An old diary with think brown cover and an over used, end bitten pen. That’s where real magic begins! May you find your undiscovered meanings in my poems. May existence make sense. Even if just for a little while.
Swamy consented to give interview to an Australian team of six men None of them expected such a stunning miracle that awaited, then Swamy outlined at the outset oscillating health of the mother of one of them Who too nodded
I sit by my window every morning, Wanting, willing to write a poem. The pen in my hand yearns to touch the blank paper, Like a lover yearns to touch the beloved. The paper breathes patiently, The warm sun brushes
Mother always called me the devil child She said I was loud, destructive and wild Parents told sister I was bad and she didn’t ever have to play with me Much time alone was no fun, however for friends I