Diary Poems

who knifed my wife; who took her soul I do not know, I loved her so was hard to see her bloody body lying lifeless, an empty mess I do not know who knifed my wife, I was there that

I wept at your funeral, saddest to the core of my heart… At home I found your diary…remnants of your soul; You died so young! With so much to do, The world needed you, so did I, Why did you

The day I put on the glossy red lip colour And a white dress plump as an umbrella A big sigh of relief let out my own mother Glimmered dribbling teardrops in my eyes Saw I smiles around and heard

Scribbling down the essence of my heart, Writing down the unsaid words so easily, Hiding it with those blank pages, Which will be filled with the same sweet agony, How I know the pre-written destiny, And still giving my all

The heart that refused to beat ever again, broke mine. I know now I have been heart broken only once No it was not low scores in a test Not a crush ignoring me A guy two timing No it

Writing on sleeves to remember your departure and becoming a stray cloud. The maternal touch of the sky, you can sleep whole life on dense logics. White sheets were burning unannounced in the home. I lost the key, to open

He went under pile of words to tie the thread of understanding but was stoned to death. They put the piglets in liquid nitrogen for future generations to study. The point of departure had come. Navel-gazing was the best pastime

Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the

I can feel it of what you can only catch a glimpse the reflection of wonders I felt as they appear through my ink. Never was I gonna narrate to every best friend for its charm goes awry as the

A new morning It has started sunning A fresh day Still on my bed lay The bright sun is here to shine again Today has its loss and gain I want a new blessing ‘cos it’s a new morning The

Poems. They love. They fight. They can keep you up all night. They know what you think. They laugh, smile and wink. They stand by you, they heal. They know how you feel. Now touch a poem and see it

I didn’t much want to admit it, I was fine gathering dust on the shelf, But the day that I posted My first poem online, I messed up and I “outed” myself. I’m not what you’d call a great thinker,

Everybody has a story, ’tis writ in every face the lines etched, deep as the wrinkles of age.. . Everybody has a story, be it early or late, a life being lived has a tale to relate.. . Everybody has

Like every morning, he has just returned from his office and is right in-front of one of his roommate and so called friend’s lappy’; Going through all previous messages sent by her on Facebook. No doubt, his life has been

Our own little world of words where we write and we read where we talk and we listen! Until all the dark turns to a light that glisten! Sometimes I do feel, There should be a door, That I can

Now let poetry flap its wings and sing to the sky in a language that not just carries a rich literary history but is also close to the heart in an unexplainable way. HighOnPoems launches the most awaited Hindi Poetry

How will I forget the sunny day when I was repeating the routine of usual Sunday I was looking at the canopy from where the rays came oh god !! I was feeling so lame I could feel the rays

Hidden deep into the stack of memories was my diary, a small pocket book not the usual bulky planner. Yesterday, I stumbled upon it, as I lay on grass and it lay somewhere there, dusting for many a year, waiting

पन्ने पुराने भीग गए मौसम सुहाने चले गए यूँ ही कुछ कहना छोड़ दिया मैंने अब लिखना छोड़ दिया मैंने, मेरे जज़्बात स्याही के साथ घुल गए जो लिखना चाहा तो पानी के संग बह गए इस कशमकश से बचने

लिखना मुझे, ना आता था उसने सिखा दिया, उस पहली, नज़र ने मुझे शायर बना दिया, दीवानगी से, अनजान था उसने दीवाना कर दिया, उस एक, मुस्कुराहट ने मुझे शायर बना दिया, मंज़र, ना कभी ज़ालिम था क़त्ल मेरा उसने

Well and in my great big book of life there have been many, many chapters full of romance heartbreak and secrets I’d never wanna come out and the death of loved ones that’ll always pain me but Turning the Page

As the ink flows and the heart glows, While your words rejoice in an enormous light, How do you come up with another set of questions? And still have a peaceful plight.. Trust your instinct within, Feed your fire, fuel

I never really liked you Like an orange thrown at a wall Impacting then falling straight to the floor So composed and cool I wanted to be you or build a shrine I’d let you sleep on my pillow to

the devil is a trickster can’t find him in Twisted Sister sorry that I missed her aim to fame was through the flames eating Cheetos got your juice frozen got thoughts of the ocean sifting through the latest trends some

He did not read my diary left open, to know my kind Just read that middle page from his age set mind If only he had the time and patience That would have checked him by his conscience To read

रुख हवाओं का बदल दिया है कहता है इंसान मैंने ज़माना बदल दिया है, कामयाबी हासिल करने की चाहत थी छुपन छुपाई खेलती हमसे हमारी किस्मत थी, आख़िर किस्मत का पलड़ा अपनी तरफ़ किया है कहता है इंसान मैंने ज़माना

light frosting her lenses strobing as traffic flits by craziness of a zombie snail flashing visions of worlds as yet unbuilt just a woman dressed for winter striding proud in knee-length boots could be anyone then she’s gone these rapid

Your name seems to be carved on the heart since ages, You definitely have captivated every bit of it in cages, It is all yours forever, Oh dear, don’t leave me ever, I write your name sometimes on the shore,

O my Valentine….a sound with pleasant smile For the sad faces It seems like exile Having a relish love They look like a dove Taste you too…. Nothing I can do That’s so peculiar That’s so unfamiliar Except you, nothing

(1) Here I am bathing, this winter, like an antelope under rain showers. God’s voice is still walking on clay laid out from the beginning of time up to the end of earth. The first woman’s eyelashes are scattering from

BEGONE ERA Memories of Childhood are like a shining diamond in the chain of events Children of different era have different set of memories Tested and cherished children’s games of one particular era are sure to supercede games of the

There is no pain, Like the pain you feel, When your child is in pain. The pain of: a broken arm, A broken heart, a wounded soul; Pain comes in many guises. You would gladly be in pain yourself, Or

A mob rapes a moon under the blue sky. Then parades her half-naked body on the streets of clouds. Arousal of anger devours the mate in a nocturnal rendezvous with a sea horse; cuts off the head to shake out

I thought I would fall, but there was an invisible wall… remember that scary doll, then I could hardly crawl… I thought I would fall, but there was an invisible wall… Everything was strange and new, mom I was looking

The ones causing misery of contemptuous scorn All naturally be present pretentiously to mourn With affected sympathy an overly visible display Assigned triviality living for dead stand and pray Mocked for held beliefs in absence since revered Daubed with fragrances

Allow his thoughts to enter your mind, Allow his feelings to merge with yours; Allow his emotions to mingle with yours; Allow his soul to be one with you. So what he is much much younger to you, So what

Since when, Haven’t you smiled, I wish I had known. Since when, Have you been drinking away, Swallowing your fears, Treasuring your tears.. I wish I had known. I stand in front of you, And I cannot stop the endless

the smile returned first that shy hopeful grimace couched in lips lately pinked as if from stolen candy there was rain that night fine and soaking and the leaves were glad of it all that street dust sliding into the

I get these weird reading pangs, as Monday afternoon awkwardly hangs. Kafka’s letter to his dad Morrison makes me ‘oh so sad’ Amitav Ghosh and his brain stirring images “Poetry undergoing new-lingo damages” Four gulps of water and a (micro)soft

Curtain call yet once again. Time to track the boards. Greasepaint hides the shameful faces. Lime-lit shadow-play, Pantomime dames, Evil stepmothers, Monsters behind The innocent eyes That focus on the fool. So I enter the game; It’s the only one

Even when the night air is calm and still you can hear the wailing of women from the past that flung themselves off of WIDOW’S HILL to the cold, cold ocean below and legend has it at Collinwood they’re waiting

There’s voids of emptiness bridging you and me, Unknown to you, you are already known to me. You and me, like the two loops of the same knot, Baits of our own fate, one day we are destined to get

I wish I could teach you, The ways of men, I wish I could change you, Beard doesn’t make you a man, I wish you could open your eyes, And see the woman in me, I wish you could know

Her last cigarette clouded the window Of the only fluorescent-lit room In the dusty motel Off exit 168. Yes sir, no sir As she climbed into bed Putting out her cigarette On four-use one-wash sheets. He clung to her Until

I’ve lived in your heart for three years. My payments were always before time. If I made too much noise I assure you I didn’t know. My foot steps are often loud, the neighbor beside me keeps his music up.

Light, with an unclear vow of dragging me out of my inner demons, came, I, with a yearning eye embraced it, eliminating the notion of it, being a crooked game. The demons that swirl inside me, and the humble whisperings

For a messenger of lies I lay down the script. A kick starts the game. I am the only visitor to the gallery. Kamasutra suicide displayed was a way of expression of a revolt against honour killing of your own

The snow-capped royal mountain Oversees the landscape beneath Like a mighty monarch seated On a throne high above the earth Spread at the feet below Flower beds form a velvet carpet Emanating fragrance and cheers And the magic of rainbow