Rituals poems bring the best collection of short and long rituals poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great rituals rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these rituals poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on rituals are here for you.
Ceremonial Rituals in Hindu Religion smacks the logic Daughters and Sons though born in the same womb are differentiated Son’s carry the paternal ancestral legacy while Daughters are abandoned midway to assume In laws legacy Sons may not look after
Dot maketh a man blind, beware of the outcome ’tis a drought, fandangle dingus maketh a relationship, acerbic as rum ’tis not an espousal, ’tis a fungus Humans , worshipers of everything Gods, demons or a fane find occurrences to
Two stars partially shrouded with clouds, Standing in the terrace to behold the glimmering horizon, That was Sikkim. Days after the torrential rain, And death People’s bodies were beneath the debris, And trees Be it heat or frigid, poorer dies.
And you with me sloped on a crested deep Both swirled in garbs of eastern ochre hue eye viewing eye – the scintillating view to melt within and spring in wistful sleep. The whiff of thawed out selves wilt, wane
Heavens descended Agni, Varuna, Indra & Yama¹ lined up To witness a Swayamvar² Of a heart with a soul, A reunion on earth & a Meghdutam³ With a cloud as pen The universe as canvas Was asked to describe The
The same rhythm of a million years, Today is not today. The same rituals of splintering spheres, All acts of the same play. The same longing that filled The first vagrant lone poet. That grew and dreamt and then distilled,
O you callous peaks of Siachen Cruel have been your whims illogical and insane beyond words To unleash your deadly powers on dutiful soldiers at work was not an act of bravado but the most condemnable deceit . Look every
1 She is the tree green and wide abundantly dressed overflowing spreading her sleeves blesses all in her cool shade solitude teems with breezy songs I feel nearer God 2 That autumn tree from this window looks like a young
Last few glimpse of a lying soul, Was seen behind ten heads Oh! Life, Is so uncertain Gains Maya when alive And attains Moksha ultimately Pride, prejudice, love and sacrifice What’s the point when it means nothing? Afterlife? Who can
Panoply of mystical elements o’ breath aired per millennia times two resonated veritable pantheon of superstitions fired imagination as catalyst viz homo sapiens fore head tugging simian beard whence bygone agents provocateurs fueled tens of previous generations bred Manichaeism credo,
We delude ourselves, always have, still do. Center of everything, gods’ favorite, we knew. How immature! We follow rituals begun thousands of years ago. Started by those who knew next to nothing of where they lived, their place in a
It is, first and last, my small kingdom. It has a ceiling closing off on me the gates of sun, stars and curses; it has walls ornamented by my dreams, and a mirror which sleeps whenever darkness passes by. At
Innocent inside the circle, you reached nowhere. Dirty hands on the knob kept the century locked. Carbon footprints were deepening under the sun, blue bird circling in vain. The jealous moon exiled to black hole. The dust of the brutal
Festivals come and Go The Rich celebrate with gusto The middle class try to appease God and they celebrate too The poor and down trodden left wondering what is it all about When your kitty and tummy is filled you
Travelling with along, stout dark man In the burstling city thoroughfare Talking incessantly about immediate enjoyment Of unnatural genre was of good old days, When we found ourselves shopping Delusion in cramped dimly lit economic pub Where the roaring music
11 There is living after death, there is death before life, Ordinary living which is in scrambles of destituteness, Destituteness of idealism, of knowledge meaningful, of utter candidness. Dull realities of weeds, weeds of rampant ignorance, averment Of void words,
The city appears with three folds The wintry upper sky is quite red With dim looking sun The middle level is foggy, Zero level is full of chill wind. The man you had seen in last summer on narrow street
“The past I hold in high esteem Thoughts on love never leaving As trees strained from the heat of the sun And memories silently grieving The winds that blows Decides where my love will go It may spread to east
This is a new feeling I discovered, scalp of old memories recovered. Remnants of those feelings still lingering, all over my body tickling. Blending with my soul, warming me whole, dark like a ghoul, I felt a hole. Strong was
Sinuous roots stretch scrawny limbs, Seeking security in a forbidding terrain. Tentative fingers probing for purchase, Momentarily anchor, creep and grasp again. Mindless ambition, an instinctive will, Drives a path to solar sustenance. Revitalising rays multiply cells, Promoting uninvited regeneration.
Emotions are what fuel us What fill us to our core. They are the defining elements in our deepest thoughts. That fist you slammed against a wall? Anger. The tears you cried over a heartbreak? Sadness, pain. The curses you
Camping in the outback of Manning Park. In the approaching twilight created by the “Grand Master”. A blend of majestic colors have addressed the eastern skyline. Soft hues of mauves, leading the eye into hints of blended greys and pastel
What is normal? We live in a world where everything seems normal. It’s normal to have two eyes and one head. It’s normal to live on a ball floating in a limitless void. It’s normal to have two sexes for
Leaves blown asunder Like images from a dream. Rushing to journeys end In life’s endless stream. Undercurrents swirling Dark as a cloudy day Smooth as silk above Warmed by the morning ray. There comes a meander, a bend In life’s
Modern calculations Life complications Are not real Illusions, no facts There is no deal Nature wisely reacts. Created equal Within a cycle Inferior, no one is Superiority is a fake mental buzz Sharing, freedom and respect Of individuality is my
sometime I watch the fear held aloft by you, possessed, you try to protect yourself from you in vain, very thirsty, white hydrangeas on your lips tremble, exhaust their need for clouds in blue eyes, pale fountain gives up tumult
Every minute from dawn until dusk, I watch a screen, waste my life away. It’s not a good life But it is my life now. The television is my headstone, Marking in the electronic earth The coffin of my bedroom.
There’s a Christmas in my heart That keeps burning The candle of sweet joys And hopeful days, blissful memories of the past Like an eternal shine Of the happiness divine Dispelling, The darkness within And I shine like a sun
Lighter than a feather, when weighed on you though, never heavier, Rain in the storm, blown away I’m torn, open up, it’s not like the norm Adored but not shown, praises that become worn, Show me the love, where’s the
And when it rains all of a sudden Water seeps through skin and soul I feel the droplets in my veins A shivering, drenched, shattered whole Something is wrong, somewhere for sure An abrupt pain, I can’t endure The gaps
Must bow before Omnicient There had been no dearth of grace in Must start schemes of things with His name synonym of kindness The Creator of all substance The Essence of Charm around Latent but exposed Beautiful to the best
Little one, resting cozily in my care, Sleep and dream. Little one, nestled in my arms, Forget about the struggles of today. You are in my safekeeping; Nothing will ever harm you. You have been placed in my guidance, And