Expressions writings

The rain drops a human       @ Shreefal Mehta. 11 Jul 2020     To hear it read out loud:  https://youtu.be/w2q9KIO5ckU The dry baked earth gulps in vain No soothing touch for this deep pain The raised voice, dismissive look and wave of hand Still the needy tap on the glass pane of wonderland.   The soft sinking couch of secure comfort Embracing, it fills the bubble with my high worth. Discomforting is the wanting gaze. How can a touch so fragile Crack the egg? Do we fear it will let in the whole camel ?   Dehumanized, “poverty its ways should mend!” But of comfort and novelty there could be no end... In this icy calm cocoon, lies a pulsing red ember Quietly raises the question that can tear asunder.   Neglected and ignored, parched for a touch or a sign A marker, a hope, an answer, for this question mine: Where is the humanity in this self-enclosing bubble? Where is the uplifting of spirit from amidst the rubble?   Arms outstretched...

The beauty of attraction     © Shreefal Mehta  5 July 2020   To hear this read aloud:  https://youtu.be/81-bcM42vH0 The continuum that we call our life’s existence Is woven from moments of insight and experience My memories of our past reactions Is make believe for today’s actions A like here A dislike there Form a self Shape a person   Whence these fleeting joys? From where arise these tears?   An atom here A particle there Form a shape Make a substance What this magical cohesion? Why this random collision?   The meanings we draw, memories give A sense of self, with which we live.   Present ourselves, we bend all space Why do others bend more Why do some turn their face When love’s waves pulls the sand under their toes   Which memories we choose What thoughts follow we Into a world view we fuze Each sticky memory in the me   The beauty you see, Is not in the memory But what powers that selection Is the beauty in the attraction...

Not every poem must be finished     © Shreefal Mehta   3 July 2020   Hear it read out loud:  https://youtu.be/jwbEDNOh14U Not every poem that starts must be finished Not every dream must be dissected and diminished Some thoughts just offer a rare glimpse into the beauty of light Some birds soar high, not for food, just for freedom of flight.   Not every rule is meant to be followed or broken And not every thought must be followed or spoken The fading soft light of a dream often awakens a song, Your looks in the morn give life more meaning than poems long.   Not every poem that starts must be finished, Next dawn’s hidden in sunset’s curtains undiminished. The tiny seed hides a tree in full sight of those who would see The tiny atom holds more energy than all the waves in the sea   Behind the curled fist, unspoken, unseen muscles flex, Not every life that blinks is forgotten, as the poet reflects.