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  • asha_george 14w


    When the sun is bright and the days warm,
    When dreams are dreamt and hopes are high,
    When lulled into the summer’s charm -
    The days are busy, the nights go by.

    When the sky is clear and the wind whispers:
    “Go live. Go fly. And love yourself.”
    “But this must be done,” a voice mutters,
    And you choose to survive instead.

    It’s when the clouds gather and the sun
    Is dimmed, that vision meets sight
    ‘The hours are spent, the race is run,’
    You ask, ‘But where is the will, the might?’

    The gale blows and shrieks, you can’t ignore -
    It’s wailing call, it’s rattling tone.
    The storm spews and soaks the core
    The soul stirs. A groan. A moan.

    The dreary downpour drenches you cold,
    But you are awake to feel the chill -
    The deluge will flood and will soon unfold
    A fertile mind, a sprouting will.

    The noise of the thunder will let you scream,
    Your troubled thoughts and secret fears.
    The lightning flashes your real dream
    The rain wipes away those trickling tears.

    And everything the storm uproots, it takes,
    The eye of the storm closes to rest.
    And the teacup that it was swirling in, breaks
    The sun shines brighter after the tempest.


  • asha_george 48w

    Baby beds

    Baby ant, small and red,
    Where is your baby bed?
    In this anthill cozy,
    With my family.

    Baby bird, baby bird,
    Where do you board?
    In this snug nest,
    With mother dearest.

    Baby spider, many of feet,
    Where is your safe retreat?
    In this web, smooth and silky
    Spun by dear mommy.

    Baby bee, buzz and fly,
    Where do you safely lie?
    In this sweet hive,
    I grow and thrive.

    Baby snail, soft and slow,
    Where do you grow?
    In my little shell,
    I rest and sleep well


  • asha_george 48w

    On love

    I watch my baby, and a lesson I know:
    Because she loves herself, that's how
    She's unafraid to say no, but still seeks my love

    I watch my baby and I come to know
    Not to hold grudges, but to let go
    There is always a new tomorrow.

  • asha_george 49w

    All I Need

    I thought I needed this
    To make me feel good
    A partner, a romantic kiss
    And a marriage should.

    I thought I would be happier
    And more confident
    If my family was lovelier
    And had a close confidant

    But now I realise,
    I am my own best lover
    I am. Therefore I suffice
    I am what I need ever.

    All I need is me
    I am my own best friend
    And within me
    I am my own fiend.


  • asha_george 61w

    The Daisies of Darjeeling

    The land of mighty mountains,
    Where clouds descend
    On silver oaks and flowing fountains
    And valleys pleasant.

    When I look back at Darjeeling,
    To relive its beauty,
    The mind's eye flashes to bring
    The simple daisy.

    Humbly they creep and bloom,
    They don't ask for much:
    A clod of earth, a little room
    Cracks on the wall and such

    They could be trampled upon,
    With ease, dismissed
    Carelessly plucked or torn,
    And left to fate's twist.

    But the little daisy survives,
    And blooms with goodwill,
    A nesting spot it provides,
    For creatures small and little.

    And thus the daisies spread,
    And cover the broken wall,
    And along the paths we tread,
    For a weary day's recall.


  • asha_george 64w

    An ode to the tree-planter

    In the dismal streets of a big city,
    Lived a girl, little and lonely,
    Sighed she, and stared outside
    Gloomily trying to decide -
    How to spend the sultry evening
    And make it less boring.
    When she saw an old man
    With spade and watering can
    Quietly he dug, seeds he sowed,
    On either sides of the barren road.

    He tended and cared for the seeds,
    And plucked away the weeds
    And supported it with stakes;
    So that no tender shoot breaks.
    He shooed away hungry cattle,
    All this was his daily battle,
    Through angry storm and heavy rain
    And people's indifference and disdain,
    The little saplings grew and made,
    A green retreat, a canopy of shade.

    The little girl could not get lonely,
    With such friendly company,
    Of leaping squirrels, chirping birds
    And glimpses of insects' worlds.
    The tasty fruits and lovely flowers
    Sweetened her evening hours.
    The stooping old man had sown well:
    For upon his long farewell,
    She set out to a barren street,
    To make another green retreat.

    - To the grandfather who planted the trees in our colony


  • asha_george 65w


    We think that war is for a crowd,
    Between nations and countries.
    We think of war as a mushroom cloud;
    From weapons that destroy peace.

    When does war really begin?
    Where does hate take its root?
    From inside our hearts, from within -
    Evil festers and bears its fruit.

    When we think we are always right,
    Or fail to accept our differences,
    When we divide and begin to fight,
    War is taking over our senses.

    When we are too proud,
    To forgive and fail to let go,
    When our voice is too loud.
    We fuel our anger and ego.

    When we could be kind but choose,
    To seek revenge and loot.
    When we refuse to change our views
    Or try a different route.

    In us, the real war begins,
    And soon bombs are hurled.
    The evil in our heart wins
    And slowly conquers the world.


  • asha_george 66w

    Write a piece on your favourite season.
    #season #monsoon #rains #writingcontest

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    When the world is weary,
    Of summer's relentless blaze;
    When the earth is dry and dreary,
    To the skies we eagerly gaze.

    When will the winds blow,
    And soothe the scorching pain?
    Where did those clouds go,
    The ones laden with rain?

    The smell of wet earth announces
    A sure shower of sheer relief.
    The overcast sky looms and promises
    To wash away the greasy grief.

    The lightning quickly flashes;
    And the thunder, like a drumroll!
    A raindrop falls and splashes -
    And soon a heavy downpour!

    And all the creatures cheer,
    From their homes, safe and warm;
    The moody monsoon is here -
    The rains have their own charm.


  • asha_george 67w

    #abstractc @writersbay @mirakee #hope #poem #sunshine #moonlight @kas_780
    What does sunshine taste like? What does moonlight smell like? What does hope feel like?

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    I think a golden ray of sunshine,
    Would taste delectable and fine.
    Warm like golden tea in a porcelain cup
    Healthy as an egg-yolk, sunny side up!
    Sweet as the honey in a sunflower;
    Ripe as a golden mango in summer.

    And a silvery ray of moonlight
    Adds its fragrance to the night.
    A scent like a jasmine's, fair
    But a little salty, like seaside air.
    Lovely as the aroma of wet earth,
    But a little smoky, like ash in a hearth.

    On cloudy days with dark skies,
    Take heart, a ray of sunlight shines.
    In dark nights with no guiding star
    Never fear, the moon shines from afar,
    To show us a way and help us cope,
    And be filled with cheer and hope.


  • asha_george 67w


    Tick-tock, tick-tock,
    Steadily goes the clock!
    Time moves with zest;
    Time will never rest.

    But it seems to go too fast;
    When you're having a blast.
    And it seems to go too slow;
    When you're feeling low.

    Time goes at a steady pace,
    No matter the space or place,
    It does not slow or hurry
    And mean to cause you worry.