• Kavita

    Bantwaara

    Do kadam ki doori hai bas, Aur vahan rehta mera bhai hai,Paraye bhi juda na kar sake jisey,Uss rishtey me dooriya apno ne laayi hai. Arey unn din toh hum garam halaaton me bhi, mauj me hua karte the.Shhor tha sheher me toh hum mandir-mazjido me shaanti dhoonda karte the.Mai subah pooja me yaad karta unhe, voh har shaam namaz padha karta tha,Naa khuda milta, naa ishwar hum aapas me hi sukoon paaya karte the. Bandha hua tha desh jab, aur hum khul kar sapne dekha karte the,Vahan uss kone me hogi dono ki ek dukaan, befazul naam bhi rakha karte the.Ghar ird gird hi the, kabhi voh maa ki…

  • Poems,  Social Awareness

    #JusticeForAsifa

    In what world do we live? Is it the hell that we reside in? What did we do? What were our sins? That we are surrounded by demons, As in our people, our kith, and kin. I wonder what a kid would have done. A young life with dreams within, She must be had hopes to change the world, But how in seconds, her existence got changed by the evil. My mother held my wrist, Right before opening the main door, Handled me my weapons, Didn’t let me go without my armor, The fear of her killed our freedom, Hindranced our ways, Chained our hearts; the fear of demon. Life…

  • Poems

    Victims of Inhumanity

    The poem is dedicated to people who are suffering the crisis in Syria. The speaker of these lines is a child who was killed in the war. The poem is written in the form of an address to his mother who died too. Agar khul jaaye neend tumhari, Toh mujhe bhi jaga dena maa, Kaafi chhote khaai hai maine, Zara marham unn par laga dena maa, Sehma mera mann hai maa, Thoda, thapthapa dena, Zakhm nahi par, dard jaega, Tumhare sparsh se, Shayad mera dard kam ho jaega maa. Garam swadishth khaana, Apne haatho se bana dena maa. Bhook lagi hai bahut, Tum pyaar se khila dena maa. Pehle ki…

  • Poems

    Words Of An Unborn Child

    In the womb of the mother, Inside my first home, I feel so loved, I feel so secured. Contented with the love Showered by my loving ones, I kick a little harder, Look, how happy they have become! Says dad, he will be a football-er. I wonder how my father knows I am he? My identity is even unknown to me. I may be a boy they adore or a girl of whom they never thought. Every now and then there’s a hand to caress my shield, to show love to; to bless, my little body in the building process. They care, and love me a lot, wish, I reach…

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