Quotes about monsoon, page 14
When New Year Comes
When New Year Comes
Everybody Shivers
In the month of January
Which is cold and Airy
In February winter get’s Weary
Prepares for Leaving
Paving way for spring to come
In the month of March
Flowers loom Large
April comes
Summer knocks on the Door
When May comes,
Sun Brightens
Mangoes ripe and Juicy
Long hot days
Make June very tiring
Holidays for Children
All wait for Rain
Monsoon at its Peak
When July arrives
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poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Repose Of Rivers
The willows carried a slow sound,
A sarabande the wind mowed on the mead.
I could never remember
That seething, steady leveling of the marshes
Till age had brought me to the sea.
Flags, weeds. And remembrance of steep alcoves
Where cypresses shared the noon’s
Tyranny; they drew me into hades almost.
And mammoth turtles climbing sulphur dreams
Yielded, while sun-silt rippled them
Asunder ...
How much I would have bartered! the black gorge
And all the singular nestings in the hills
Where beavers learn stitch and tooth.
The pond I entered once and quickly fled—
I remember now its singing willow rim.
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poem by Harold Hart Crane
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The Rain Tolls
And the rain sounded like hail,
From the rooftops - a galvanized frailty
To whom does the rain toll?
The marred corners are baying prudently,
And soon the thunder would crash like the foliage,
For whom does the rain fall?
Then all the people who basked underneath the rain,
From puddles, the images hang loose from the terrain,
To whom does the murk of the wind call?
The cold monsoon blusters,
And the trees sprawl to their forefathers,
Tell me underneath the pouring savagery, for whom does the wind stall?
A chasm waiting to be filled,
By the zenith that scampers throughout the fields,
I am bludgeoned by the wind as it scrolls
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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A Dream of Innocence
(A dream I dreamt when I was only four years old)
Hardly was I old years four,
Went through an experience unforgettable.
It was the month of monsoon winds,
In the clear sunny morn I went out of the village,
And beheld the sun rising in the west,
Beyond the yonder peaks of the hills,
In the same place where it descends.
Fear gripped my mind and I ran to the mosque,
Lest the Door of Penitence should be closed.
I ran and ran through the streets shouting,
“O! People come! Come to the mosques!
The Doom is encroaching, beg apology of the sins,
Lest the Door of Deliverance be shut.”
No sooner did I find myself in front of the door
Than I found the mosque running,
With moderate speed, as the train leaves the station.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Portrait Of A Stranger
For a little while I wanted to wander between two roads
Save my fear
I may fall
in love with my two selves
in two roads... and with
divided love I may roam forever
which but I wanted for a little while
a little while forever perhaps is truly rare
A glimpse of your dance
like marching drops of monsoon rain
I wanted to paint your eyes once
And draw out of it your tear drop,
islet of your pain.
Which flows like smiling rays.
Save my fear
making you smile may become my only joy
and in black and white
I end up painting your eyes
and keep wondering whether they held
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poem by Aman Saa
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Nothing remains
In summer more skin burns can be experienced
In monsoon the rain drops can be seen and faced
In winter some cold is but with warmth shivered
Love has left me in such a position to be always feared
Nothing remains shattered as that of dreams
As we live in fantasy and whims
Either can be an infatuation
Or not understood in question
When no one turns
Nature return with message and peace
Complete calm and no illusion
Simple thought and willingness to surrender without confusion
What else we need in our nest?
To spend the life with comforts at best
Always on move to think of the next
On blank paper to imprint new text
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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We Poets are Farmers Still
We poets are farmers still,
ploughing our mind in the invisible field,
whenever the mind makes the pen wield.
Sowing the seeds of emotion,
in the field of melancholy,
we reap the expression of joy
with our hearts happy and merry.
Gardeners we are to our core,
as we are happy to see our words bloom
amidst the reverberation of “Encores”.
Idioms, our fertilizers,
simile and metaphors, the growth enhancers.
The monsoon, the joy of spring,
when in the winds of expression,
our joy swings.
Words bearing a new look,
publicity reaping the best
out of our joyous moods.
Our alert mind, the scare crow,
driving the birds of plagiarism away,
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poem by Dr. Sandeep Kumar Kar
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Only God knew
Not only God knew
But differently viewed too
Mother's womb was place like haven
Almighty preferred it as safe refuge even
She is only person of her kind
For child's welfare she is almost blind
Sees no monsoon or spring
Baby must grow for happiness to bring
Even animals have instinct
That mother is distinct
They rush to the mother's direction
Without waiting for any action
God created everybody to enjoy
Sent them here to see it with joy
Love was to rule and not the hatred
We created confusion and were misled
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Evergreen India
Land rich in Traditions and Culture
Proud of its Past, Present and Future
Invaded for Jems, Spices and Terrain
Agricultural prosperity, serene beauty, monsoon Rain
Indigo, Tamarind, Sandalwood, Pepper, Silk, Diamonds, Gold
Many Countries couldnot its prosperity Behold
Turmeric, Mango, Pearls, Corals, Ivory, Rubies, Emeralds
Reigning high, Vast Treasures sent Heralds
Scriptures, Sculptures, Festivals, Feasts, Dance
You can Enjoy the whole in a glace
Poetry, Astrology, Sports, Yoga, Mathamatics, Science
A sweet note amidst noise, a deep silence
Believe in Simlpe Living, Giving and Forgiving
True Art, Commerce and Science of Living
Rarest to common Flora and Fauna
To the Earth its the Corona
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poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
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When You Find The Code
when you find the code of my secret
do not tell me about it. Be silent as i have been silent.
it is not my own making, it has been there.
i have nothing to do with it, it has been embedded to the inner
skin of my birth. Blame me if you will. Tell me i am the dirt of the earth.
it does not matter.
it is my duty to breathe. I take in the air and fill my lungs.
I nourish this body. This is all i have.
I am not mine. Neither do i belong to you.
Someone put me here and he does not tell me who he is.
Or where i come from.
I grow like a tree without my own mind.
I spread like the moss, without my volition.
I have no direction like the monsoon wind.
I have no light like the sun.
I do not borrow any like the moon.
I float like any cloud. And i will not complain.
This is myself. I do not even know now what this means.
I am alive. That is what i only know.
I will die. That is what i can see with the rest of those
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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