Poem: Butterflies of the mustard fields

O butterflies of the mustard fields! Reach me And teach me Your secret of happiness. I wait for you, o butterflies Of the Spring to reach me In the balcony from the Golden mustard fields. I can see you Flutter, frolic and frisk Over the gardens of yellow And down to the shrub-engulfed cho* That’s…

Poem: A factory of condoms

Is it a resort or a factory of condoms spitting out bins, full of slimy balloons daily into the municipality’sĀ garbage drum? It stinks of semen! Many unborn children are chucked to rot and dry like waifs. By Onkar Sharma

Poem: The ritual of condolences

‘Let the grand ritual begin of paying a visit to the victim’s family.’ ‘The parents must be in grief. The only daughter died at night. The body swung loose from the nylon noose. A mysterious note was left behind placed under the cellphone on the window sill visible directly from the door way.’   ‘Let…

Poem: Never seen again

Sunken in the mire of grief– in the radius of a funeral place surrounded like a prisoner from all sides with the barren-broken hills– an ex-armyman, distressed and doleful, kept on sitting on a rock by the algae water pond, even when all kins had returned to the hustle.   Did he mourn the departure…

Return of the poetry

Will 2013 be able to fetch the lost glory for poetry? Will poetic music return into the publishing world–print and online? In the last few decades we have seen the poetry losing its grab in the society. Writers or wannabe poets are less convinced, because they don’t see takers for the poetic art. Nor do…

Poem: Jilted Dude

  Never shall I preach love! Never shall I speak love! Never shall I look into your flimsy eyes, Crystallised, covered with contact lenses. Never shall I hold your fake hand That swiftly went for a diamond ring from a trader’s boy. Never ever shall I show you my face! Lied you on every occasion,…

Poem: Recipe of the Day

My friend uploaded a pic Of a train-beheaded man With words superimposed at the bottom ‘Will Meet You, Love, in Afterlife’. ‘Who’s that girl he’s dead for?’ I typed in the comment box. My Facebook buddies hopped on To set my pulse racing With the volley of absurd quickies. ‘It’s blind love, dear.’ ‘Did the…