Brown Radha

I've experienced my creativity reaching in dark corners of humanity, which has left me in a unconcluded world. We all witness unfair incidents, some out of us extend our help and some could pass sympathy and we all take away some lesson from it.  Backstreet is a series of my poems from those dark corners, in which I've tried to bring my imaginations sweeping these unfair stories. Backstreet-I belongs to this a young boy and his mother who suffered from society's prejudice and an unfair challenge life threw at them. So here it is... A young boy from backstreet An orgeat or a wine,  We often found him in lay. Though the backstreet had been despairing,  But he was always grave and gay.  None can deny,  He has same sunset.  He also wears denims, But what all he receives is backlash.  He must not be a traitor, Can't say if he was a deceiver.  But I have seen a sacrifice in his eyes,  Maybe he was coerced by an invader.  We heard he received a...

I've experienced my creativity reaching in dark corners of humanity, which has left me in an unconcluded world. We all witness unfair incidents, some out of us extend our help and some could pass sympathy and we all take away some lesson from it.  Backstreet is a series of my poems from those dark corners, in which I've tried to bring my imaginations sweeping these unfair stories. Backstreet-II belongs to an old father whose son ignored his emotions towards him and the couch.  Here is is... An old father from backstreet Backstreet being rushed today, Maybe school kids sold to scrap dealer, all their books. Or, somebody got mugged by a crook.  But it was horrible when his favorite cigar was found in a brook Something must have gone wrong, Seems like someone had attacked him. How can anyone be cruel to that old. I heard his son sold that couch, the old man gifted late wife from his first wage. They say, only the couch and their son are left from his good days.    ...

I've experienced my creativity reaching in dark corners of humanity, which has left me in a unconcluded world. We all witness unfair incidents, some out of us extend our help and some could pass sympathy and we all take away some lesson from it.  Backstreet is a series of my poems from those dark corners, in which I've tried to bring my imaginations sweeping these unfair stories. Backstreet-III belongs to this old potter who makes mud toys for kids and pots for his town.  So here it is... An old potter from backstreet The yellow palms and his effete eyes, a little seclusion, to sanctify.  The bustle backstreet with its first grieving,  but some brawled, some scowled, a few screams but many soured.  A loose boney old, with all his breaths empty, now resting sane with murk smile, leaving no scope for empathy. He had come back from bedlam, but this time not shrilling, Only carved into body and soul, and some shuck and sanies. When neighbors witnessed the old man's ...

Everybody in their teenage experiences different kind of emotions; love, jealousy, sadness, anxiety, joy, curiosity, anger, admiration, loneliness, dissatisfaction, hopefulness, and much more. In that age, we generally compare our lives with others and try to connect with all these emotions. This is a beautiful process of growing and becoming a better person.  I was always curious to frame my emotions and collect them on a paper. I wrote this poem under the feeling of fear. This poem is a dark story of an orphan, who couldn't survive the heaviness in her heart. So here it is ...  An orphan in the woods   A bridge over the drain in a wood, And a round around the grand tree. A heap of pale leaves piled up by the swift wind. A sensation in her heart, the whole wood cried when announced orphan.  She was sitting under the tree, talking to the trees. Every particle listening to her, even broken wires started creep.  By the fear of bullied by people, she chose the soli...

I was in my teenage when I wrote this poem portraying a mother's love towards her daughter; where the mother struggled to find right words to express her feelings in a letter. It was easy for me to connect with the feelings as I saw my grandmother missing her daughter who lives abroad and hardly used to call her.  And today, when people are locked in their houses and not able to meet each other in person, I again connect with the pain of a mother who misses her children. Whenever I read this poem, it always leave me thinking with deeper thoughts, but helps me having better understanding for human feelings and life.  So here it is... The three dots A mother, from a long time, Was hesitating in writing a letter to her daughter. Here, everyone can imagine her untold feelings. The wishes, she wanted to convey were still unexpressed. Words were coming to her in chaos. The paper was almost blank. "Take care" was the last expression of her letter. While decorating her that mode ...

When I was a teen, I used to write in my diary as I was inspired by Anne Frank. In that chapter of Anne Frank's diary during school days, one statement inspired me a lot and I still remember it precisely, that " Nobody is interest in musings of a child"  and that was the time when I became secretive. I didn't share my feeling with anybody but with my diary.  But like every other teen, I wanted to make memories and remember them in coming future. So I started writing about summary of my days, sometimes about my feelings and at times poems as well.  10 years from then, I still have that diary and found this poem while turning pages through days near my birthday of 2010.  This was my first poem, which in today's date as well, is very meaningful and deep. The poem teaches you to be hopeful. So here it is ...  I'm alive Yesterday, I was out in a garden, of a strange city.  It was quite different for me. Flowers were more beautiful there. Like they were smiling a...