Doctor and Diplomat. A Global Vagabond more »
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Madhup Mohta Poems
Monika Rainbows are fantasies, Of an anaemic sun. If only our eyes were prisms
Remain with me
With each snowfall and in each snowflake As I bury memories annd try to invent hope And seek to go beyond you and to return to my being As threads of time and of thoughts and the tides
Another leaf I turn in the book of life Another spring blossoms within me Cascades
Chopin in E Minor
When winds whirled and waltzed with virgin vines On a January night jejuned of all other joys You stepped into my mind, First curled and then unfolded and then wilted
If I am not you, I cease to be me And if you do not remember me Perhaps it is that you have ceased to be.
No. I Am No Neruda. I Am Me
Here this. And hear this in this, in this, the moment of your impudent abondon When you choose to ignore the calling of your head, and flow with your heart. In this the fragile moment that you live to love me, in all the honesty of your being.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Rainbows are fantasies,
Of an anaemic sun.
If only our eyes were prisms
Each Truth would have come clad
In a primary colour.
Dreams are facts,
Of life lived after-hours.
If only, we were awake
Each wish would come true
In the moment of its conception.
Songs are sorrows.
Of silences punctuated
If only we had heard
Each silence would have sung
With our heartbeats.
Flowers are memories,
Of fragrances dancing uncertainly.
If only we had remembered
Each scent would have embraced...