hasmukh amathalal

(17/05/1947 / Vadali, Dist: - sabarkantha, Gujarat, India)

With work


My first scene before eyes
Comes on without my try
Just folding of hands automatically
And go to prayers internally

It is just beginning
Out side, the birds are chirping
The cuckoo is making sweet melody
I remember all and get ready

Nothing is planned in advance
The sun rays appear at once
I venture out to have lucky chance
The whole of world seems to be at variance

I keep all in memory
As mind is laden with worries
The thoughts enter mind
For the comforts and other means to find

It is not easy to find job
Get enough to support
Fulfill their wishes
With day to finish

But they are all reasonable
Understand about my days of struggle
I make day with hard work
Evening is pleasant with no word

Submitted: Friday, April 25, 2014

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (With work by hasmukh amathalal )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 3 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. HELPLESS, Soumita Sarkar Ray
  2. A piece of my ground, Soumita Sarkar Ray
  3. Tick Tock, Michael Mira
  4. Love Burns, Khairul Ahsan
  5. Whispers, Mihaela Pirjol
  6. For Your Family Pride, Are You Going To .., Bijay Kant Dubey
  7. The Tears of A Woman, Who Can Underatnd .., Bijay Kant Dubey
  8. Love Is A Groovy Thing, Electric Lady
  9. I Think, tallulah montegue
  10. Fill Free, Teye Wayoe Ebenezer

Poem of the Day

poet Edmund Spenser

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]