Rahul Singh Rana
life never writes anything, it speaks silently. sometimes so harshly, sometimes too softly. more »
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Rahul Singh Rana Poems
The Bent Beggar
Bent was I, From the world so dull, I saw a hope, Some young minds
Now Is The Time
Now is the time To watch myself move, In stillness. Now is the time
It's A Baby Girl
Just fell in love The first time I saw you. Your tiny hands were So timid and beautiful
My Cryptic Love
I fell in love A kind never heard before. I fell in love A kind unsaid yet.
Was It A Trance?
Wind was crashing into my face It took me for a moment Into a trance. Never was I
I was walking barefoot, I asked the man, Who came in my way! Why I was so wrong,
A tear in my eye Costed nothing. A dream to fly high Costed nothing.
I Saved Her, For Her
The day I was born, With my blurred vision Recognizing slowly everyone around me I heard about my father,
A Dead Dream
So much pain I smothered till date, What about a life? A life so grand,
An Odious Adieu
As people pass by, My parts (logs) remain left behind. Once born in soil, Will return back as such.
Because I Am Drunk
Drunk in the wine of youth, Drunk in the self made troupe, Drunk in what they not call as wine, Drunk, despite,
Wars, Oh wars! Where are thou fought? In between hearts
My mother used to wake up, At odd hours To watch me sleep. Does she still wonder
This Way Was My Poetry Born
This way was my poetry born Words were born And So was me,
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(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)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The Bent Beggar
Bent was I,
From the world so dull,
I saw a hope,
Some young minds
In smoking puff.
I am a bent beggar,
So bent with age
The world so stiff?
With one eye infected
And a broken heart.
I stood there,
Begging for a dime.
The youngsters saw me
As did the world.
While smoking a cigarette,
One of them yelled
“Why do you beg? ”
Unable was I to speak
For the world has made me forget
Why do I beg?
Were those the mortal hopes
Which lay so dead in me.
Or was it the dead me?
So, bent with age