copyitvid

Two Centuries(Years) Back, Humans had evolved, Had twenty hundreds of hacks, With water, From cold, To hot, Boiling at each spot, But now all have stopped, No more drops can be opted Today There is not even a drop to waste, Each must be conserved at a faster rate, Or else, There will be just wait, No haste, Since there will be no energy,  To exaggerate, Only one way, Go through the birth-death GATE. so, Save water today or face it, before its too late. 

Four directions full of water. One boat loaded with matter.   It is called Houseboat.   To one inside the boat does not matter. However, to them, beside the road it flatters, It is also called Abode. On the first journey, Without a penny, And finding jenny, They say welcome aboard. Whenever eyesight goes, you will find a God. Not the Lord. Even after three continuous days. You will find it short. Now instead of getting a nod. People prefer a group of small dot,   On a small page showing loading, Actually not.   “WHAT” Where is that craze?   Gone for a page!   Where are those days? Sown for finding ways. To travel stands for becoming a sage. Better were those black and white days. And there it lays,   The Alleppey.   World’s only sacred place.   Retrieve those days.   I wish it would stop. Before the time comes. We find that drop.   Last one, On earth and it’s top. ...

The Story Of a Poet Life has many experiences, Too far to explain, Too less to prevail. Today I’ll share one.   From all I learn.   But this one, You yourself churn. That day on a walk , In a locality ,Stray, Road Was Grey,   With potholes filled with water. Though, I must not say. I jumped in the water. It splashed on me . I thought for a second,   And went on free. But that incident,   Remained in my mind. And didn't let me easily. I went on to rewind,   That made me write,   Another poem moon and sun that night. All from my inner sight. I became a poet by my basic right. Not by any plight.

When the sun rises, It rises in the East, Above the sea it rises, And rises with all its feat. Along the trees it rises, Between the silver mist. But rises with golden surprises, Which outshines the bronze and silver medals in fist. When the sun rises, It rises to fill colours in our life, And shows us the way away from crisis,  Making us happy without a birthday knife. When we are in sadness’ clutches . Sun makes us see the lock, and stops our grief. It helps find the latches, Taking us out of the clutches on everymorning-eve. After a long journey, Its time comes for end of the day great. With its irony, Turning out to be the start of late. When the sun sets, It creeps towards the West. Setting down behind the cloud sets, Leaving the rest. To give their best, lets, Providing them peace in their chest. And taking our energy tests, So that tomorrow we can give the best. When the sun sets, It leaves the experiences withi...