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Thousands of Nikhil Parekh's poems on God, Peace, Love, Brotherhood, Friendship, Humanity, Environment, Anti Terror, Lovers, Life, Death - here. Click on Page Numbers below to read complete poems. Each page has 10 poems. |
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| »The impeccable air |
When I study the softness and true intimacy of the air, It encapsulates my mind with an altruistic blare. The velvety touch, the shadowy grace, Have evaporated fully without a trace. The hot and blistering breeze, Has made the cool atmosphere cease. The salty scent of air near the volatile sea, Has always satisfied hordes of humming bee, And filled innocent minds of school children with lots of glee. The ravenous smell of the sweet blue air, Has made man go near it, For he has in his mind a plethora of thoughts; but no fear, And as the scorching Sun filters through the sky, The arid air mass cries aloud, To get the sympathy of thin wisps of invisible clouds. |
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| »The Indian Cow |
WHITE SKIN FOLDS hanging loosely, curved tusks of ivory jutting from skull, large ear flaps providing drafts of air, scaring away hoards of flies, big eyeballs shining in car light, nasal apertures covered with secreted slime, long tail attached to a fringe of hair, projecting from recesses of fleshy hind-side, hunched back resulting in slow walking pace, black hooves stuck to leg cartilage, working incessantly in undulating hot soil, absorbing crisp rays of midday sun, with metal liners fixed to its leg, irrespective of age, time, health, giving liters of milk in a single day, squeezed out deftly from suspended teats, living on mere grass, a pure herbivorous disposition, sometimes sighted consuming sewage and paper, eaten as tasty beef meat in some nations, considered as sacrosanct on Indian soil, given the status of milk yielding mother, grazing quietly on grasslands of fertility, with occasional baths in monsoon rain-ponds, the Indian cow sure commands loads of respect. (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved. |
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| »The inner voice of my mind |
I thought of swimming in the sparkling waters of the lake, the inner voice of mind held me back saying, deathly green waters will suck you deep within the point of no return. i mused on skiing down the ice clad mountain, the inner voice of mind refrained me from doing so, as mighty avalanches of snow would strangulate me, burying me a few feet beneath the frozen coat of spring water. i pondered on penning a few lines of composition, the inner voice of mind made strong inroads of denial, saying that the carbon ink was sure to leak, creating embarrassed smudges on the flawless sheet of paper. i speculated on investing in the stock market, the inner voice of mind guffawed in pools of laughter, admonishing me from proceeding forward, as the entire index would collapse within seconds of my investment. i visualized gulping large barrels of tropical coconut water, the inner voice of mind stringently halted my stream of fantasy thought, reinforcing my mind with obnoxious visions of the water containing traces of snake poison. i perceived of spending my life with the person who loved me, as usual the inner voice of mind prompted me to alter my course of action, acquainting me of the dire consequences likely to follow, this time though beats of my heart were stronger than tunes of mind, facilitating me to work antagonistic to the mind, execute a perception into pragmatic reality, despite the precarious influence of INNER VOICE OF MIND (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved. |
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| »The instrument indespensable |
The instrument indispensable to stay happy was to stay contented, The instrument indispensable to feel warm; was to consume a pitcher full of sizzling tea, The instrument indispensable to unrelentingly fight like a true stalwart; was courage blended with lots of brawn, The instrument indispensable to swim in the choppy waves of ocean; was dexterous swirling of the hands and feet, The instrument indispensable to produce ravishing fragrance; was the ornately embellished crimson rose, The instrument indispensable to uninhibitedly laugh; was to be tickled voraciously in the intricate ribs, The instrument indispensable to quench thirst; was crystalline sacs of mountain water, The instrument indispensable to decode accurate time; was a compactly studded wrist watch, The instrument indispensable to run a computer; was a plethora of coherent microchips, The instrument indispensable to run marathon distance at swashbuckling speeds; was the tenacity of the leg, The instrument indispensable to fly a kite at astronomical heights in the sky; was a pliable and slender string, The instrument indispensable to fumigate infection and gloom from distant corners of the globe; was dazzling rays of sunshine, The instrument indispensable to hysterically sob; was the salinity in the eyes juxtaposed with tribulation, The instrument indispensable to inundate blank canvas with rustic streaks of color; was a articulately sculptured paint brush, The instrument indispensable to produce loads of salubrious milk; was the mother cow, The instrument indispensable to inculcate overwhelming strength in the body; was to perseveringly work and consume food, The instrument indispensable to produce fiery sensations in the palms; was to vigorously knead them, The instrument indispensable to feel miserably cold; was to stand on the summit of the mountain bereft of any clothes, The instrument indispensable to produce itching in the scalp; was abhorrent dandruff, The instrument indispensable to produce blazing fires; was a wildly strewn pile of baked twigs, The instrument indispensable to produce torrential rain; was a conglomerate of black thunder clouds, The instrument indispensable to illuminate a cloistered room; was waves of white electricity, The instrument indispensable to produce fetid smell; was a mountain of orphan sewage, The instrument indispensable to produce mesmerizing tunes; was the eloquent and mystical nightingale, The instrument indispensable to produce pools of ghastly blood; was the nefarious nozzle of the automatic gun, The instrument indispensable to provoke violence; was discriminating illusions of religion, The instrument indispensable to produce sleep; was feeling exorbitantly exhausted, And the instrument indispensable to live; was incessantly love; and incorporate the same in the hearts of the commoner. (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved. |
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| »The Irretrievable culprit |
It was not the unbelievably long road that criminally tired you; the grain of nonchalantly sluggish sand in your dastardly shoe; was the quintessential culprit instead, It was not the fathomlessly endless sky that parasitically nonplussed you; the cloud of decrepit isolation in your fecklessly spurious brain; was the cardinal culprit instead, It was not the limitlessly sweltering desert that disdainfully charred you; the heat of treacherously pulverizing prejudice in your soul; was the dogmatic culprit instead, It was not the unfathomably towering mountain that entirely gobbled you; the slope of baselessly slavering fear in your bones; was the invidious culprit instead, It was not the inexhaustible wind of winter that disastrously squelched you; the chill of deathly isolation in every ingredient of your blood; was the irrevocable culprit instead, It was not brilliantly unending sunshine that tanned and perplexed you; the ray of worthless snobbishness in every of your stride; was the immutable culprit instead, It was not the boundless swirl of the ocean that preposterously drowned you; the salt of acrimoniously lecherous hatred in the dormitories of your conscience; was the vituperative culprit instead, It was not the unceasing graveyard that venomously jinxed you; the ghost of balderdash fear in your fretfully quavering persona; was the untamed culprit instead, It was not inexhaustibly overwhelming midnight that insidiously frightened you; the blackness of uxoriously insane insecurity infront of your eyes; was the massacring culprit instead, It was not continuously barren land that ludicrously withered you; the infertility of holistic expression enshrouding your countenance; was the intransigent culprit instead, It was not relentlessly vociferous storms that derogatorily uprooted you; the cataclysmically uncontrollable spirit of betrayal in your reflection; was the clandestine culprit instead, It was not the jet black fleet of cats that unstoppably cursed you; the meow-meow of sleazy superstition in every aspect of your existence; was the incarcerating culprit instead, It was not the unsurpassably arcane forest that defeated you; the wilderness of salaciously cannibalistic desire in your imagination; was the diabolical culprit instead, It was not the stupendously tall lavatory seat that shooed you; the stink of maniacally decrepit politics in each globule of your unceremonious sweat; was the barbarous culprit instead, It was not the indefatigably revolving ceiling fan which unsparingly excoriated you; the blades of depravingly sadistic chauvinism in the center of your chest; were the murderous culprit instead, It was not tirelessly diffusing sound that decimated you; the noise of deliriously obsessive idiosyncrasy radiating from every element of your conscience; was the notorious culprit instead, It was not inexorably patriotic war that swiped you; the battlefield of hedonistically decrepit corruption on which you stupidly transgressed; was the surreptitious culprit instead, It was not timelessly unfurling life which crippled you; the breath of untruthfully tyrannical deceit emanating from your beleaguered nostrils; was the cowardly culprit, And it was not fathomlessly never-ending love that lethally melted you; the beat of maliciously profane betrayal lingering in your vindictively bellicose heart; was the irretrievable culprit instead… ©COPYRIGHT-2004, BY NIKHIL PAREKH. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. |
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| »The key to love |
The key to clamber the steep slope of the mountain; was a knotted rope; blended with overwhelming spirit of adventure, The key to drive a car; was articulate maneuvering of the steering wheel; along with gallons of golden gasoline, The key to solve an enigmatic riddles; was flexing the brain to unsurpassable limits; and intense concentration, The key to grow sumptuous grass on undulating expanse of land; was to sprinkle it with water and fertilizer, The key to quench insatiable thirst; was to consume a glass of cool and revitalizing water, The key to feel enlightened; was to stare unrelentingly in open space; sleep under the twinkling stars, The key to becoming learned; was to grasp basic ingredients of mystical life; keeping the ears open to prevailing sounds, The key to overcoming gruesome blackness; was illuminating the atmosphere with dazzling light, The key to swim through choppy currents of the swirling ocean; was dexterous movements of the hands and feet; compounded with exorbitant stamina, The key to sketch the intricate silhouette of landscape; was articulate fingers; adroitly molding the bristles of paintbrush, The key to annihilating the venom in a snake; is ruthlessly snapping off its fangs, The key to pelting showers of torrential rain; was an agglomerate of sinister black clouds, The key to procuring salubrious white eggs; was to rear a robust hen, The key to controlling haphazard flow of traffic; was to scrupulously regulate the timing of signals, The key to produce mesmerizing tunes; was to tickle the vocal chords deep down the throat; float wholesomely in a world of surreal fantasy, The key to dancing traditionally; was to generate nimble strokes of the feet; gyrating to the cadence of sound, The key to an immaculately sparkling complexion; was diligently consuming fresh fruits from the farm, The key to cleanliness; was incorporating stringently in all; a sense of hygiene, The key to combat vandalism; was to reinforce vacant arenas with formidable security, The key to blissful relaxation; was easing cumbersome tensions from the brain; reinvigorating it with perfume, The key to stay perpetually happy; was to smile; profoundly appreciate the newness of nature, The key to winning marathon sprints; was exerting the muscles of chest and legs to tumultuous capacity, The key to unprecedented success in life; is an overwhelming desire to achieve; followed by hard work, And the key to perennial love; was listening to the inner most tunes of throbbing heart; implementing the same to manifest them into reality. (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved. |
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| »The king of poetry |
EVEN IF YOU failed me in mathematics; giving me the lowest marks in the entire school; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me while clambering the mountain slopes; making me stumble on the very first step itself; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all Even if you failed me while talking to colleagues; stuttering miserably on every word I spoke; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in Business; making me incur losses worth millions of rupees; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in making my food; wherein all I managed to prepare was sooty charcoal from the fields laden with infinite vegetables; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in building a house of my own; with all bricks hurtling down towards me before I laid them; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in finding the most precious of my gifts; with the entire team of detectives I hired simply unable to trace them; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in the battlefield; with a river of blood diffusing rampantly from my skin; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me while I was swimming; drowning me uncouthly for marathon hours before I reached the surface; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me while leaping from the sky; with the strings of my parachute failing to unwind; and the bones of my body shattering into a million pieces; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in my flirtatious activities; with scores of girls on the street ridiculing me; when infact I desperately wanted their friendship; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in front of my parents; with them condemning my work as a lazy tribute to the soil; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me at reaching office early everyday; with my tyre getting punctured midway although I started hours before time; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me at snapping photographs; with people thrashing me black and blue for portraying them as decayed fruits; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me at swallowing medicines; with every attempt of mine to gulp resulting in disastrously puking out the same; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in procuring my livelihood; with every attempt of mine to earn finding me placed in the beggars seat; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in wearing my own clothes; with my shirt inevitably getting torn the instant I tried to fit it over my shoulders; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, Even if you failed me while sleeping; jolting me off from my slumber every second with an armory of horrifying dreams; It still wouldn't hurt me at all, Even if you failed me in all quarters of life; making me despicably succumb and lick raw mud; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all, And as I told you O! lord I wouldn’t mind it the least if you snatched away everything from me; failed me horrendously in every sphere of life; but please see to it that I kept writing poetry till the time I relinquished my last breath; make me the king of poetry… (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved. |
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| »The King of the current moment |
The treacherously obsolete yesterday I had wholesomely forgotten; with even the most infinitesimal of its vapid impression dissolving into aisles of frigid nothingness, What was going to happen today I had not the tiniest of innuendo about; groping into the mercilessly coldblooded darkness when I pondered upon the same, Tomorrow was a tantalizing mirage; which kept eluding my invincible grasp more and more; as I tried to indefatigably snatch it, But nevertheless I was still the unparalleled king of the current moment; rejoicing in its untamed glory to the most unprecedented limits; letting its bountiful majesty take complete control of every of my beleaguered vein…. The disastrously delirious yesterday had wholesomely evaporated from my life; with not even the most vehemently indignant of its maelstroms daring to come near me, What was going to happen today I had not the most ephemeral insinuation about; shattering into boundless fragments of meaninglessness when I tried to tirelessly envisage about the same, Tomorrow was a fathomlessly distant dream; about whose veritable reality I couldn’t figure out head or spuriously withering tail, But nevertheless I was still the unassailable king of the current moment; letting its unsurpassable enchantment celestially descend upon even the most diminutive cranny of my mind; body and quavering soul…. The truculently chauvinistic yesterday had completely deserted the chapter of my life; with not even the most evanescent of its jinxed beam; reminiscent in the whites of my eyes, What was going to happen today I had not the most capricious idea about; being banged like a haplessly disoriented coconut against the walls of diabolical hell; when I tried to flex my brain a trifle too much about it, Tomorrow seemed to stretch beyond the realms of my molecular imagination; with the fangs of viciously bellicose uncertainty perpetuating me from all sides, But nevertheless I was still the uninhibited king of the current moment; letting its pragmatically panoramic beauty; entirely become the royally seductive veil of my horrendously tyrannized existence…. The baselessly crucifying yesterday had entirely abdicated my nimble presence; extinguishing into worthless horizons of irretrievably reproachful oblivion, What was going to happen today I had not the most mercurial of gut feeling about; being ruthlessly buried alive in coffins of intractable desperation; as I tried to valiantly decipher its ingredients of good and forlornly bad, Tomorrow had still marathon hours to take irrefutably unshakable control; with a zillion murderous barricades yet to overcome, But nevertheless I was still the limitless king of the current moment; letting its magnetically divine energy instill optimistically benign energy in my delinquent bones; to lead a countless more symbiotic lives…. The morbidly penalizing yesterday seemed gone since times immemorial; with the first rays of Omnipotently brilliant dawn; transcending over even the most non-existent speck of the egregiously rampaging devil, What was going to happen today I had not the most ethereal of understanding about; being dissolved into mortuaries of hopeless insanity; when I tried to unambiguously picture the next hour from now, Tomorrow seemed like it would never come; with the deplorable conundrum of murderous manipulation and politics around me; engendering me to frenetically search for my every breath, But nevertheless I was still the inimitable king of the current moment; letting its philanthropically synergistic heavenliness; beautifully coalesce each of my senses with the mantra of wonderfully egalitarian mankind; with the spirit of the Ever-Pervading; Divine… (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved. |
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| »The language of my heart |
The language of my lips was uninhibited happiness; compassionately nibbling every element of rhapsodic goodness; that euphorically swam in the panoramic atmosphere, The language of my eyes was unceasing empathy; a perennially untainted desire to amalgamate my impoverished being; with every conceivable fraternity of living society, The language of my chin was endless mischief; eternally frolicking with countless nubile maidens on the pristine sea shores; enlightening even the most inane iota of morbid gloom in the atmosphere, The language of my cheeks was tantalizingly embarrassed euphoria; erupting into a fathomless gallery of nimble goose-bumps; as when the ebulliently fantastic winds of unadulterated autumn gushed in upon the freshly embellished bride, The language of my shoulders was altruistic philanthropism; tirelessly hoisting my fellow comrades in inclement distress; towards the paradise of their very own choice, The language of my fingers was untamed artistry; insatiably evolving a glorious civilization of panoramic beauty; out of inconspicuously threadbare wilderness, The language of my armpits was emolliently hard earned perspiration; the feeling of unsurpassably mollifying contentment of having relentlessly strived forward to blissfully conserve my diminutive existence, The language of my feet was timelessly inexhaustible adventure; tirelessly philandering upon even the most evanescent cranny of god’s wonderfully enchanting creation, The language of my stomach was inevitably symbiotic hunger; marvelously replenishing the egregiously tyrannized intestines inside; with the bounteously scrumptious fruits of eternal mother nature, The language of my brain was fathomlessly never-ending fantasy; with not the slightest bit of jejunely treacherous monotony daring to perpetuate it for times immemorial, The language of my bones was unflinchingly blazing patriotism; expending the last ounce of energy trapped within them to the service of their limitlessly sacrosanct motherland, The language of my shadow was satiny sensuousness; tantalizing even the most parasitically alien into an unending whirlpool of astoundingly invincible ecstasy, The language of my palms was unavoidably unraveling destiny; transcending above every aspect of my incessant struggle for propitiously mesmerizing existence, The language of my eyelashes was mischievously flirtatious winking; rejoicing the unassailably divine moments of newborn infanthood; even when I had nurtured into perilous greyness of complete manhood, The language of my blood was pricelessly impregnable humanity; celestially coalescing with every construable element of living kind; for an infinite more births yet of mine, The language of my throat was synergistic melody; tranquilly inundating every lugubriously nonchalant particle of the atmosphere; with the undefeatable chorus of uninhibitedly united brotherhood, The language of my persona was amazing procreation; endeavoring my very best in continuing god’s chapter of venerated evolution; till the absolutely irrevocable end of my breath, The language of my conscience was irrefutably unshakable truth; perpetually traversing on the path of egalitarian silken righteousness; even as holocausts of hell viciously stabbed the soil of earth, The language of my nostrils was quintessentially life-yielding breath; compassionately embracing every living organism in whirlpools of vivaciously beautiful desire, And the language of my heart was immortally Omnipotent love; forever and ever and ever bonding with the beats of my unconquerable beloved; till centuries unprecedented even after my this birth and the destined corpse of my death… (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved |
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| »The last day of his life |
He smiled as the milkman dropped milk; when usually he would swap his fingers menacingly at him; for arriving even a minute late, He hoisted the dirty urchin high in his hands; when usually he would shoo all stray children running helter-skelter in the streets; with his stick, He gave a handsome tip to the waiter; when usually he would scream at the top of his lungs for not being served properly, He strolled bare chested in the sun-lit balcony; when usually he would adorn himself in the tightest of suit and glossy pant, He danced rampantly in the rain outside; when usually he would stringently admonish all servants to shut the windows airtight; as soon as the first patch of black cloud lingered in the sky, He ate the most piquant of chili; when usually he refrained from tasting even small pinches of common salt, He talked loquaciously all day in a host of languages; when usually his moved his lips sternly; only when required, He sat for hours on the bed of squalid grass; when usually he never transgressed on anything except shimmering slabs of pure marble, He sipped chilled champagne with gay abandon; when usually he didn’t touch anything except Herbal tea, He laughed thunderously at the slightest of joke; when usually he was far too stingy even on smiles, He drove his car himself at lightening speeds; when usually he incorrigibly refused to leave the house ever; without his driver, He left his wrists bare; gauging the time from position of the sun; when usually he even slept the entire night with his watch strapped tightly, He viewed television incessantly at strident volumes; when usually he preferred to brood desolately in solitude, He sang romantic tunes from contemporary songs; when usually he always condemned and rebuked the advent of pop music, He masticated at raw slices of poignant cucumber; when usually he commanded the cooks to boil his food to unprecedented limits, He shook hands magnanimously with the peons; when usually he held a handkerchief stuffed snugly to his nose; to superficially avoid their odor while confronting them, He let his hair descend down in wild streaks; when usually he made sure every morning that each follicle was combed and oiled; till its last root projecting from his scalp, He wore a loose and threadbare ragamuffin shirt; when usually he was embellished in silken fabric; with the most omnipotent of scent inundating every pore of his skin, He even winked at witnessing lovers in the park; blessing them for their future lives to unfurl; when usually he put such trespassers behind iron bars of custody, And today he forgave everyone he interacted with; lived life the way he did when he was just born; as he knew it that this was the last time he would ever see this marvelous earth; 'THE LAST DAY OF HIS LIFE'… (c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
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