indian-authors

Civilians enjoy their time because soldiers sacrifice their time.

Change the world, I know I won__,Enthralling as always I hope it remains,A kaleidoscope of joy, sorrow and pain.But my only wish as I take this jaunt,Is for my words on you to impress upon,A smile, a tear or even an angry frown.

There is no man who is enterprising and keeps well up with the times but confesses that the women of to-day are in every respect, except political liberty, equal to the men.

The time is ripe for young Indian authors writing in the English language.

Your obsession with being in control of your mind makes you so stiff all the times; that is why our egos are growing, and our sense of humor is shrinking.

some poems frothand foam and rise...out of my morning cup ofmist-sweetened coffee.

sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.

the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime__ friendship honored.

You touched my heart...ever so softlyand I realizedtears had never been...merely saltand the rainOh the Rain!had never been merely water.

the sapphire depthof my own love...startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.

I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can__ be read, can__ be understood,neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eyeI am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in the shadows or the sunshine.

when i speak to youi speak as thoughi am offering a rosein your hand.

i can__ always tell what__ betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.

I am a baby, I am a child, I am the innocent wonder in my eyes I am a glimpse, I am a sign, of someone I can be, someone I might I am not one, I am not two, but I am a million things entwined I am a piece, I am a slice, strung together by the yarns of time.

I live there...Far above the song-filled clouds,where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.

Maybe life is all about twirling under one of those midnight skies, cutting a swathe through the breeze and gently closing your eyes.

May the nights always be aglowwith the bliss of the daywith unharmed hands and feetand kissed cheeks.