Forgotten Sand Castles

I return back to my childhood, every time I walk on the beach! :-)
This beautiful poem gently evokes child within us!



or silver shells,
sea glass pebbles,
blue-green diamonds…

a lost dolphin’s dream,
an angel walking on water,
or maybe the key that opens
all forgotten sand castles,

will we ever know
what a child
running on the beach
is looking for?


Enfant sur une plage des Landes (France) © 2016 – F.G.M.

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A page from an old diary!



Starting something different on my blog! A page or two from my old writings! While I was spring-cleaning my book shelves I found few notebooks of mine, lying in a corner, unnoticed! I went through my old writings and some of them were really interesting; so here I am, sharing them with you! Hope you like it!
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Why I always seek continuity ( in a person, in a relationship)?Why we always save impressions from the past?Why can’t we meet a person in his/her and our “today”? Why we insist on continuing from where we have left? In deep recesses of our mind we store those images, indelible; how can we free ourselves from those images? Those very images are the reason that generates expectations! Unmet expectations create conflict!!
-Nehal (1991)

. . . . . . .

હું સાતત્ય કેમ ઝંખું છું, ઈચ્છું છું? ભૂતકાળની છાપ શા માટે મનમાં સાચવવાની? પ્રત્યેક વ્યક્તિને તેની અને આપણી આજમાં જ કેમ નહીં મળવાનું? આગળનું સાતત્ય શા માટે જાળવવાનો આગ્રહ? એ અમીટ છાપ મનના ખૂણામાં સચવાઈ રહે છે; તેનાથી મુક્ત શી રીતે થવું? એ છાપ જ છે જે અપેક્ષાઓ જન્માવે છે, તે ન સંતોષાતા ઘર્ષણ જન્માવે છે!!
– નેહલ ( 1991)

I found this piece of writing thought provoking. Whenever we meet someone, we like to start from the last communication we have had. We have a habit of collecting snap-shots, images of the moments we spend with anyone! On the basis of that we create a persona in our minds, which may or may not be the same as the individual we meet! People move on, they grow, evolve as an individual and we hold on to our old perceptions!? Be it in a close relationship or in a friendship; our mind starts creating likes and dislikes, affinity and aversion towards that person! We love to build up our emotions and expectations on that! The inevitable outcome is; those expectations are never met the way we want,it creates disharmony and conflict. Living in the moment, meeting them with fresh mind set, keeping a space for growth for us and the opposite person can keep any relationship lively and growing strong with each passing day!

What do you think? What is your experience? would love to hear from you,..
-Nehal (now:-) )




Mother, the life you value’s
A skeleton hung with bunting.
A saxophone brash
Blares out Duty! Duty! Duty!
Stuck on its one high note.
Mother, your world is trash!

Why can’t you let me be?
Dreams are mushrooming
Down in my charcoal chamber,
Under my muffled skies.
Mother, I like my colourful life,
Away from your icicle eyes.
With my dark lord
Down in the moist, dank
Alchemy of Earth,
I am becoming whole.
At last I am forming my soul.

Your thoughts are thistles
Rending the tender tissue
Of dream-time’s thin cocoon.
They are spawning serpents
Of course-
I’ll stab them, like a stuck Laocoon.

The life you’d fashion for me is
A fetter, a shackle, a sham.
A glided Wiccaman;
Cage of rage, of pain
I am going to break with tradition, Mother,
I am going to snap your chain.
– Sheena Blackhall (1947-
[ from Modern Scottish Women Poets- Edited and Introduced by Dorothy McMillan and Michel Byrne]


Sheena Blackhall is an illustrator, singer, poet and short-stury writer who has published fifteen volumes of poems and seven short-story collections.

[Persephone was the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, and the queen of the underworld. She was abducted by Hades, the god of the underworld, infuriating her mother who made the crops wither and the earth barren. Zeus intervened and tried to bring Persephone back to the world of the living; however, Persephone ate the seeds of a pomegranate that Hades had given to her, binding her to him for one third of the year. Thus, it was decided that Persephone spend four months in the underworld and eight months on earth with her mother. The period in the underworld corresponded to the winter season, during which Demeter would make the soils barren due to her grief, while her return marked the start of the spring.]

Life is a wayside flower

I walk to my work place, on my way I meet beautiful Bougainvillea flowers in full bloom, they smile and greet everyone without worrying about anyone appreciating them! When I read this poem, I loved it so much! So here it is for all of you to enjoy…..



Saw a little wayside flower
growing right there in the street
Finding just enough moisture
to prosper down there at my feet
It seemed like a really fine testament
to all that life truly means
For there’s always beauty to be found
Where and whenever it seems
So here’s to wayside flowers
as the metaphor is clear
For every time you need a smile
some beauty will be near


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धूँधले शीशों पर सरकती बूंदे।
बारिष के रुकने पर पेडोंके पत्तो से बरसती बूंदे।
कभी सोने सी; कभी हीरे सी चमकती बूंदे।
परिंदे की गरदन पर थिरकती बूंदे।
अपनी कोख में समाये हुए कइ इन्द्रधनु,
फलक को रंग देती बूंदे!
प्यासे की हलक से उतरते,
दरिया बन जाती बूंदे!
आँखों में छूप के बैठे तो;
कभी सितारों का झुरमुट, तो कभी ओस
और कहीं उमडकर बहती सैलाब बूंदे!
फूलों का शहद, सिपीओं का मोती
थोडी थोडी सब में मिलती बूंदे।
अपनी पानी की ऊँगली से;
कभी जलतरंग तो कभी छपरो पर मृदंग बजाती बूंदे।
– नेहल


He became the most loved poet in America and won four times Pulitzer prize; long time before that…… Robert Frost lost his father at the age of 11, and after that he went through many hardships during his childhood. He started writing poetry at the age of sixteen and though his first poem was published at the age of nineteen, he had to face rejections from many publishers until finally one publisher in London accepted his collection of poems for a book! Despite all these struggles he continued to create wonderful poetry and when we read them we see  light of his bright  soul, beauty  of his pure emotions!
I liked ” Birches” very much, it’s a long poem but I urge you to take this journey….
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay
As ice storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust–
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when the Truth broke in
With all her matter of fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows-
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father’s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
When your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Robert Frost


हम्द – निदा फ़ाज़ली

I simply love this poem for its simplicity of words and high philosophy behind this! Very few writers can achieve this!
. . . . . .

नील गगन पर बैठे
कब तक
चाँद सितारों से झाँकोगे।

पर्वत की ऊँची चोटी से
कब तक
दुनिया को देखोगे।

आदर्शो के बन्द ग्रन्थों में
कब तक
आराम करोगे।

मेरा छप्पर
टपक रहा है
बनकर सूरज
इसे सुखाओ।

खाली है
आटे का कनस्तर
बनकर गेहूँ
इसमें आओ।

माँ का चश्मा
टूट गया है
बनकर शीशा
इसे बनाओ।

चुप-चुप हैं आँगन में बच्चे
बनकर गेंद
इन्हें बहलाओ।

शाम हुई है चाँद उगाओ
पेड़ हिलाओ
हवा चलाओ।

काम बहुत हैं
हाथ बटाओ
अल्ला मियाँ
मेरे घर भी आ ही जाओ
अल्ला मियाँ….!
– निदा फ़ाज़ली

हम्द – प्रार्थना

Nida Fazliji

તારું પહેલા વરસાદ સમું આવવું

આ બ્લોગ પર રમેશ પારેખ ની હાજરી ના હોય તો ગુજરાતી કવિતાનું પાનું અધૂરું રહી જાય. મારા અને અનેકોના પ્રિય કવિ ની તરબતર રચના…

તારું પહેલા વરસાદ સમું આવવું

ફાગણની કાળઝાળ સુક્કી વેળામાં તારું પહેલા વરસાદ સમું આવવું
હવે આંખોને કેમ રે ભુલાવવું

બળતે બપ્પોર ભીનો પગરવ સુણીને
કાંઈ વાસ્યાં કમાડ અમે ખોલ્યાં
ચારે આંખોનાં એવાં અંધાર્યાં વાદળાં
કે શમણે આવેલ મોર બોલ્યા
ઓચિંતા ધોધમાર સામસામે આપણે ઊભાં રહ્યાંનું પૂર આવવું

ફળિયે પલાશફૂલ નીતરતું ઝાડ
અને હું વેરાઈ જઉં રાનમાં
મારી હથેળીમાંય એવી રેખાઓ
જેવી રેખા છે ખાખરાના પાનમાં
લીંબોળી વાવીને છાંયડા ઉછેરું પણ ચોમાસું કેમ કરી વાવવું?

ફાગણની કાળઝાળ સુક્કી વેળામાં તારું પહેલા વરસાદ સમું આવવું
હવે આંખોને કેમ રે ભુલાવવું
– રમેશ પારેખ
મૉન્સૂન મસ્તી માંથી સંપાદન ઃ હિતેન આનંદપરા

Ramesh Parekh


મારા સૌ આદરણીય શાયર ની સમક્ષ નત મસ્તક થઈ આ છંદ અને ગઝલ ના ક્ષેત્રમાં પા પા પગલી માંડી રહી છું ત્યારે સૌથી પહેલો આભાર મારે માનનીય લક્ષ્મી ડોબરિયાનો માનવો છે જે માર્ગદર્શક બનીને મારા પ્રયત્નોમાં સાથે રહ્યા છે


નદી જેમ વહેવું બની ના શક્યું તો
સહજ વિસ્તરી હું બધે કાંઠે કાંઠે.

હતો સાવ સીધો, સરળ પ્રેમ એથી
હું મારામાં ખુલતી ગઈ ગાંઠે ગાંઠે.

તરસ ઝાંઝવાની છે હૈયામાં જેના
કાં લઈ જાઓ એને કૂવા કાંઠે કાંઠે.

તરસવું, ભટકવું હતું ભાગ્યમાં ને
આ અક્ષર અઢી મેં ભણ્યા પાઠે પાઠે. 

ભરી સાત પગલાં અને વર મેં માંગ્યું
હવે સાત જન્મો હશું સાથે સાથે.




Alexander Pope ( 1688-1744) was born in London and became severely ill at the age of twelve so that his health was ruined and his body was deformed. He educated himself and at the age of sixteen published his first poems, Pastorals. He wrote much poetry and prose, but is famous for his satires.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..


Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night, study and ease
Together mixt, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
with meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
– Alexander Pope [ 1688-1744]
From Harmony – An Anthology of Poems