Thursday, February 5, 2009


Walking through the road unknown,untravelled
Seems like a mystery not yet unravelled.
I often ponder where am i heading,
Has it been something I've been wanting???

Met a loving family,whose footsteps i follow
Without them I would be just a hollow.
They gave me a name I carry with pride,
Their values and rituals I try to abide.
They stood by me when times were tough,
For which i can never thank them enough.

And then there were people who joined me on my way,
They are my friends, as you would say.
i dint initially realise what role they would play,
But they weren't afterall just a model of clay.
they went through the up and downs , as did I,
It pained a lot when time was to bid them goodbye.
Some of them stayed,while some left by,
But those were the days...,I shouldn't lie.

There were those shaky starts and the pebbled roads,
Times when I found it tough to handle the load.
Abroken leg, twice a broken heart,
Still trying hard to put together the parts.
Went through the turmoils, happy times weren't far,
But what they left behind was a tril of scars.

I have been i lil foolish,clever sometimes
Somewhat greedy and selfish for a while.
Moulded into a person that gives it his best,
Till the time I finally go to rest.
But someday, this path is gonna end,
Time will cease,as will the opportunity to make amends.

**plz ignore the variable lines in stanzas....rather ignore the poem only...


Mohit Rodeja said...

Hey, good poem!

I wrote something similar once!

and i'm putting it here, at the risk of sounding like BL Thareja!

There be a path,
that'll be my own, that i shall tread,
alone and with myself,
But yet I've found it not,
but this I know,
that to walk to its end I must, and will,
and to its finding I have but one clue -
that if I rest my heart, I'll hear it beat,
with most ardent pulse, that tattoo of me.

Till then, for sorrow and joy,
I turn over leaves and tread a path,
that is not my own -
the stones on this path are but an illusion,
and the gardens I walk in are someone else's,
and the colors in them are another's hues.
I make not the day of this path,
I make not the night,
for it be not mine,
but a child of someone's lessons in time.

Sometimes I switch paths, shortcuts between minds,
get lost, a mapless wanderer, who waits for his night to wane.
Oft times i stumble upon a new pathway, previously unexplored,
then sometimes I catch that glimpse of my own path, through the mess.
And that is when the illusion explodes,
and fragments of clarity bite me as glass.
And the subtleties there, in the dew of grass,
I cannot yet see.

And when they ask of me, of why I seek this path of mine,
why I seek that end,
is when I answer that it be to save it be
a lost explorer's path,
where lost be he.

mayank said...

Well, I wouldn't really sit and ignore a poem like this..Well done. My only suggestion would be to not focus so much on rhyming lines if it is interfering with the beauty of the verse.
Nice, well structured rhyme. Well done again

aanchal said...

thank u so much...:)
i relly felt it wasnt dat gud....

Vinayak said...

nice job aanchal, it shows youve put in a good effort in it ... rodi, u will always be just a Thareja