Lekhni Collection: Eve’s Story

To You

This small
seed of a poem
Has bloomed into a
beautiful creeper now

Its delicate pink
primrose blossom
want to kiss the moon
in a star-lit night.

and intricately laced leaves
climbing the first opportunity
are ready to take over the world.

Intoxicated by its beauty and scent
I stand here
paralysed and dumb-struck.

Words, flocking like birds
twitter and chat
in my empty head

unable to contain
the thought or expression.
I offer this meaningless song
to you, my dear friend.

Now you have to find
your own meaning
of these entwined branches.

Discover that
shy beguiling perfume hidden cleverly
at the core of its rainbow coloured flowers.

Listen to that stormy concert
That magical note———–
A tiny dew drop slipping intact
from one leaf to another.

Try to look into its dreamy eyes
and then you may find the story
of its joy and sorrow

trials and tribulations
life and death.
Story of Me and You !

Shail Agrawal

Butterfly Woman

I give birth to myself
Out of its crystal cocoon.
Struggling to escape my claustrophobic case
I fight for freedom
Pushing down on the pain
I reach up to the light called life
And flutter my new crumpled wings in joy.

But I am more than just a delicate beauty
I am more than just female anatomy,
I am more than just the black skin which covers my flesh
Like an apple I have a core
Containing the seeds of my spiritual self.

All these qualities are celebrations of God’s ingenuity
Yet are worthless in man’s society.

Captured and crushed to death for their pleasure
I am put on display as a pressed butterfly.

My wings are pinned down while I’m still alive.
I scream out from within my glass prision

But no one hears me.
My exterior shell is all they choose to see.

Tanay Bolton

I Am

I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last.
I am the Future , the Present and Past.
I alone hold the keys to the gates of Heaven and of Hell,
It’s up to you to decide where you will dwell.
So do not behave with the IQ of a dumb ass
For the Words I have written will soon come to pass

I am not unmoved Mover
The Most High, Jah Jehovah
I am your only saviour
And I abhor all ungodly behaviour.
It was I who destroyed your Tower of Babel,
For My Omnipotence is neither fake nor fable


I loved you so much that I granted you free will
In return you steal, kill and commit evil.
Like Doubting Thomas you people never behave
And yet wonder why you never receive.
Will you only acknowledge Me when you feel the heat of Hell?
By then it will be too late to reclaim the soul you now sell.


I am endless, Changeless, Timelessand above your reason
For it was I who created the Earth and its seasons.
So whilst you joke around and jeer
The destruction of Babylon draws near
Do not permit your spirit to be damned
By denying who I AM


Tanya Bolton
Birmingham, U.K.

Fading Flower

On waking
It was gone
The vision of a dream
So fragile, tenuous, delicate
Like a fading flower
Where stillness prevents
The petals from falling
But any change
Any movement
Just a breath of air
Makes them fall
You watch them
Tumble down.

Angela Macnab


We met in a whispering wind
Of a green-green meadow
Where birds do sing.
We met in that free spirit of Spring.

Roaming clouds were our home
When we signed our names
With thunder on raging cliffs.
We met in that calm of a storm.

We painted many pictures
On a clean sheet of nature
Our souls entwined, hearts in harmony
We were the two names of a person.

‘We all need our space’
Bored with that intimacy and comfort
How quickly you rebelled
“You” are you and “I” am me.

Two souls can’t live in one body.
This is yours and this is mine.
Devising that boundary-line between us
Your voice was far away and decisive. .

Hurt and wounded
My soul fell to the ground.
But how quickly you put it away
In an embellished, nailed coffin.

Now smothered and suffocated
With its cold layers of heavy silk
When I am finally trying to sleep
Why are you screaming so loud

“Adjust with time.
Learn to live within your limits.”
Do not scream,
Tell me just once—–
“Is your heart also not used to that?”

Shail Agrawal.

The Songbird

There’s a songbird in the attic
With a song to be set free
There’s a Songbird in the attic
And yoy know it must be me
There’s a heart, a mind, a body
There waiting for release
There’s a Songbird in the attic
Whose soul cannot find peace.

Did you ever see a Songbird
That could keep a song inside?
Did you ever see a peacock
Whose feathers he could hide?
If you ever think you see one
Then you’ll know it is a lie
For a bird without a song to sing
You know will surely die.

So while I’m up there singing
All alone and comfort free
Did you ever stop to listen
Or wonder about me?
Is she happy, is she sad.
Or may be just okay?
There’s a stillness in her body
As on her bed she lay.

No you didn’t hear me singing
And you didn’t hear me pray
No you didn’t take the time to look
or pass an hour away
Are you scared to hear the Songbird,
Whose words are clear and true?
Are you scared to look into her eyes,
For fear you will see you?

Angela Macnab


Plagued by my own heat
Circling in my own beam
Blinded by my own light
I was born from the eye of storm

Came tumbling down
with a thunderous roar
And cried loud————-

Darkest corners revisited
Only to burst out in a fire-ball
I Searched for places to hide

I was the one—–
who took voyages unknown
in ships that sail in our mind

I was the one
who got weather-beaten
Tossed and turned on frothy woes

Ship-wrecked , marooned
On a lost island of desire
I stood alone

Stubborn, relentless, unconquered
like this ravaged mother earth
Cradling the humanity forever to come

Impregnated with seeds of creation
Bursting out on the first opportunity
In rainbow of vivid colours

Creating, caring, supporting, sharing.
Enigmatic? Yes. playful may be —
But certainly not a play-thing.!

Mock me not as a weaker sex
I will rise again and again
from my ashes like phoenix

Who gave this woe to my name
In this man-dominated world
Yes I am the woman Power absolute,
King-maker, not a mere king

Shail Agrawal

I will meet you yet again
How and where
I know not
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas
I will keep gazing at you.

Perhaps I will become a ray
of sunshine to be
embraced by your colours
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where —
but I will meet you for sure.

Maybe I will turn into a spring
and rub foaming
drops of water on your body
and rest my coolness on
your burning chest
I know nothing
but that this life
will walk along with me.

When the body perishes
all perishes
but the threads of memory
are woven of enduring atoms
I will pick these particles
weave the threads
and I will meet you yet again.

Amrita Pritam
Translated from punjabi by Nirupama Dutta.

Ode to a Friend

Tell me the day when you insisted
to trespass and visit that sacred land of mine
Did your feet also get pierced
with those sharp broken pieces of a shattered dreams

Tell me how did you manage your way ahead, than
Did you sweep the debris with your bare hands
Or just marched on trampling and crushing
those dead-rusty leaves of that frozen land.

Did you meet a wandering soul
tired, lost, sobbing in a maze of mind.
Did you hold its hands, share its dreams
and guide it to the brightest star.

Or simply turned away
leaving it all far behind?

Shail Agrawal.


Some men never think of it.
You did. You’d come along
And say you’d nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts-
The sort that mind like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But, Look, the flowers you nearly brought
Have lasted all this while.

Wendy Cope

Bloody Men

Bloody men are like bloody buses-
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches you stop
Two or three other appear.

You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You’re trying to read the destinations
You haven’t much time to decide.

If You make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you’ll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.

Wendy Cope


My heart has made its mind up
And I’m afraid it’s You.
Whatever you’ve got lined up,

My heart has made its mind up
This year, next year will do,
My heart has made its mind up
And I’m afraid it’s you.

Wendy Cope


When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me,
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other peoples gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausage at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph.

An Ordinary Women

Let me tell you something of myself.
I was then rather young,
Someone was touched by the grace of the green age.
That knowledge used to send
A thrill through my body.
I forgot, I am rather ordinary.
There are thousands and thousands of women
Very much like me,
Those who have only the magic of youthfulness
To show for their youth
I beg of you,
Write a story about an ordinary women.
She is long suffering.
If within the depth of her nature
Something uncommon does lie burried.
How would she prove it?
How many are there, who could even come to know it;
Most people’s eye are open only to the magic of age,
Their minds do not thurst for truth.

Rabindra Nath Tagore


The witch lived down our street
They all said she was, so it was true
–And I believed it more than anyone

(being the youngest).

Her house was dark, the curtains never pulled
And every time I passed it
I knew she was castung spells just then
Because a nasty feeling ran my back.

I knew she was watching.

She had a cat as well, which sat and looked.
It wasn’t like other cats, who wandered up
And rubbed arround and purred and went away.
This one sat and looked.

It looked right through you, thinking–
And then it went indoors to tell her.
(It didn’t run, it turned and walked away,
Tail up, no looking back:
Down the alley, up the steps, to her door–

Which always opened just as it arrived
And closed again as soon as it was through.
Once they dared me to go and knock.
As I reached for the bell, the door opened.
I could see her white smile in the gloom.

” I’ve come to———–”
” Yes, I know, she said,” come in.”
I didn’t
I ran away.
What was she waiting for?
The voice of a child once again, perhaps,
Brightly, chattering in her kitchen?
An old lady with her cat.

Martin Underwood


Gently cusping my face

In her old wrinkled hands
She kissed lovingly again and again
On my forehead and red hot cheeks.
“Do not cry my precious,
It breaks my heart to see these tears.
Take care of yourself and yours.

Come back soon.
I will only be here
sitting in the same place
alive and well
waiting for you, you know where
When you come next time.”

Wiping those tears she spoke
in a soft far away voice.
I felt proud and content
in her silky soothing touch.
And warm loving eyes.
I was her entire world
From the beginning to the end

Searching aimlessly in my bag
I managed to say goodbye.
Yes, I did not have the courage
to look in those tearful eyes.

Feeling mean and selfish
I dragged myself towards the door.
Suddenly the big airport corridors opened wide
swallowing everything familiar and mine.

A choking pain shot upward inside
leaving me weak and void.
Shaking knees refused to support.
Gasping for air, I held the nearby wall.

Slowly, a realisation was dawning
No, there will not be any more next time.
Held back tears ran riot
drenching me from head to toe.

“Passport please,” an officer asked,
“Is this your first time awan?”
“No, not really.” clearing the throat,
I mumbled the meaningless words!

Shail Agrawal

error: Content is protected !!