Riya Saluja Poems

  • 1.  
    Away from mismatched buildings which seems to go on above the 7th heaven with perfect shape and structure yet with poorest enlightenment, there is a pretty yet petty little small town at the edge of the waters.
    Away from cold hearts handling warm coffee sitting in crisp winter air, there is a town with warm hearts handling cold coffee in peaceful summer air.
    A bit too far away from here in that pretty little town, there is a street with perfect enlightenment and finally in that street, there stands two houses proudly facing each other since 1987.
    One house Is bold white and the other one is dull black with same structure, same kind of tulips in their garden which sway slightly in the same air as they nod each other greetings in the morning.
    ...
  • 2.  
    There is blood, There is blood.
    In that blood he sees 55 years of his existence.
    Blood graces the white floor just as failure graces his existence.
    He look long back in his life, He sees a 16 year old to love his loved ones forever.
    ...
  • 3.  
    It begins at the brink of the dawn,
    with the sound of chrring printing machine.
    Chrring bloody scenes into bold black ink and we drink to that ink that make our stomach sink yet the machine harps happily.
    and there goes the busy printing machine louder and louder, More louder than the screams of a woman screaming for help in a warehouse while she was raped, brutally but the fair and lovely ad gets more space snootily and strangly we go on reading the newspaper with our daily cup of tea perpetually.
    ...
  • 4.  
    16 minutes of life
    He is fidgeting uncontrollably, breathing slowly but the alarm clocks harps happily.
    Indicating 16 minutes of more pain..
    Through the chaos of nerves in his brain he calculates the time, revaluates his plan and awaits death.
    ...
Total 4 poems written by poet Riya Saluja


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Alfred Lord Tennyson Poem
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 075
 by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I leave thy praises unexpress'd
In verse that brings myself relief,
And by the measure of my grief
I leave thy greatness to be guess'd;

What practice howsoe'er expert
In fitting aptest words to things,
Or voice the richest-toned that sings,
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