By name
I am called Hasmukh* by name
Exactly to be understood as smiling man and to claim
I feel no shy in explaining self to all
As many friends ask and make frequent calls
Why you are not named crying person?
Some friends jokingly asked for reasons
"No, parents decided it" I used to answer
They were my custodian and after all mentor
There is tradition to name a child with meaningful name
Some times they may be so funny and exactly opposite to claim
Child may be named as chand*(moon) but to be as dark as black
Some people may call him as dark night and cut a simple joke
Some parents may be really poor but keep name as Sukhi*(happy)
In fact they may have no meals to eat and living in misery
Yet it is strange to name every child with good bearing
It is done with all fun fare and without cause of worrying
There is nothing special in name but still stands good
Each person is known by name, position and surely understood
So this tradition, by and large, adds to person's glory
"See person has proved to his name" people may exclaim and attach story
What is left behind when you depart?
Name, statue, palaces or golden cart
Nothing will accompany you at the end
Some memory to be remembered by family and friends
• hasmukh … name…
• Chand ….. Moon
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Related quotes
Peace ambassador
"Why are you smiling always? "
"What are the secrets and ways? "
I have no trademark or special key
I think of the same and always pray almighty
I have been named by parents
As is the tradition with some consent
Those babies are to be named after
For the identification and laughter
Babies are after al heavenly gift
Suddenly you find attitudinal change or shift
In a man or in entire family
They forget pain even easily
If they are made brand ambassadors
Half of the battles may be won with honor
There won't be any bitterness or bloodshed
As world is likely to be happily led
"Little smile is worth mullions"
Did you ever observe man returning to pavilion?
Dejected, defeated and above all fully grounded
Nothing seems to him more sounded
I have seen the beautiful smile on face
That has kept me away from mad chase
I find answer in lovely and carefree smile
It' worth and if you measure it meanwhile
How beautiful garden comes up on spring?
As if to remove all kind of unhappiness and bring
The pleasure for mankind in different style
That was miles away or simply filed
I am "hasmukh"* that means smiling man
So people otherwise may find chance to comment
To tease me in most elegant way not to offend
And remind me of the pleasure island
*Hasmukh…. Smiling man
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sacred relation
"What on earth can be called sacred relation"?
One friend parried a direct question
"Why the query all of sudden"?
I was not prepared to answer even
He had lost mother recently
He was keeping quiet but asked gently
I understood pain from his eyes
Even though the death of his mother was long gone by
Right from the conception she is aligned with child
Her nature undergoes change and remains mild
Everybody takes special care of her
First happy moment is shared by sister
The family is heavily loaded with movement
The child is expected at any moment
Everybody at home is right on toe
Only the word is awaited with the signal "go"
Mother has no more reason to worry
Whole world is on her steps to carry
She has complete time to spend after child
Even after child troubles her or goes wild
Such beautiful mother is heavenly gift on earth
Attachment is such that we don't forget even after her death
The sadness on part of friend was easily understood
I decided to console him and firmly stood by
I knew by folk tales that mother was no less than goddess
You can see entire world in her or on face
If world has to owe anything to any one
Then mother stands the only chance and none else
I too became sentimental along with him and cried
I put maximum words to console him and earnestly tried
He was quiet reasonable but carried away by memory
He felt so sad and had certain reasons to worry
I feel irritated at the news of mother's death
If that really happens to me then what aftermath!
I found no answer and winked at the blue sky
The birds were returning home for next day to fly
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Astronomer
I only said, "When in the evening the round full moon gets
entangled among the beaches of that Dadam tree, couldn't somebody
catch it?"
But dada laughed at me and said, "Baby, you are the silliest
child I have ever known. The moon is ever so far from us, how could
anybody catch it?"
I said, "Dada, how foolish you are! When mother looks out of
her window and smiles down at us playing, would you call her far
away?"
Still dada said, "You are a stupid child! But, baby where
could you find a net big enough to catch the moon with?"
I said, "Surely you could catch it with your hands."
But dada laughed and said, "You are the silliest child I have
known. If it came nearer, you would see how big the moon is."
I said, "Dada, what nonsense they teach at your school! When
mother bends her face down to kiss us, does her face look very
big?"
But still dada says, "You are a stupid child."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
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Happy and nice moments
"You have to terminate pregnancy"
"I know you may have difficulty"
"But believe me it is my helplessness"
I won't be comfortable at all in this case"
He was pleading before me
With both hands and trying to get free
I was just watching his facial expression
He was suffering from trauma under guilty admission
I tried to read more about his mind
"Dear you were so eager this before and very kind"
We did develop intimate relation with consent
The child may be coming as gift and heavenly sent
"You won't know the consequences"
"We may have to witness worst ever chances"
He was becoming vocal to get out as fast as possible
I knew know why he was so desperate to come out of trouble?
He was facing complete boycott from family
Previously he had accepted it readily
I was dreaming heaven and moon within sight
Here he was dashing all my hopes and proving not right
I heard him patiently and refused to surrender
Even though we both had reason to differ
I failed to understand reason behind his offer
It was totally out of phase and I opted out to suffer
I used to feel motherhood at each moment
It is the only phase that mothers resent
Even if to phase pregnancy termination
As it stands golden opportunity for laying foundation
Today I am mother of loving child
So much happy in love and going blind
Child is everything to me as priceless
What else or happiness I have to express on face?
I feel entire world is t my feet
I have reason to feel and greet
All those people who stood with it
I have firm ground now to stand with feet
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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No sir
It is nice to be addressed as sir
It adds to glory with different color
Person feels proud with achievement
Nice to rejoice with happy moments
Generally we give respected to aged persons
It has some feeling with reasons
We have parents at home and reminds of their presence
We respect any one when see them at once
It has remained tradition to accord honor
Either with excellence in field
Or some high position held
It is traditional to be known as specialist in the field
Let people honor your age
It is token gesture on page
What else they can offer?
As they have seen you rise and suffer
Not age only grants you respect
Even though that has been given to you in fact
People see in your a great strength
Take as much advantage as possible before death
So let them have opportunity to address
See the smile and honor on your face
To morrow they may take pride in having you as sir
As the time, days and even may pass the years
It is humbleness on the part of person to fee odd
When addressed often as sir or to that high of god
It takes away closeness from the known people
So it is preferred to remain free from any trouble
It is good when someone is placed at the top
There should not be any attempt to stop
Let people feel proud of a person who is one among them
To be known as diamond and priceless gem
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Always to greet with...
Always to greet with "good morning "and start
This is our tradition and has remained as part
Whenever I see close friend on line I sincerely wish
Welcome with sentiments and delightfully finish
I said to friend "what is there in morning and evening? "
It must always end with ever lasting joy and smiling
I for one shared this concept right from the beginning
Give all kind of expressions and bring on their face little shining
I often say it with smile and style
That speaks of you magnificently meanwhile
Words sometimes may remain in close file
But gesture speaks in volumes all the while
Happiness is something like to be shown in its kind
You need not go in open market to find
It is not the commodity to be out rightly purchased
Sometimes it is eluding but needs to be constantly chased
One of my friend lives far but always closer to heart
I feel as if she is inseparable and dominant part
Whenever we meet some pleasant exchanges are made
But not revealing each others mind as secret trade
I have named her "oldie" but nice hearted person
She is there as teacher, glider and available in all the seasons
I quite frankly enter into skirmishes and alter the scene
But she may come up with fierce mood and real chance to be seen
She is great but what do I dream for her?
Nothing but a wish to see smile from her
A rare quality to be witnessed from human being
But equally to be seen from birds when they sing
She is wealthy but not poor in any of the aspects
She responds in immediate manner with respect
I still tease her to invite some hostile reaction
She flares up in rage but offers smooth action
She stands as star alone in the sky
Twinkle at night and force me to fly
With all my fancy and ideals
She is in fact lovely person and quality in real
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Nativity
1914-18
The Babe was laid in the Manger
Between the gentle kine --
All safe from cold and danger --
"But it was not so with mine,
(With mine! With mine!)
"Is it well with the child, is it well?"
The waiting mother prayed.
"For I know not how he fell,
And I know not where he is laid."
A Star stood forth in Heaven;
The Watchers ran to see
The Sign of the Promise given --
"But there comes no sign to me.
(To me! To me!)
"My child died in the dark.
Is it well with the child, is it well?
There was none to tend him or mark,
And I know not how he fell."
The Cross was raised on high;
The Mother grieved beside --
"But the Mother saw Him die
And took Him when He died.
(He died! He died!)
"Seemly and undefiled
His burial-place was made --
Is it well, is it well with the child?
For I know not where he is laid."
On the dawning of Easter Day
Comes Mary Magdalene;
But the Stone was rolled away,
And the Body was not within --
(Within! Within!)
"Ah, who will answer my word?
The broken mother prayed.
"They have taken away my Lord,
And I know not where He is laid."
. . . . .
"The Star stands forth in Heaven.
The watchers watch in vain
For Sign of the Promise given
Of peace on Earth again --
(Again! Again!)
"But I know for Whom he fell" --
The steadfast mother smiled,
"Is it well with the child -- is it well?
It is well -- it is well with the child!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Child face
Did you ever see joy on child's face?
When some comment is passed over his race
Cast, creed, religion or for ugly appearance
At least parents have told her that it is blessed by chance
Children look so innocent in early stage
Their smile fascinate us with age
They may laugh at us and demand
Break any costly things and loudly play the band
"Hi, how come your teeth have gone? "
The question was parried but some damage was done
The child was smart enough to reply with smile
"The teeth have made room for new style"
Some of the children may shy off and run away
They will cover face but not show it any way
This is an age where you can expect funny answers
Some of them may speak with language that can be understood by few
"Where from you have come in our home"?
I will ask my grand children for an answer to welcome
"Mom says that door was opened at night"
Doctor dropped us at your door, alright
Such type of answers pushes me to the corner of heaven
I have come across funny answers but visibly driven
They are blessed flowers on the earth from almighty
Even though they may look jokers and naughty
I wish them grow in their own way and liking
Let us be kind to answer them when such thing is striking
They should be convinced with what we are replying
Their mind is quick enough to grasp and honestly relying
I would love to hear their answers in any manner
They are quick to grasp but reply little later
They know how dear grand parents are
Some of them may be supporting from very far
I wish to be child at some stage
Entire life journey has made me weary of an age
The children in home make scene little entertaining
The happiness and joy sometimes may not be given by breeze or rain
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Humanitarian theme
I came across enthusiastic person
So many dreams in life and to be realized with reasons
To undertake on the spot study about misery and plight
To wage a war against poverty and in real terms a fight
In his opinion it was crusade or holy war
So far he had not come out of his luxury car
He had specious villa and many servants to the service
Yes he felt like doing some noble service with promises
He used to boost me about his venture
Jokingly we may remind him about adventure
He will jump to his feet and make it sure
He will take it in no time in near future
He had heard about old people and not looked after well
Left alone by their children with horrified tell
Full of pathetic condition and almost tears in eyes
What was left for him to decide and earnestly try?
He took his car and preferred long drive in country yard
They were not far away but lived life substandard
Not enough to feed for family and for aged parent
They had all the curses for self only to resent
"It can't be called adventure" I will pose question and satire
What you dream about can not be called as your future?
Millions rot in same condition here
Make your thrust felt in real areas or somewhere
"Some kind of interest is to be developed"
You are future hope and must think how it can be stopped
Pick your carrier and start form grass root level
You ambition and goal may certainly speak well
He was persuaded to remain realistic
As he had not even figures which can be called statistic
He decided to look through all relative terms
And then go on with the schemes to deliver in turn
I wished him success in life and prosper
Many people may simple dream abut and whisper
Here was person with at least some novel scheme
With no clue how to start with yet working on humanitarian theme
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Another Imitation Of Anacreon
PRONE, on my couch I calmly slept
Against my wont. A little child
Awoke me as he gently crept
And beat my door. A tempest wild
Was raging-dark and cold the night.
"Have pity on my naked plight,"
He begged, "and ope thy door".--"Thy name?"
I asked admitting him.--"The same
"Anon I'll tell, but first must dry
"My weary limbs, then let me try
"My mois'ened bow."--Despite my fear
The hearth I lit, then drew me near
My guest, and chafed his fingers cold.
"Why fear?" I thought. "Let me be bold
"No Polyphemus he; what harm
"In such a child?--Then I'll be calm!"
The playful boy drew out a dart,
Shook his fair locks, and to my heart
His shaft he launch'd.--"Love is my name,"
He thankless cried, "I hither came
"To tame thee. In thine ardent pain
"Of Cupid think and young Climene."--
"Ah! now I know thee, little scamp,
"Ungrateful, cruel boy! Decamp!"
Cupid a saucy caper cut,
Skipped through the door, and as it shut,
"My bow," he taunting cried, "is sound,
"Thy heart, poor comrade, feels the wound."
poem by La Fontaine
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The Runcorn Ferry
On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side,
Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame
By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream,
Or else brings them back across same.
In days afore Transporter Bridge were put up,
A ferryboat lay in the slip,
And old Ted the boatman would row folks across
At per tuppence per person per trip.
Now Runcorn lay over on one side of stream,
And Widnes on t'other side stood,
And, as nobody wanted to go either place,
Well, the trade wasn't any too good.
One evening, to Ted's superlative surprise,
Three customers came into view:
A Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom it were,
And Albert, their little son, too.
"How much for the three?" Mr Ramsbottom asked,
As his hand to his pocket did dip.
Ted said: "Same for three as it would be for one,
Per tuppence per person per trip."
"You're not charging tuppence for that little lad?"
Said Mother, her eyes flashing wild.
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"Per woman, per man, or per child".
"Fivepence for three, that's the most that I'll pay",
Said Father, "Don't waste time in talk".
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"And them, as can't pay, 'as to walk!"
"We can walk, an' all", said Father. "Come Mother,
It's none so deep, weather's quite mild".
So into the water the three of them stepped:
The father, the mother, the child.
The further they paddled, the deeper it got,
But they wouldn't give in, once begun.
In the spirit that's made Lancashire what she is,
They'd sooner be drownded than done.
Very soon, the old people were up to their necks,
And the little lad clean out of sight.
Said Father: "Where's Albert?" And Mother replied:
"I've got hold of his hand, he's all right!"
Well, just at that moment, Pa got an idea
And, floundering back to old Ted, He said:
"We've walked half-way. Come, tak' us the rest
For half-price -- that's a penny a head."
But Ted wasn't standing for none of that there,
And, making an obstinate lip,
"Per tuppence per person per trip", Ted replied,
"Per trip, or per part of per trip".
"All right, then", said Father, "let me tak' the boat,
And I'll pick up the others half-way.
I'll row them across, and I'll bring the boat back,
And thruppence in t'bargain I'll pay".
T'were money for nothing. Ted answered: "Right-ho",
And Father got hold of the sculls.
With the sharp end of boat towards middle of stream,
He were there in a couple of pulls.
He got Mother out -- it were rather a job,
With the water, she weighed half a ton --
Then, pushing the oar down the side of the boat,
Started fishing around for his son.
When poor little Albert came up to the top,
His collars were soggy and limp.
And, with holding his breath at the bottom so long,
His face were as red as a shrimp.
Pa took them across, and he brought the boat back,
And he said to old Ted on the slip:
"Wilt' row me across by me'sen?" Ted said:
"Aye, at per tuppence per person per trip".
When they got t'other side, Father laughed fit to bust.
He'd got best of bargain, you see.
He'd worked it all out, and he'd got his own way,
And he'd paid nobbut fivepence for three!
poem by Marriott Edgar
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The Gift
She paces
By his side
On a quiet street,
Leafy and wide.
The evening air is balmy
And a golden half moon
Of August
Hangs high
In the sky.
"How beautiful is the Moon",
She says,
"Brighter than in June.
"A pity it is not full tonight".
"You know",
He tells her smiling,
"This thing may sound
Really puzzling,
But,
The part missing
From the Moon,
Is actually hidden
In a lagoon.
Nevertheless,
I offer it to you as a gift,
Before the scene
Would alter and shift,
And for good measure,
Fortune and luck,
I will pluck
For you
The other half, too,
So that you will possess
And own quite soon
The complete moon".
"Oh, no", she says,
"I don't want the moon,
Neither half,
Nor the whole of it,
I don't want it soon
Nor in next June.
Not even a small part.
Just give me, instead,
Your uncut heart".
poem by Paul Hartal
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I Met a Seer
I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
"Sir," I addressed him,
"Let me read."
"Child -- " he began.
"Sir," I said,
"Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much."
He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me. --
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Beautiful and great
"Karina, you are lovely, beautiful and great"
But is it so real that I am so late
She was surprised to hear and stared
I was little in odd position when had dared
She is fine lady and belongs to good culture
Where she considers all friends and makes sure
Dignity stands all the way and holds the ground
Whether it is new people, new area or culture to be found
I saw eyes but failed to read what it tried
For a second I felt shy, but suddenly asked why?
She is the entire time best friend
May give in and stay up to the end
Some of the people are gifted
Their eyes speak and never get shifted
It is not natural talent or any kind of show off
But person gets warning and it is made last laugh
I am always at receiving end and accept the outcome
Make the friends laugh at my funny things and welcome
I wait for no adverse comment or displeasure
As it always turn out to be great pleasure
Friends are meant to be adored and appreciated
Not made to suffer due to environment already vitiated
It is how you ouch their deep sentiments
Use it to fullest advantage and turn into happy moments
She has impressed with her innocent show
May be she is intelligent and willing to go
Yet it is her desire to be taken into account
We must love to create relation with almost sure count
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Carpenter's Son
"Here the hangman stops his cart:
Now the best of friends must part.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live, lads, and I will die.
"Oh, at home had I but stayed
'Prenticed to my father's trade,
Had I stuck to plane and adze,
I had not been lost, my lads.
"Then I might have built perhaps
Gallows-trees for other chaps,
Never dangled on my own,
Had I left but ill alone.
"Now, you see, they hang me high,
And the people passing by
Stop to shake their fists and curse;
So 'tis come from ill to worse.
"Here hang I, and right and left
Two poor fellows hang for theft:
All the same's the luck we prove,
Though the midmost hangs for love.
"Comrades all, that stand and gaze,
Walk henceforth in other ways;
See my neck and save your own:
Comrades all, leave ill alone.
"Make some day a decent end,
Shrewder fellows than your friend.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live lads, and I will die."
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Goldie By Name
It is good for health to miss
To feel some thing short of kiss
But a nice feeling and belonging
It is how one should feel with nice beginning
I have always missed beautiful friends
They have brought joy and happiness till the end
Some of then have stayed for longer time
Some of them have left in between sometimes
Neither has it had to do anything with social standing
Nor with the attachment of secret understanding
It is the feeling within that makes person to miss
Always wish for progress in life with happiness
One of my female friends has lot more to do
She had some thing special to prove true
I compared her to that of 'Cuckoo' bird
As she had nice voice cord to be heard
I still tease her as goldie*
I sharpen attack by add her as an oldie
She is in fact gold mines
Rich in culture and language she clearly defines
Not all people can endure your senseless attack
But she is liberal and lays stress to attach
More on human qualities than anything as personal
This I consider as human asset than with any trouble
She has appetite for occasional poetry
I go on large way with full flow from battery
I don't know how far I may survive in this race
Yet I have lot more to reveal than to hide on face
Lucky people are those who have many or less friends
One should long for large contacts with conceptual trend
It may help to know the mind of people living very far
As we see wide sky with twinkling small stars
I sum up by saying simple word
I miss all and wish to look forward
It may not become possible to meet them in person
But yes we all can feel good with very good reasons
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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It Was a Famous Victory
It was a summer evening;
Old Kaspar was at home,
Sitting before his cottage door--
Like in the Southey pome--
And near him, with a magazine,
Idled his grandchild, Geraldine.
"Wy don't you ask me," Kaspar said
To the child upon the floor,
"Why don't you ask me what I did
When I was in the war?
They told me that each little kid
Would surely ask me what I did.
"I've had my story ready
For thirty years or more."
"Don't bother, Grandpa," said the child;
"I find such things a bore.
Pray leave me to my magazine,"
Asserted little Geraldine.
Then entered little Peterkin,
To whom the gaffer said:
"You'd like to hear about the war?
How I was left for dead?"
"No. And, besides," declared the youth,
"How do I know you speak the truth?"
Arose the Wan, embittered man,
The hero of this pome,
And walked, with not unsprightly step,
Down to the Soldiers' Home,
Where he, with seven other men,
Sat swapping lies till half-past ten.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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By force
People took me away by force
I was in tears as mother was only source
She was laid on floor breathless
Eternal peace and calm was seen on the face
I was holding firmly her hand
She was not only mother but more than a friend
"I will stay with you "she used to tell me daily
I may stare at her eyes but know nothing really
All mothers on this beautiful earth may be same
"I prayed almighty and asked many times"
Where from they were sent or came?
I did not get reply but "Mom "I called her by pet name
She would come near if I was found asleep
Keep moving hand over my head and silently peeped
Only to see if I was really not deceiving
Though she loved me and was completely believing
I resisted all attempts to be dragged away
They were all powerful and took me off the way
I cried with loud voice and cursed almighty
"Why did he do it "and showed no mercy
It was desperate cry and not reaching to any one
"Who will now feed me with love" thought while being dragged on
The tears were not stopping and again I attempted with sullen eyes
"You can't go near by place where your mom rests or lies" I was told
I virtually went blind fold
People were cruel and mindlessly cold
Why were they not allowing me to see her last time?
I wondered whether this may be happening with all sometimes
I looked at the hollow sky and twinkling stars
They were silently staying with me but from distance and very far
I thought of them as real companion and good friends
At least stars were crying with twinkling lights
"Let no mothers die and separate child like me" I prayed
If possible then some of the years may be added from my life for her stay
I had no other clue as how to over come this death issue
As I was prevented from seeing her or having clear last view
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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