Reflections

So this girl had a tiny pocket, Smaller than the smallest bucket. But she made good use of it, So she had no time to sit.                                    In the pocket she went around collecting A golden powder, always shimmering. It shone brightly on her hands, Each time she held the powdery sand. She loved the glittery color, She loved the subtle perfume, She loved the powdery touch, And sometimes the bitter sweet taste. She loved the powder so much, That she travelled till Deutsch, Assembling the powder, As her pocket grew crowded. Always in a frenzy, She went around collecting. One fine morning on her way, When she couldn’t find more, To add to her exiting store, She paused from her frenzy, And felt her pocket weightless. It couldn’t be. She had found so much of the powder And now it felt like it had all blown with the wind, Or washed with the waves, Or simply passed into nothingness! With much anticipation and a littl

Thanks to a friend, I happened to read a poem by Pablo Neruda after a long time! And it just reminded me of how much more attention poetry by him demands! Here are a few poems by Neruda that I particularly like. I would have given a detailed explanation as to why but I guess his poems do the talking themselves! Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her