Poetry

Who am I by Vinita Singh Who am I I am a dancer that wants to flow, and have everyone fly. To dance in a flowing rhythm with turns and surprises, And be way high. Who am I, I am a writer who wants to imagine and write stories, that make you feel free. Who am I A person who imagines writing stories beyond your imagination. of dreams of words that I see in reality. Stories of past lives that come through premonitions. Who am I I am a dreamer who daydreams and dreams of the future. Spam Copyright Mature Content   Copyright © 2004

Distracted by Vinita Singh I’m not calm I’m distracted. Too many things to do. Too many options my way. Writing words are they my things. Telling stories are they the way. Dancing away in my gym shoes, in aerobics finess, is that my option. No one knows who I am today. Is it yesterday, I did not know I’m distracted. Or have I just overacted. No one knows my way. Cleaning things and doing the dishes, Cooking away with favorite foods, Chores of everyday that come away. No one knows my way. Saying rhymes and taking time with words that come in my mind. Listening to music and relaxing is just not in my mind. Have I overacted, I’m just distracted. Feeling the cool air or the rain drops fall down on my hair. Where’s the love of beautiful nature. I cannot find the calmness, I’m distracted. What are things that have to be done. Is it not too many things to do, I’m not calm, I’m distracted. Spam Copyright ...

Its two o’clock midnight past by Vinita Singh Its two o’clock midnight past I feel I’m awake And everynight with dreams I awake at last. I hear the train on the railroad tracks. Its roaring whistle further away comes to a halt. I see the lamp lights as Its two o’clock midnight past. I write my poems on the computer as words come to me quiet fast. My thoughts of past As years have passed. Its two o’clock midnight past. Of visions of future which just may last In the moment, its just quiet. I can feel the silence with the crickets chirping. Its two o’clock midnight past. Spam Copyright Mature Content Copyright © 2004

A bond of friendship by Vinita Singh A bond of friendship has a friend who shares and cares. They have a connection and give you direction. They even give you a mutual affection. With words they tell you your imperfections, to help you get perfection. Friends listen and hear your words and are sincere. A bond of friendship has a Friend who volunteers to do things for you. And they want to do things with you. They’ll dance with you to enhance, or just watch your steps in a glance. A bond of friendship makes a friend get strong as they grow and they tell you their stories. They go with you on trips to the park. And listen to all your stories. They even read your poems and stories and give you feedback. A bond of friendship has no judgements But the friendship only gets stronger, As they spend time together. Copyright © 2004 

Life is a Celebration by Vinita Singh It's quiet the birds are chirping. It's sunny the wind is blowing. I look outside the window, the curtains are moving. I am sitting inside and nearby, I am delighted that the candle inside is lighted. I realize and visualize everything about life. Life is a celebration. A figment of my imagination. A sensation of intoxication. Life is a combination of expectations and complications. Long vacations with temptations. It's a fantasy that fades. It's a dream with romance, in which we all dance. Its an illusion with a conclusion. Life is an inspiration and a celebration. Spam Copyright Mature Content   Copyright © 2004

The Calmness by Vinita Singh Sitting in the silence, As I lay gently on the sofa, staring out the window, thinking with my blinking eyes, I felt the cool cold air beneath my feet. A silence so peaceful, so pleasant, A calmness so shoothing and suttle. The clear dark night so still, so silent. A calmness so cool and comforting. Copyright © 2004

As I Cry by Vinita Singh As I lie crying at night, when it is not so bright, or is it the day, when I am so far away? I wonder sometimes, why do I cry? Is it the still sun shining in the evenings or the dull dawn in the morning? Why is it the sudden sadness I feel at times as I cry? The long and lonely months, or the sudden change of growing years? As I cry, I ask myself, why? The tremendous thoughts of past memories in my mind. Oh! Could it be the frightening lightning thundering so loudly? As I cry, I ask myself, why? The growing days and passing years, so sudden, so still, gone and passed. I ask myself again, why do I cry? Copyright © 2004