Poems by- Anjali Denandee, MOM

My Winter’s Yard

My yard covered in a blanket of snow.
Where is the Sun, I didn’t know.
White, white and white…
White was every where.
In my room, in fireplace, here was fire.
I tried to see outside through the window.
Like the Summer, on my yard,
Here was no crow.
No thirsty bird.
The temperature of weather was too low.
Our gate’s guard,
He was now sleeping in his room at noon.
Whole night, he was not sleeping.
But at that time, on the sky, there was no moon.
On my winter’s yard,
Here was a very little bud,
In between two leaves who was peeping.
Then I had heard,
It’s love’s whisper which was only for my yard.
Yes, it was it’s hope to blooming later.
And for it’s life, it was better.

That Pruning Place

On the sandy chest of the river,
There was that burning place.
Times never reverse.
Ages also.
And the death comes near always,
On it’s own ways.
Is death not the bless?
Why deaths flow and flow,
For ever and ever with lives?
Once upon a time,
I asked these questions.
Then my younger brother’s body was burning,
With too high flame towards the endless.
At that time,
That dry chest of the river,
It answered,
‘When I was with flowing water,
Then I was the place of thirsty lives.
But now I am with dry sands only,
And on my chest,
Dead bodies are burning.
Yes, times are the all answers of all questions.’