Poem 156 - A Photo

Just that one photo of hers made him cry

He loved her so much and now she had died

Alone and sad, now he wanted to die

Each time he looked at the photo he cried

Leaning on the door thinking of his love,

About his dead wife he kept thinking of

He felt like the only man alone now

He sat on his bed and gave a sad cough

Broke the photo, tried not to think of her

But only her nice face came to his mind

He closed his eyes, shed another tear

The past, good memories he did rewind

Once again to his mind came the photo

To heaven he also wanted to go

-Gaurang Rao

Written for - http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Poem 155 - On the Beach

Standing on the sand, letting my feet get buried in sand

Waiting for the waves that come, holding my sisters hand

A huge waves, makes water come up till our knee

Finally we sit far, fully wet, thanks to the sea

I begin to collect shells, but I find one, makes me throw all other shells back

That one big shell in newspaper I do pack

Carefully keeping it in the picnic basket, I look at it once more

So beautiful, so smooth and to think that I found it on the shore

My sister likes it too, the strange colors on it

I close the basket and down I sit

Letting the beach's soft sand slip through my fingers, brown and cold

The sand gleaming when the sun shines, pretending to be gold

Finally we sit in the car, It is time to go back home

But there is no place like home, whether yours is in Washington or Rome

I look at the shell one last time, its pinkish color giving it a strange effect

It was a really good shell that looked nice and perfect

-Gaurang Rao

Written for - http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

and - http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com/

Poem 154 - The Silly Servant

Servant doing hard work, because of the glass eye of his boss

He always took it out and kept it were the servant was

Boss told "I am keeping an eye on you"

Servant believed boss, and did hard work too

When servant's friend heard this and laughed, servant got cross

-Gaurang Rao

Written for - http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Poem 153 - Lazing on the hills

A cool breeze blew, I walk up the hills with the sheep

The hill covered with grass, smells nice, the sheep dance and leap

I sleep on my back, looking at the clouds, changing their shapes

I had bought my food basket, it had sandwiches, milk and grapes

I felt like a kid in Sound of Music, when they sang Doe - a deer

I heard a spring nearby, I found it, out came water crystal clear

I started singing, my sheep seemed to like the song

It came near me, I sang it fully, It was nice and long

I had a most delicious lunch after that

After eating the last sweet grape, my stomach I did pat

I walked back with the sheep, the picnic basket, now light

I hummed the song as I went, for me the day had turned bright

-Gaurang Rao

Photo Link - here 

Written for - http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/

and - http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/

Poem 152 - Tit for Tat

Going to my sister's room, banging her room's door and running back

My room's door fly's open, sister gives a glare, her eyes, cold and black

Sweetly I smile, I act innocent by shrugging and opening my book

She turns around and turns again - once more she gave me that hard look

I laughed in my room, just then someone bangs my door, and laughter does crack

-Gaurang Rao

Photo Link - here (©2009-2011 ~19SaRaH92)

Written for - http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/

Poem 151 - Cries for being alive

He was young of age, I think about eight

Though he had only mother, he thought life was great.

One day his mother fell ill, and there was no money

To get medicines, he found small jobs, for him life wasn't funny

Because he couldn't buy medicines, his mother died

Weeks turned to months, but he cried and cried

No money, No food, and now he had to pay the tax

No electricity, he was using candles and wax

House gone, street- a cold new house, to stay

For him to go anywhere, there was no way

Crying for being alive, was the eight boy's cry

Like his mother and father, why couldn't he die?

-Gaurang Rao