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Best Poems Written by Pranali Vg

Below are the all-time best Pranali Vg poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Firework Maker's Daughter

She wanders through the town in the morning light, the firemaker's daughter, with her brilliant eyes. Her hair is wild and blazing red, and her steps are light as she walk, she treads.
She carries the flame magic, her father's gift that bears his name. She keeps the fires burning hot and bold, and her stories are fascinating and never get old.

The firemaker's daughter, with a lovely heart, she gives her warmth, her refined soul. Her excitement is unbounded as she dances in the flames, and her laughter echoes, warm and tidal.

In the blackness of the night, she is a beacon of light, her flames alight, a guiding sight. The firemaker's daughter is a force to be reckoned with. Her spirit was fiery, and her story was unknown.

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Butterfly

The butterfly counts months not memories,
Of the springs and autumn that passed away.
Emancipation from all mortal bonds,
Memories afflicted only with inscrutable fond.

Draped with lamentation of the gone days,
Repairing to the valley of desolation,
Where the pieces of those leaf-like memories,
Still hold on to the transitory trees. 

A spectacular array of,
The days that we had rued,
And the inclinations of beings that were true. 

Without the consciences of right,
Or wrong; which makes one love or 
Hate limitless. 

But inevitably memories were made,
Through some did perish away,
But the butterfly counts months not memories.
Especially the ones that made our bond.

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Still a Kite Runner

Don’t be sad over what you have lost, 
Smile for what you had.
If you inflict pain in every memory, 
Each memory then turns bad.

Just close your eyes and picture them, 
Like the polaroid photo you had. 
Imagine the same harelip smile, 
plastered on that doll like face. 

You can’t undo what had been done, 
The hourglass would only be filled with tears.

Capture that feeling sitting on a pomegranate tree,
Sitting with a person who’s mouthed first word, 
Embraced in it your name. 
Ulterior motive “for you a thousand times over”,
The words remain.

Capture that same memory, 
Feel it every day, 
Forever in you that memory lives,
Forever it will stay. 

Forgive those who had gone, 
And those waiting to go. 
For the one that mattered the most, 
Left a piece of himself for you to hold. 

An old nemesis approached, 
under Hitler propaganda as disguise. 
Or maybe it Was Karma an old friend; a vice.

For you a thousand times over, 
loyalty to be proven not proclaimed,
But this time it was my turn, 
To run the blue kite blade.

In the end it will not be the words of my enemies, 
That I will remember, 
But the silence of my brother; my friend.

Although I rewarded loyalty with distance, 
But even broken crayons still colour the same.
Because remembering him is easy, 
I do it every day. 
But there is an ache within my heart,
That never went away. 
 
But it all fell in place with that one call
“There is a chance of being good again.”

Alas in the end however a king died a slave

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Dead Yet Beloved

A cup of coffee in the morning,
While the cat jumped over the fence.
The sun rising over the horizon,
Begining life’s quest with a six pence.

The smell of freshly baked bread.
The sounds of waves crashing on the shore.
The laughter of children playing,
I never really wanted anything more.

The scent of blooming flowers in the garden,
Whilst I walked barefoot on soft grass.
The taste of chocolate melting on my tongue,
While tiny women nearby played brass.

Then again it was summer heat,
Our bare feet on concrete.
While I was willing to take you up on mountains so grand.
An adventurer’s wonderland. 

Then it was morning dew, rainbow in the sky. 
Nature providing a sparkling view, while painting colours up high.

But now seasons just come and go,
Yet every time I still miss the winter’s chill.
Beneath the seasons showers,
Silence that fell upon only my window sill,
As I sat reminiscing my dead yet beloved darling still.

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House of Mirrors

Walk in casually,
In a house of mirrors especially.
You might differ in shape and size,
But don’t worry life is just alike.
On the opposite wall,
You might see.
That’s a reflection of you. 
But not true exactly

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Picture Perfect

Hey, am I a picture perfect sight,
Why’d you stare? 
I’d be dreaming like a firefly,
in the air.
I’ve been living my own life by my terms, 
Isn’t it a picture perfect sight to stare, 
Why don’t you join me there?

Time has passed to be, where are you?

I have reached the end. 
It's still a picture perfect sight to see,
Where are you, you left the journey in the middle, 
Where are you, you gave up?
But now it's time to go.

Isn’t it a picture perfect sight, with you by my side 
Our lives were always meant to be explored, 
it's was a picture perfect sight, with you by my side
Alas, it's my time to go. 
So let’s go slow….

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Under the City Lights

A need to paint with all the colours of the wind, 
For you over a hundred times, yet time and time again. 
While the city lights shimmer like a thousand diamonds in the night,
This scene on my canvas is all what I want to unveil tonight. 
Watching the neon signs flicker and glow, painting the city with vibrant lights.
Streets adorned with city lights, creating an urban symphony.

While the lights illuminate the bustling streets, guiding the way for night wanderers.
The darkness falls, the city ignites, revealing a vibrant nocturnal world.
The city lights create a sense of wonder, captivating both residents and visitors alike.
Yet you and me still ponder upon the depths of the ocean greater or the dreams of the city tonight.

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Passed On

Time has passed,
Those who had to go have gone, 
Leaving behind all that was theirs,
For their family heirs. 

What did the heirs do? 
They divided the things among, 
They forgot that their hearts and souls 
Were clung.

Long time since buried or burnt,
But don't forget they are still with us.
How dare you divide their property,
The one they left with love.

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Flowers, Sticks and Stones

He gathered flowers, petals which felt like first rain,
“She loves me; not” his heart in strain, 
Relentless plucks, his hope at test,
Until the final petal indeed whispered, “yes”. 

While in the forest she roamed, mustering her tone, 
Carefully and with good measure picking up each stick and stone,
Her purpose and dreams were clear, 
For in the forest’s embrace she was overcoming her fear,

Destined to meet at the meadows their paths to align,
Both displayed their treasure, intentions benign.
Yet when he saw her’s, he fled in fear, from their dream, her call, abandoning it all.
Leaving behind a spinster in solitude's bitter thrall,
Who just wanted to weave her homely call.

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Web of Life

I try to outlive my days,
with the fear of repercussions that might haunt me later on, 
I imagine myself old yet young in a web of my own with boxes of memories refreshing the old times that I had once spun.