Home » Poems » Best » Varna Paniyath » Best Varna Paniyath Poems

Best Poems Written by Varna Paniyath

Below are the all-time best Varna Paniyath poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

The Painting

There was a little painting in my yard
It was of me
I had a colourful palate with a bunch of brushes
I had no clue 
of how to mix colours
of patterns that would mean anything
a vision for shape and size
of all things an aritist was born with
there were just frames and canvases
scattered everywhere I could see
I mustered the strength to lift a brush 
and dip in some paint
it seemed like an orange or blue
one stroke after the other  
and I felt liberated from reality
every minuscule of beauty seemed to bloom
all in one flash of a second
what would you call such an experience? 
streak of eccentricity? a dream? 
Reality woven neat and safe in an imagination. . . .

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

The Alarm Clock

I want an alarm clock. .
I want it to ring when I need to get up,
I want it to ring when I have to serve breakfast, lunch and dinner,
I want it to ring when I need to stare into the skies,
I want it to ring when I need to call my dear ones,
I want it to ring when I need to dream,
I want it to ring when I need to wake up to reality,
I want it to ring when I have to plunge into the water,
I want it to ring when I ought to get to the prayer hall,
I want it to ring when I need to wash the car,
I want it to ring when I have no stock of groceries,
I want it to ring when my blood boils,
I want it to ring when my temper no longer holds,
I want it to ring when I am disoriented,
I want it to ring when I know not what I am doing,
I want it to ring when I need to make coffee,
I want it to ring when I can let people read me,
I want it to ring when I need to talk to myself,
I want it to ring when I want it to ring,
I want an alarm clock. . .

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

My Lovely Blue

Today my teacher asked me to imagine colours,
So i tried imagining,
Hues of green, orange, blue. . .
Oops a little bit of grey and then of course black,
Then shades of white, later red and then shallow yellow,
Purple, violet and stable brown.
Is that blue comin again? And then white and then red?
I did not like white and red,
But blue was lovely. . .
I kept imagining blue for a while longer,
And then for a little while longer and then forever. . .
'Now try taking it out of you' says my teacher,
What?! How can i? 
And miss said i have to. . .
And i told her alright,
So i erased blue,
but it remained indelible,
It won't budge,
Its stubborn,
Blue does not look on red blood.
Atleast the colour combination is bad but it just won't budge,
I liked that nature, never yielding, stubborn, adamant,
That's me, i saw in blue, myself,
So i cherished it in me though miss said take it out.
I still have blue, i will imagine it forever. . .

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

The Phone Call

The phone rings,
And there is this peculiar sound for that one call,
Which I was forced to set,
Cos the heart thumps, and sweat glands activate,
Sending the chill down my spine,
I gulp in air but it just wont go down my throat,
It stays in the mouth and then I am forced to send it out,
The first word, as sweet as ever, but as scary as it could get,
I think no end of myself, brave, bold, smart,
I picture myself handling it,
Hanging up, cutting down, uttering something,
But I give back the sweet word another word, this one sweeter. .
And then the dialogues are ones from that of a movie..
A put on, just like how it has been always,
So there is no escape whatsoever, and. . 
I am enjoying this ride much more than all the rides I had,
From the time I saw this world!

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

On Duty 24,7

When you cannot rewind time..
When you cannot dream what you dreamt before. .
When you cannot hope for good things. .
When you cannot be free from thoughts you don't want to think... 
When what you say is misinterpreted. . 
When you feel tat you are no more at the receiving end. .
When you feel you are caught in a landslide you cant stop. . 
When you cannot smile from the heart. . 
When you feel you are paid badly for what you have done
When all doors are closed. .
Remember only the soul craves. . And it shall be bestowed with what it needs. . .
There is someone on duty. . .Above. .

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

Listen To the Hard Prayer

A prayer sent through speed post,
And then taken to in person,
Hard prayer, not gentle so that he can just smile on it,
And run away for good,
Pestered, coaxed, bulllied, ragged,
Slaundered, pelted, ridiculed, stuffed,
And then torn apart both by words and actions,
He could not just smile at the hard prayer,
You make me write a poem about it,
And you think you are done with it,
But that's when things begin,
Until you send them down your throat,
Your intestines, and the sweaty ends of your palms.
Glistening spirit, that sticks and never lets you go,
Loved, Condemned, scorned, beat,
Overflowing with the memories,
A horrid world that you never want to belong to,
But that's where you belong,
Biter truth, It holds you down,
So that you fall plop,
twice on the floor, when you try to get up in the morning!
The green grapes that my daddy gave this evening,
Glistening spirit, that quenched the thirst,
but wrought the soul with the fire of a thousand logs,
The stealthy glances that she gives,
Thinks that I dont notice it,
Thine eyes are more stealthy, I laugh aloud,
You have two options, listener of the hard prayer,
Either take me to the world when I did not know that the red liquid was blood or . . .
Grey me overnight. . . . . . .

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

The Little Girl In the Rain

I can still remember the little girl,
Out there in the rain,
Happy that her tears were not seen,
Shivering to her bones,
Out in the wild night,
The night did not scare her,
It was the blurred sight of her loved one going away,
That scared her.
He left her in the darkness,
Confident that she would find her way.
He was so right,
Just to himself.
Little that she was,
She turned around to spot a pebble to play,
No pebbles to be found around, she turned to see,
If any orphan pup would be found in the rain,
Like the one found in all fairy tales,
No pup to be found, she ran about in the muddy puddles,
Splashing water, this time on no one,
but herself. . .
The water dripped off her white sleeves,
And the ends of her petticoat,
And her lovely baby hair that hung til her shoulders,
And so did that blurred sight. . .

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

The Goblins Market Revisited

The smell of great lunch,


The peace of having prepared for all the exams,


The bliss of complete solitude,


The state of staying where I identify myself,


The knowledge of all good and bad,


The respect for the institution of society,


The company of soulful music,


The strong mental power,


The satisfaction of realising you are a whole entity,


The shade of protection and the luxury,


The sweetness of friends and loved ones,


The smooth course of life,


Everything is distorted now,


There are waves gushing in my heart,


As though life has taken a turn,


From what I accepted to what I wanted,


It is dangerous yet full of magical sweetness,


The goblins are calling out and their lure


Is never going to be the cure..

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

When Can I Get There

I see you from here..
Every second, every minute,
The days pass,
The distance makes me yearn more
Is that tip where oceans meet?
Or where rocks explode?
Or flowers bloom when i smile?
My will shall be done or. . .?
Even if not why would i be here?
The difference lies in attaining you from the place i love to be
What am i thirsty of..I know and god knows..So its not a secret
Cos its for him that i do everything
Sometimes you are just before me
Other times i have to force myself to slumber
Its not a strain to strive for a glimpse of you..
The palm tree's top sways with open arms
I shiver when your breeze touches me
I get warmth here that comforts me
But i long for you...
I will get you someday..some day when i am done with everything!

Details | Varna Paniyath Poem

Stooping

The first bloom, the second bloom and then the third..
Too exhausted in the splendour, she rode her little pony
The sights too sugary and the smells too exotic,
Love is a red red rose, fed with the blood of the two,
Too exhausted in the empty splendour she rode her pony.