The Nutrition symposia is on,
From fifth to eighth December twenty eighteen,
Morning eight to evening five fifteen,
At the top floor of hotel Sheraton.
Each day, there will be three sittings,
Two in the morning and one after lunch,
Post meetings, enjoy our distinct entertainment bunch,
Poetrysoup please! Join us with proceedings.
The topic of discussion is diseases of small intestine,
Interested scientists, doctors and researchers,
Enroll with latest abstracts, articles and papers,
At [email protected], on or before October nine.
Is not the noise that I wanted to shut out
Is not the little things I wanted to erase
Is not how it lacked
Is was never the inability of things
Nor the idea of impossibilities
Is not the walk arounds
Nor the sittings
Nor the tiny faces made
Nor the hidden emotions
Nor the never appointments made
It was a decision of the heart
Maybe a little lack of belief
It was the fear of commitment
Maybe the inclusiveness of loved ones
It was a step on the wrong path
The traditional language of sorrys
Was never invented in your honour
Nor any other emotionally involving language
The hurts of the past has blinded the true eyes of love
Hence the let go prematurely
It is now to walk in regret
And fear of changing the history
Today is a chance
Tomorrow is goodbye
MY SINGING STAR
Annual days in our University existed before too, only in annals,
Until the day, she on the ramp thrilled our hearts that came to the ears;
We had ‘Abbey Road on the River’; we lived in our souls and became ears,
That heard the first time ‘unheard melodies’ reverberating through Lit annals.
The Nightingale of India would’ve left her oriole and put her in musical panels;
The roaring Moor would’ve left Desdemona to live, riveting his ears for years,
The brooding Ruth would’ve left her diffidence to dance sprightly for years,
To the thrill of her voice, sounding end to sittings of juries, forever in annals.
She could’ve sung ‘they’re gonna make a big star out of me,’
But, that would’ve rivaled the great Beatles; she could’ve her ‘Jai Ho’
That would’ve made Mozart of Madras again dedicate glory to Him.
Lyrics she required not, for, it’s in the listeners’ glee;
Lyres she required not, her voice throbs humans in harmony, robbing ego;
Life is un-lived, if you have no ears for my singing star, not even Him.
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