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Best Poems Written by Gayathri Menon

Below are the all-time best Gayathri Menon poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Gayathri Menon Poem

life- a different way

Birth was given
Warmth was felt
not of the mother,
But of demise
she was loathed
For being a girl
A tender soul
Eliminated from life ,
without a chance
They both were 12,
With smiles aglow,while
He walked away in a crisp uniform
And she swept the floor,
Swept away the hidden tears.

Sweet sixteen
The celebration dynamic
Best day of her life she felt.
Little did she see him coming for her
Stripped, ripped and destroyed
On the bathroom floor.

All applause for him,
‘Just a woman’ they called her.
Her tenacity, he efforts and
Sleepless nights gone unnoticed
He gets acclaimed ,
As she walks away less earned,
than deserved

55, falling out of love
With the better-half once desired,
Worn out In one corner of the room
With zero dreams left for herself.
Required to attend the rules of the “man”
In the home she toiled to build.

In a world that’s filled with poison,
Hearts fill with fear at first,
Change the world to a better place,where
It’s a boon not a curse.

Copyright © Gayathri Menon | Year Posted 2020

Details | Gayathri Menon Poem


Can I call myself a poet   
If I write about my home,
Instead of fancy castles?
If I write when I’m bored
Just all things ordinary          
without a thesaurus beside me,
Just to fill a mental hole ?

Can I call myself a teacher
If I teach someone to love
Themselves, with no regrets
Teach them why they matter
And why they deserve the world ?

Can I call myself an Artist
If I can stain the sheet,
And shatter the monotony with
Thoughts that lay disarray ?

Can I call myself human
If I let other humans be
Without gashing someone’s spirits
Or providing to the chaos,
That devours the world as a whole ?

Can’t we all just seek our calling
For it leads no harm and wrecks no hope
just feeds minds with lessons,
Of positivity ,joy and encouragement
And triumph to the soul.                                                                 

Copyright © Gayathri Menon | Year Posted 2020

Details | Gayathri Menon Poem


If you were asked to,
How would you describe the world?

Would you start with the blooming flowers ,
That flood the lawns with colors                                                                                                                                                                                                       
Or the small forgotten herbs
with curing as its powers?

Would you start with the golden sunrise,
Delivering hope at the wake of dawn.
Or the ombre sunset sky,
Wrapping up the day, so long?
What about refreshing sand,
That your feet sink into with ease,
the salty ocean waves
‘nd like a lover how they tease,

Would you start with how rain
will always fascinate,
blanketing the earth with love
reviving, renewing up to date.

Would you forget to tell about
The taste of something sweet
Or the feeling that you get
When you see the color green?

How will you describe
What a waterfall feels like
Or how an eagle spreads its wings
For the most royal flight?


If you asked me, I would say
The world is charged with passion
With countless things to admire
For all these splendid things
Emerged, from a pyre.

Copyright © Gayathri Menon | Year Posted 2020

Details | Gayathri Menon Poem



The sky was amber, the sun to set                                              
He walked in search of the regulars,
Exhausted, his temple covered in sweat
the street, kids role-playing ‘wrestlers’

Faces shone as they recognize
This humble man, from afar
With a package, beyond their fantasize
Kid shouts “here’s man with a scar!”

He bows to the old couples seated on the footpath
Lifts up the kid, embracing his knees
Who’s taken away for her routine bath
Before the feast would cease.

“It’s gruel, and gravy and paapad! “
 The tiny boy shrieks.
All hands up in the air,
Like awaiting delicious treats.

Devouring the dainty but dear feast
Like it’s their last given morsel
Tame is even the roadside beast,
With gravy all down his torso.

He stood still perceiving the scenes
Fulfilment, from the filling guts 
The eagerness, and how the bowls it cleans
The old couples retrieving to their huts.

He walks away like always
As happy as he could be
Feeding their own share to the strays
They pounce, face lit up with glee.

A leaky, creaky dump,
His very own humble abode
Flumps on the hay mat in the corner
 That he himself sewed.

Scrapes the bowl, impatient.
Longing for some food
Ran out of his ration
To enlighten else’s mood

Life’s unfair he knows
For a minute he doesn’t regret
To witness their smiles he goes
Shares all food without a fret.

Recalls the smiles of the homeless,
Their blesses in murmurs, even tears
He thanks almighty for the roof above 
Rests his eyes, conceives about the world, how
Some stomachs remain empty
Some full to the brim
Some full with sufficient
Some merely happy.


Copyright © Gayathri Menon | Year Posted 2020