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Best Poems Written by Amrita Seemungal

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a morning's play

DATE: 27th June, 2022.

POEM TITLE: A Morning’s Play 

In a misty morning simmer,
where droplets run along
blades of grasses in limber
to a game of ‘who grows bigger’
until a splatter rings a song,
a brief play date gone wrong.

Pearls on taro leaves form ripples,
upon the water's face,
rolling off like dimes and nickels,
as they bask in their clear flippers,
overlooking the country gnome,
“pitter-patter” they roam.

One eases it’s way out in orbs,
waving goodbye to friends,
translucent; it fully absorbs
the warm air as the body soars
along with the winds of July,
so long, fellow ally.

With the sun now driving it’s flares,
weeping flower heads rise,
nature awakes and dries it’s tears, 
a new day presents new affairs,
another chance of a surprise,
like play dates of the skies.

CONTEST NAME: Dewdrops Poetry Contest
SPONSOR: Angel L Villanueva 

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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aching heart

for the heart that hurts,

the rib cage embraces it,

the mind consoles it.

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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midnight goodbyes

oh how I romanticize the idea of you,
a happy-ever-after-kind of ending,
a fairytale love story of you and I,
of a prince charming to take my hand,
gently guide my steps to a waltz,
kiss me in the moonlight,
and tell me you love me.

how a dove will deliver my love notes,
one with the next date of our meeting,
we sit and admire each other in silence,
a blush washes our faces as we hold hands,
hours pass with us just being together,
and everything else in the world disappears.

when you first take me to your parents,
they welcome and treat me like their own,
they love me, if not more than you,
they accept me for you, their dearest son
and give us their sincerest blessings,
for a lasting bond wealthy of love.

but only one thing stands in our way,
time was of the essence...
I would leave you at midnight,
with excuses that grew tenfold,
until there were no more excuses.
just the truth of who I am to tell.

a middle class girl with more grit than jewels,
someone who dreams of the lavishness,
but a simple, traditional life is my reality.
one with an old soul in modern times,
who will capture memories and live
like it's my very first lifetime.

will you take my hand?
will you love me for who I am?
will you think of me at midnight?
will this glass slipper remind you of me?

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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spring's gift

flowers bloom in may,

nectar for the visitors,

like a last spring gift.

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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the paradox of the sea

one calm, reposeful day, the wind chimes
played a rhapsody of serenity and peace.
each zephyr girdled by the ocean's air
layered the saltiness onto your skin.
a stroll on the esplanade rejuvenated
your dehydrated body and soul.
like a harbor for reflection, your mind
wandered about the limitless horizon,
swayed with the coconut trees'
branches and reached for the sun
against the silky, baby blue backdrop.
it was a perfect day to marvel at the world.
but, was the world enjoying it's view too?
in a contingent episode, nature showed
it's demeanor; it's fury ignited by infamy.
the unrestrained waters were beckoning,
tides were rising and waves caused
a raucous that solicited danger.
the quiet ambience was redacted,
chaos and madness in close vantage.
like that, life becomes at risk of desolation,
the untainted, crystalline sea waters that
created an idyll of a scene shifted to
a frame of terror and disturbance.
how absurd of nature to decoy a monster
from a then- tamed body of water.
a phenomenon of a tsunami
that can threatened the mere
spans of your homeland; an island,
a minute dot holding your little world.
you prayed that this day never comes.

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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an outcry

The countryside was their homeland, 
Buried in the rich soils were their sons’ navel strings, 
Nothing of their history was bland,
Not even the stain on their names or grit on their rings.

They toiled at life as if it was their last day,
Their dignity and self-respect was all that was left,
Making a sacrifice that little know of today,
Even their identities were liable to theft.

How lives are changed in this modern world,
The white lies tell of no more enslavement, 
Yet we are groomed to fit into their mold,
For a moment of liberation and enjoyment. 

Such is the world’s cruel reality, 
For the sake of sustenance and survival,
The wealthy living is given to the minority,
And the poor man works and cries in deprival.

Third world societies’ demise in hind sight, 
Yet they gloss it over with petty mess,
Dealing with trivial matters that concur their might,
Than those that seeks to make progress.

With their soft voices and layman words,
Who or what can they confront with their distaste,
If their dissatisfaction always go unheard,
What can a young child do to feel less displaced?

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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you knew the feeling of weakness,
the tremble of your famished body,
the restless mope of a spirit,
groveling tired thoughts.
but then. . .

you laid eyes upon him,
you discovered another weakness,
fustigated with heart palpitations,
insides nerved with desire,
languid with infatuation.

a predilection of the soul,
your heart unwavering with love,
for he who made your body weak
makes you drown in exuberance too.
heart and mind perplexed in reactions.

how can his mere presence,
make you aberrate from yourself?
stoked in oblivescence of yesterday,
he becomes your now, your today
and everyday - satiating every thought.

he overpowers your senses,
your feelings, your gullibility to believe,
you are capitulated to his being
as someone who carries your world,
you needed him, you prayed for him.

but you couldn't have him,
you could never touch him,
you could not dream of him,
yet you were candidly in love
with a man who was your

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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zombie land

their bodies were present but
their eyes were scanning a screen,
their faces devouring the blue light,
of the small machines in their hands-
they were nothing less than walking zombies.

they typed in caps and illegible words,
tapping continuously without a blink,
messages were flooded in like signals,
emoticons of laughter and joy were sent
yet their faces wore deadpan expressions.

they shared words, stories, feelings.
authentic or not? the receiver is left to wonder,
honest or dishonest? they will never know,
exposed to content with credibility that
they cannot truly trust yet they gullibly believe.

they sit amongst their loved ones,
silently being consumed into the device,
no spoken word had passed the time,
relations grow bleaker and they wonder,
with memories missed and left uncreated.

they deviate from the outside world,
entrapped within a capsule of a virtual drug,
an addiction that cannot be overcame,
unless they find leverage that most fail,
life is reduced to an online adrenaline.

their worth being dependent on strangers'
opinions and dispositions - more than theirs,
inevitably toxic for reasons that others love,
some find themselves, others lose themselves
it can build, connect but also destroy them.

they are losing their sense of humanity,
this modern age could be the era of a
zombie apocalypse- leaving humanity
in a dire state of being less human and
more of a population of disembodied spirits.

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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day's hustle

teapots and teacups,

the aroma of coffee,

and the day's hustle.

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022

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the maiden's masquerade

tell another lie tonight,
the shadows around her commanded.
the vanity lights accentuated her crimson red lips.
she pursed them and added a final touch of shimmer on her cheekbones.
she dressed herself in sultry, black leather,
and boots that carried the weight of her ego.
it was a night to expound her sacrilege,
to conquest the desire of her partner who was betrodden by her mere ambrosial scent.
she trapped him inside her little charade,
waltzing his mindscapes with sweet nothingness.
she preened his thoughts with meaningless love,
he was helplessly chained to the spectacle of her.
such an enchanting, coquettish lady,
but no-one knew her story; her deception behind a transparent mask of her deep trauma and pain.
she adorned every scar with a jeweled mold,
her eyes could not deceive her hidden intent of spite for the man in her embrace,
yet he was blindly charmed by the beautiful debacle she was.
he was unaware of her ruthless renegade,
he did nothing to be spiraled into her vengeful motive but he had to bear the brunt
of an ex-lover who had cursed on her heart.
she silently wrangled at every ounce of his pride
as she used her lofty muliebrity to façade the perfect nightmare of a woman but one of his dreams too.
it cured her wounds like an anodyne until . . .
he cracked her vile code and began
playing her game better than she did.
he dismantled every mask she tried to wear,
revealing her every layer, he traversed every
inch of her skin and dissolved her pretense.
the menacing voices of the shadows around her started to fade.

how was she supposed to keep up this masquerade?

Copyright © Amrita Seemungal | Year Posted 2022