Best Poems Written by Laali Pydi

Below are the all-time best Laali Pydi poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Laali Pydi Poem

how the rose ,'ROSE'

The rose, bright and red 
watered and well fed,
she was the most  brightest and alluring of them all,
she was someone by whom one would be enthralled,
Slowly the attention was drawn away,
And just like that the new attraction was kept at bay,
By the timeless beauty of the lily flower,
thus it became the superstar,
its unique palette  intensified with the attention,
but the rose slowly started to cripple away, with no mention,
the piercing red started to dusk,
and so did its honey scented musk,
petals fell one by one,
the thorns was loved by none,
brittle and brittle to the bitter ignorance,
its life slowly being stolen away by the lily's brilliance,
the rose hunched and timid to the pain,
all it efforts to stand out turned out to be in vain,
oh, wouldn't it be booming bright,
if like the lily flower , it be kept in the light?
to the last calyx, it was slipping away,
crying and left alone throughout the day,
the lily flower stood proud and upright,
 the once beautiful rose was also a good sight,
but the resilient rose refused to give up to the shun,
it took its chance one by one,
its  roots gripped the soil  harder with every bit of strength ,
and slowly the  brittle flower started to length,
the water from the soil flowed slowly through its veins,
breaking from the comparing chains,
this time the flower was louder and stronger,
not by its beauty ,
but by its flourishing recovery,
it embraced its own light , 
in the everlasting bright meadows.

Copyright © Laali Pydi | Year Posted 2026


Details | Laali Pydi Poem

The ivory music box

The pale gleaming box, sits with its glow,
Hiding its tunes that one would like to know,
A pretty sight it will be when,
A c carousel, laying on your table seat,
Mimicking, the moon shine,
And Dressed In Ivory Wine,
The Little Mares twirl So graceful, like a decadent Swan,
A blissful site, it will be in the glowing stretch of Dawn,
AH !, The slow melody is so sheered And carefully woven like the threads of fate,
The song flows to your ears in a form , so intricate,
But worry not the heavenly tunes could be heard again,
Just turn the golden key again and again,
Wish that comes from every mind to be a child once more,
So happens to be granted by this box, leaving you stun by the floor,
She sings the mothers lullaby,
OH !, The melody can make one cry,
The silver dressed, horses, go round, and round on the top,
Gracefully dancing to the tune and mirthfully trying to hop,
It is, a carefully crafted box which resembles the moon,
The spectacle is so proud that it makes you forget your worries soon,
It pulls out your fantastical thought,
By the end of the song, might I say it changes you a lot?
The cheerful, glistening toy ,
That is laced and tiered with gold , brings you nostalgic joy,
This ivory music box sits quietly by the Moon beams,
This ivory music box, carefully, caresses, and hold your dreams.

Copyright © Laali Pydi | Year Posted 2026

Details | Laali Pydi Poem

teary truth of reality

The thorns and scars,
Are supposed to make who you are,
But my reflection stands tall only in the broken glass,
Yet it feels unreal through the shiny brass,
A pathless soul is let led to wander through the field of the black locusts,
Piercing and pushed alone through the eerie tufts,
An empty vessel screams not in foolishness but in pain,
Trying not to be alone, but efforts are in vain,
The venomous tongue , so called the reality,
Rips you apart with everlasting clarity,
The twisted adventurous  mind feels hollow to the systematic strain,
Feeling strangled in the practical chain,
A sly master puts the ones below to test,
But are we supposed to handle the rest?
A chance for voice, feels robust,
But the opportunity starts to rust,
A hope so close to our grasp,
But it slips away despite our clasp,
A void, encircles you to substitute the piercing grief,
Hope starts to feel like disbelief,
A moment too happy feels scary to lose,
As the treasured moment starts to choose,
Between the short-lived joy and everlasting pain,
But fear creeps in, when things go back to plain,
A void so dark that it hides what you fear most,
That you feel like the stuck in it like its ghost.

Copyright © Laali Pydi | Year Posted 2026

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