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Àŧùl Sep 2024
I recall that girl,
Happy & healthy,
Always with a chill,
Always with a thrill.
My HP Poem #1996
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Sep 2024
I remember that I had promised,
That girl from Chandigarh,
I had promised...

I promised to sing,
So, in her memory, I sing...

I promised to smile,
So, in her memory, I smile..

I also promised to laugh,
So, in her memory, I laugh.
My HP Poem #1995
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Sep 2024
For you,
From my terrace garden,
I bring a bouquet.

Of daffodils,
And
Of daisies.
My HP Poem #1994
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Sep 2024
He was on a training mission down south,
There, his landlady told him to get married.

He hesitantly agreed to flash a matrimonial,
He anyway did so in a local newspaper.

She responded to his call in the newspaper,
She was attracted by his description.

They got married in a minimalist manner,
Saving money for a combined future.

The first demand she had surprised him,
She asked him to maintain a moustache.

With time, when he grew that mouser,
She was impressed with his manliness,

"I've seen denser moustaches,
None looks as elegant as yours."

Then they went to his home in North,
For the honeymoon, they went to Kashmir.
My HP Poem #1993
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Sep 2024
I am going to forget your memories from my heart,
It's as if I'm going to erase my own existence.

This fiddle 🎻 I play so passionately as an art,
It's as if I'm going to shatter it down piece by piece.

I am going to forget your memories from my heart,
It's as if I'm going to erase my own existence.

May these clouds cry their shower along me,
For today, I'm going to weep like grown-up babies.

Fingers hurt, especially the ones in my left hand,
As they slide vigorously on the violin's neck.

Let me rub my regrets onto this rebec's neck,
Ah! The friction on the strings pierced my fingers.

This violin's strings become undone by my ferocity,
I'll sleep, knowing that I can't be loved by any.
My HP Poem #1993
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Sep 2024
You
Crazy
Diamond
My HP Poem #1992
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Sep 2024
You're a person with a standard,
Of your life, I look to become a part.
Me you'll never find meandered,
For you, I'll prepare the custard.
You may call it a pudding if desired,
Or you may just consume that.
But you be well-mannered,
I need you humble & well-behaved.
My HP Poem #1991
©Atul Kaushal
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