Tag Archives: Poetry

The Vanishing Wilds

Everywhere I look, I see the concrete jungle
full of people jostling one another,
the towers stretching high, the space between
packed with colourful cars speeding along the roads.
In vain, I try to find the trees of my childhood
only to spot a plant here and there—the
remnants of the once widespread forest—
the shrubs lined in the middle of the road
more tamed than the traffic around. Continue reading The Vanishing Wilds

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The ruins

The ruins
The Ruins at Hampi, Karnataka
Where people see the ruins,
I see the city—as once it was–
bustling with vigour;
the stones anticipating
frenzied activities instead of
the shadows of nothingness,
the emptiness of the market
filled with haggling buyers,
the forlorn temples once
basking in their glorious grandeur,
the abandoned palaces
proud of their showy splendor,
the haughtiness of the nobility,
the dreams of the residents
before it all crashed,
the forgotten relics serving
as a reminder
that invincibility is
but an illusion;
that all these ruins were
once a thriving city;
and every city hopes,
not to become a ruin one day.
© K.A. Acharya 2018

Always Respect Tradition

tradition quote
Always respect tradition, I was taught

And I would have obeyed, but then I realised

If everyone had done the same thing

Where would I be?


Books would no longer be my friends,

Education would be barred to me;

My meagre brain at the mercy of

The wise men, who guided me.

My imagination neatly wrapped

Between the lines of a prayer-book;

My life would be of household chores.

Respect would be an alien word;

I would have taunts and scolds aplenty.

My feet bound to the threshold

Too scared to tread the outside world,

No knowledge would ever pierce the walls;

Ignorance would be my salvation.


Always respect tradition, I was taught

And I would have obeyed, but then I realised

If everyone had done the same thing

I would have faced a horrible fate.


I would be at home, a veil covering

my face, and a husband whom I worshipped

for the kicks and punches, he rewarded me.

I would be serving his parents while

He harassed mine for money.

I would pray for his long life, and not for any 

Claims of love, nor hypocrisy on my part.

I would really want him to live long,

For his death would be my destruction.

I would rather have the bruises he gives

Than be burned in the funeral pyre.

Some cultures would spare my life

Only to kill me everyday.



Always respect tradition, I was taught

And I refused to obey for the sake of a future girl.

Because, when I bring a piece of change,

She would be in some place better.

―K.A. Acharya © 2018

* I in the poem doesn't refer to me (as in Kiran), 
it's any girl who would have been victim 
to irrational traditions and customs. 
Pls check The woes of a Fiction Writer to understand.

Heart

after all the pain
it has been through, my heart
still beats for you

beating heart

The above image was my first Boomerang 🙂 It’s been a year since I discovered Boomerang, and I’m still in love with that app 😀

Haiku- a valley

the solo trekker

scales the snowy mountain peak;

valley left behind

© Kiran Acharya 2017

Image courtesy : Charuhas Acharya @ A Glimpse of Paradise

his love gave her words,

his absence motivation—

a writer was born

Writing

Image Courtesy: WerbeFabrik at Pixabay 

Image: CC0 Creative Commons

Everyone is born different

Born different
Some are born to love;
Some are born for passion.

He might love the feel of breeze;
She creates a cyclone.
While some people live their lives,
Others need to feel alive.

Not everyone runs the same race,
Not even for the same reason.
Some covet the shiny trophy;
Others like the roadside scene.

While some aim for lofty goals,
Some just want the thrill of chase.
Not all wish to settle down,
Some are born to run free.

© (2017) Kiran Acharya

A haiku

gone with the deluge…

dusty window-pane drawings

childhood mementos

© 2016 Kiran Acharya