Purnima Singh

Purnima Singh
 
Purnima Singh is an Assistant Professor of English in Vasant Kanya Mahavidylaya, Kamachha. Her Ph.D. dissertation is on “Consumer Capitalism and Nature on the Fiction of Ron Rash” from Banaras Hindu University. She is a lover of beauty and nature and was deeply moved by landscape-mysticism and eco-spirituality while she was working on her thesis. She voices her concern for the conservation of nature in several of her papers published in various reputed International journals and books. She also works for women rights and safety working with various Social Organizations like Usha Foundation. She is a member of Udaan (The College Women Cell). Living in Kashi, the land of spirituality she has also delved deep into mysticism and spirituality and is also a member of Indian Section of Theosophical Society.
 
 
To Write or Not to Write
 
To write or not to write…
Real verse is out of sight.
Muse sisters are quarreling,
They are perhaps all-right.
 
No deity is to preside.
And t’s difficult to decide…
To write truth is disturbing,
But reality how can I hide?
 
I wished; Saraswati would come,
To show me the radiance of a poem.
But, I perceive Chitragupta descending…
To rectify my pretentious hokum.
 
Petty lines, need heavenly life.
No charm, no chime, no rhyme
Only Yama is watching
And my creativity is dying….
 
 
 
Illusion
 
Light is an illusion
Hypnotizing and mesmerizing
Fascinating and tantalizing
For death and destruction
Fly away, fly away.
It’s not light, it’s fire
That break free from desire
To live, another day.
 
 
 
In Your Arms
 
In your arms, I forget the world,
I lie in your lap, like an infant curled;
When I have you with me,
I forget all worldly worries,
It’s just you and me,
And I against your heart
Feel that the world can never make us apart,
But the truth remains the same,
You have to catch the next day’s train,
And I have to remain
Clad in my own sorrow, my own pain…
 
 
 
A Discovery
 
We discovered new paths together
New roads, new territories,
Fathomed seas and forest covers.
Searched hidden pools and new species
Of insects, plants and trees.
In nature’s beauties and bounties,
Enticed in the colours of butterflies,
We listened the humming music of the bees.
But when we discovered each other,
We had drunk life to the lees,
And there was nothing more to discover.
 
 
 
Me and Infinity
 
What is the value of a tiny like me
In this large and shiny galaxy
The stars, the large balls of fire
Appear just a tiny speck
I a tiny dot
Striving to become a ball of fire.
But even if I put all my power,
Can I match the twinkle of a star?
 
 
 
God’s Children
 
They were God’s children,
God’s own child was hugely gifted,
The other totally deprived.
They were given the same task,
To scale the peaks of life
The one bestowed with gifts,
The other deprived.
The gifted child wasted his gifts
To ease his journey…
The deprived strove hard
To win the strife of life,
At the end,
Diligence won him
Of what he was deprived;
And the blessed one
Stood Half-way
Utterly Deprived…..
 
 
 
I Loved A Man
 
I loved a man in happiness,
I loved a man in misery,
I loved a man with openness,
Love to a man was mystery.
There was attraction in a man’s charm,
Dedication for one who was ugly.
I admired a man for his strength,
Cared for one who was sickly.
I fell for a man when I was young,
I will love the man when I am old,
I wept for a man when I was young,
I will weep for a man when I am old,
I loved heat of the man, being bold
I will love the man turning him cold.
 
 
 
Moon
 
Glistening and gleaming above the tower
With all the might and all the power
At dark nights and paths unknown
Showing the way, the white light shone
Over the roof-top,
Hiding behind the tree
You are the source
Of awe and mystery,
Are you complete or incomplete?
Whether I should count your dark spots,
Or your immense beauty,
Still you are close to me
Like my ambiguous identity.
 
 
 
The Crescent
 
The moon is looking down from the sky.
Is he a friend? Or is he a spy?
I wondered while the clouds thundered
If it is a friend why is it withdrawn?
If it is a spy, why the gracious form?
It follows me through the garden,
Like a friend,
Sometimes fondles me with its beam
But I doubt he might be spy
Sometimes so full and round,
Sometimes so pale and down,
It appears and disappears
Creating the doubt
Whether he is a friend or a foe in disguise.
 
 
 
The Question of Love
 
You love me less,
I love you more
You are asking why I am so sure,
Because you laugh but I cry
I compromise but you defy
I accept but you deny
I reciprocate truthfully but you lie.
It is just because
None loves you more than do I.

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