Poems by Tulsi Shrestha

Poems by Tulsi Shrestha



Watching autumn through the window of my own life.
What I really notice is “Philosophy of Life ”
Each-crisp leaf that falls from its branches of tree,
Reminds me of coming birthday of my own death.
An echo of bitter reality. …”A cessation of breathing life”
Death is destination and conclusion of life.
Due to fear of death, my heart beats with dissonance.
Oscillates between hope of “Life and its Death ”
Trying to lie no other than myself. …..
Contradiction and conflict decorate
The gate of heart to welcome “Dissonance ”
To profoundly launch ” A Cognitive War ”
Between my own body and its soul.

Autumn comes to break the faith of my wings.
Untreatable and unbearable agonies of my body
Ensure liberation for despair of joy.
From the veil of fear, pain and grief
I shout aloud for “Mercy of Death ”
I want empathy from my own death.
To end struggle for my own existence.
There will be no flow of even a drop of tears
For me “An Unnoticed Entity ”
Vultures in my own courtyard ,might be waiting
For their own share of my flesh.
My existence in dissonance still hopes
My resurrection in the day of final judgement.
I do expect rebirth of my soul as like that of nature.



A Red Rose ,Oh My Dear
The fabulous fragrance of Red Rose
Spread breath of joy and glory of love .

Symbolised as a spirt of celestial love
To create beauty within glory of her love .

A quest of an alone humming bird
Ended with the first sight of red rose.

Mesmerising beauty of oh my love
Skipped breath and beats of mine.

My heart sang a glorious song of love
Red Rose swayed with music of breeze.

A Red Rose of my own choice
Believe me ! I picked up for my life

A thirst for infinite love and lust
Well quenched with divine cost .

The lyrical smile of your crimson lips
Echoed again in my ears so deep

Radiant beams of your shy red cheeks
Added musical vibes in my heart beats .

Blood stream of two aching hearts
Mingled to compose poem of love .

The blue sky created floating clouds
For lucious flights of two love birds .

Love birds twined with each other
To create beauty within glory of love.

Tulsi Shrestha 
@copyright reserved

Poems by Tony Delgadillo

Poems by Tony Delgadillo     RHYMES OF WISDOM (Tetra-Rhymed verses)   All the glory of feeling grateful; really existent, has a story, freeing, tasteful; love insistent… allegory of being joyful… life persistent.   When somebody looking up smiles times … Continue reading

Housemaid Golden Age (Dienstmeisje Gouden Eeuw) / Poem by Hannie Rouweler

Dienstmeisje Gouden Eeuw
(naar aanleiding van een foto)
En hoe was jouw dag, vandaag? Sta je ook op één been
te leunen, moe van zoveel gedane arbeid
lichamelijk of geestelijk of misschien wel allebei?
Ik kwam zonet een meisje tegen uit de gouden eeuw,
zo ontspannen en niet overwerkt staat zij
op blote voeten, met strijkgoed in de hand,
net van de waslijn gehaald, strijkijzer klaar –
dat toen op een hete ijzeren potkachel werd gezet.
Volgens mij zitten haar werkuren er bijna op
en ik voel met haar mee.
Ze heeft veel voordelen zo op het eerste oog,
geen mondmasker
geen gelaatsscherm
ze kan zo de woning uit en de straat op lopen.
Weemoedig kijk ik naar bewegende blaadjes in zonlicht
met zicht op een zomertuin, terras, waar veel werk
deze ochtend is verricht:
het verplaatsen van een grote houten tafel, sleepwerk,
als je dit alleen te versjouwen hebt. Ik heb de buitenplek
anders moeten inrichten vanwege de twee meter afstand
samenleving in huis en buiten. Een bezem leunt
tegen de vuilnisemmer waarop stoffer en blik liggen.
Ook planten en bloemen in bakken zijn verschoven.
Wie niet op tijd zijn stappen aanpast, uitzichten, zal vroeg
of laat in de modder glijden. Je moet haast Nederlander zijn
molens te verplaatsen, natte bodems droog te leggen om
dan met lange jurk, blote voeten, over weelderig gras te lopen.
Housemaid Golden Age
(following a photo)
And how was your day today? Do you stand also
on one leg, tired of so much work done
physically or mentally or perhaps both?
I just met a girl from the golden age,
she looks very relaxed and not overworked
barefoot, with dry laundry in her hand,
just taken off the clothesline, flatiron ready,
those days it was put on a hot iron pot stove.
I think her working hours are almost over
and I sympathize with her.
She has many advantages at first sight,
no mouth mask
no face shield
she can easily get out of the house onto the street.
I look rather melancholic at moving leaves in sunlight
with a view of a summer garden, terrace,
where a lot of work has been done this morning:
moving a large wooden table, towing, if you have
to carry this around yourself. I had to arrange stuff
differently because of the two meters distance
society at home and outside. A broom is leaning
against the rubbish bin with a dustpan and brush on top.
Plants and flowers in baskets have also been shifted.
Those who do not adjust in time their steps and views,
will slip into mud sooner or later. You must be Dutch
to move mills, to drying wet soils just for walking
with a long dress, on bare feet, over abundant grass.
Hannie Rouweler