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                                                                                                                                                      Talking Heads 

 

                                                                                                                                                      -  Devi Nagrani

 Poetry is nothing but language of the heart. Every person who can think logically and listen to the heart  beats is a born poet, as he has feelings, gets hurt emotionally, can express their feelings through  love, hate, compassion, anger, feel and hurt balance system.

Every person is a born talented artist. One being a painter, another a journalist, yet another a sculptor and the next one a poet. The sculptor chips the hard rock and turns it in fertile model of his imagination, carving to the finest core of the hardened rock to replicate tenderness and beauty. An artist uses rainbow colors to bring to life the characters thet he imagines to be living on his canvas. Similarly a poet uses fine words with or without rhyme and rhythm to create and express his own feelings.

Poetry is definitely a unique combination of words. The unexpressed thoughts whisper, utter and talk with the help of words. Words can exist without a poet but a poet without words is crippled. Thoughts lean on words to be fruitfully reproduced to find expression, to convert the thoughtful illusion as a reality in black and white. In a way a poet's imagination through wordsbegins to breathe, creep, dance, and flutter like a butterfly so that it can rhyme with nature that is so beautiful, so lively and so unique.

Writing poetry is my passion. I have been writing in my national language Hindi, my native language Sindhi. In fact Poetry is the music of the heart that is heard and understood with the ears of the soul,  without any language barriers.

 Ego Of Humility

Ego is a part of me,
That never let's me go.
It leads and it follows
At steps that I take,
And I am sick of it,
Being all the time with me.
It comes in my thoughts,
In actions, and in all that I speak.
Let not the ego of humility
Hurt my deeds, and
Perish all the seeds of innocence,
Just sown in the soul of ego.
Let the sprouts be humble.
To survive and sustain the saplings of ego
To see the fruits of humble deeds,
Enriched by the shower of love,
Replacing the roots of ego,
With the new ones of humility.