poem– why destitch my pillow?

It’s useless to destitch my pillow,

Indeed an unfruitful labour.

Only sorrow &sorrow& sorrow,

Nothing but sorrow prevail there.

My life is full of failures,

And  of useless tales.

Few are in the memories,still

Rest in the dust prevail.

My pen has no heart to write,

Eyes don’t want to read.

Since I am ashamed of,

Of various sinful deeds.

The memories like ocean currents,

Flow through beaches to soul.

Return to the fathoms soon,

Shall it be final goal.



There were darkness in the life,

And life was a great strife.

Someone brought the ray of hope,

And filled the heart with light.

Those bonded for life, went away,

The friends left midway on shore.

Flown out with winds of time,

Alas! happy days are never more.

The ache that filled the heart,

And  so much felt the foul.

And like the thorns-prick,

The pain filled breath & soul.

This is my own story,

Sounds trumpets of heart’s grief.

So much the pain itself,

Has become complexities of life.

O my first candle of light!

Let the lamps on my way ignite.

If somehow I could reach,

Can see the goal-post in night.

—-written by-Dr, shyam gupt


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