Wednesday, September 16, 2009


I was pregnant.
My mind was its womb.
This remembrance I now write,
On its tomb.
Born on a piece of paper,
My fingers were shaping it.
Day and night, hours and minutes,
With steps of mind and heart’s bit.
Suddenly the world saw it
Suddenly my child became outsider
Soon I was abandoned
Soon they casted the divider.
I heard my child’s cry
I heard my soul die
I folded my heart under  the pocket
I graved the verdict as in docket
The world is for survivors.
The world is for heads.
My child left for a school,
Where he was taught to be dead.


  1. attire in fire .. watch it lady .. looking for a right shoe .. may cost you more than two .. still i'll wait n watch ...till i have wine in glass

  2. welcome how does the wine taste after a decade of exile??

  3. anything new is great ... apart . exodus .. i miss you more !! ..



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Poet Of Minutes** by Nidhi Sharma is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at