tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49240056362530274252024-02-19T21:18:26.919+05:30shrutiwritesShrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-72931396018493571732014-07-21T15:25:00.001+05:302014-07-21T15:25:29.657+05:30My Facebook Usage!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Zuckerberg's college project<br />
Took the world by surprise,<br />
On this shiny laptop screen,<br />
Were glued all eyes!<br />
<br />
When Facebook was born,<br />
I was fifteen,<br />
By the time it became a craze,<br />
I had a mind too keen.<br />
<br />
I registered an account,<br />
No money or documents required,<br />
And Zuckerberg's army was increasing,<br />
Software engineers at whooping packages hired!<br />
<br />
I talk to my friend miles away,<br />
I see my cousins traveling across the seas.<br />
A social networking mania kicked off<br />
Which was never to cease!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpF_05lZeAaGDx3DBVmQv_3Cydsh_hzzLT9J8Z431GaOwtBdR38Xf7fe1PdFv8slLbnUDsDRLHXMGQbLdOJtfPJFuauq-lTSXNP7IfNq8LrVVbrBmCMfRssFUAQK-KVJzuzZRiqY6J_jwn/s1600/funny-facebook-quotes1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpF_05lZeAaGDx3DBVmQv_3Cydsh_hzzLT9J8Z431GaOwtBdR38Xf7fe1PdFv8slLbnUDsDRLHXMGQbLdOJtfPJFuauq-lTSXNP7IfNq8LrVVbrBmCMfRssFUAQK-KVJzuzZRiqY6J_jwn/s1600/funny-facebook-quotes1.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
One evening as I log in,<br />
I have a friend request,<br />
It is from my mother, <br />
And I thought I knew her best!<br />
<br />
My father soon follows in,<br />
More active than me on Facebook!<br />
And so more photographs and posts,<br />
I had to look.<br />
<br />
This is just the beginning,<br />
Of a complete virtual social world to come,<br />
Where we will meet our future generations also on the screen,<br />
Till then I will sit back to enjoy my brandy and rum!</div>
Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-11567848062789913352014-06-11T18:47:00.000+05:302014-06-11T18:47:20.192+05:30In Memory of Arushi Talwar...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">I did not know you,<br /> Till you were killed,<br /> And with that happened one night,<br /> Many beans have been spilled.<br /> <br /> But I know now that,<br /> You were a young girl like me.<br /> Who wanted to live her life,<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> The way she wanted it to be.<br /> <br /> Your parents are tried,<br /> With all explanations and reasons,<br /> With all will and power,<br /> They have fought in all seasons.<br /> <br /> But it is horrendous to believe,<br /> That they were the ones,<br /> For in every fresh report,<br /> A new song the CBI hums.<br /> <br /> I do not know who was it,<br /> I do not know if the decision is right,<br /> But all I know is,<br /> The officials took the load light.<br /> <br /> The road is rocky,<br /> Case will not soon cease,<br /> But there up above,<br /> May your soul rest in peace!</span></span></div>
Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-35417063638615064672014-05-11T11:31:00.000+05:302014-05-11T11:33:31.185+05:30An ode to my mother..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I held my mother's finger as a toddler,</div>
When she rejoiced my first step and my first jump.</div>
Pictures were clicked quickly</div>
When into father I would bump!</div>
My mother held my hand<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
When into my primary school we walked,</div>
With no understanding of life,</div>
On it my innocence mocked!</div>
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We did not hold hands</div>
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As we stepped into my college.</div>
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Of life's responsibilities and duties on my shoulder,</div>
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I carried a heavy baggage.</div>
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We hugged when I got a job,</div>
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Adding to my family's income.</div>
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With loads of over-timings and insomnia,</div>
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Success and promotions was the expected outcome.</div>
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Now I hold her hand<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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When in the park we take a walk</div>
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This results from the irony brought by</div>
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The moving hands of the clock!</div>
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When she grows weak</div>
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I'll lift her in my arms.</div>
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With the same love and care</div>
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With which she protected me from all harms.</div>
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Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com6IIT Kanpur21.616579336740603 80.5078125-6.5697251632593954 39.1992185 49.802883836740605 121.8164065tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-30875448282431356282014-05-05T16:29:00.000+05:302014-05-05T16:29:43.638+05:30The mania of the maniacs!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Chetan Bhagat mania is fast catching up amongst the Indian youth. But
has Chetan Bhagat been successful in luring the crowd towards writing??
To some extent yes, to some extent no! I say yes because of the ever
increasing pile of books by young college graduates I see every month
when I walk into the bookstore. I say no because baring a few, all these
books are written on 'love', a topic of Chetan's interest for his 5
consecutive books! It is just a personal view that Mr. Bhagat too could
not write all of them in the same ink. And then, he had to change the
ink's colour to that which spoke about other, and for me, more important
issues of the youth. But the newbies are still wanting to generate
newer versions of five point someone with much lower success rate! So,
am I going to write a love story in future? Well not really! And do you
ask me why? Let me assure you that it is not because of my desire to
stand apart from the crowd and become a Chetan Bhagat of an altogether
different domain. It is because, I think love stories are only
interesting as long as you come to know of them through reading or
watching movies. 99% real life love stories have a sad ending. And I
would always want to all my write-ups, big or small to have a happy
ending! Optimism! Well, that keeps me going! I have written as a child, I
have a written as a teenager, I am writing as a youth, I will write as a
lady, I will write as a mother and I will write as a grandmother!!
Well, I guess, by that time, I'll lose the energy to hold a pen or press
these little keys on the keyboard. But! Oh yes! What will I write on?
Well, I am an aquarian by birth and at heart too. I am a happy-go-lucky
person (am I blabbering?? Even if I am, continue reading further!). I
write on what I like and what strikes me at the moment. I have written
on love, I have written on relationships(and please do keep in mind that
there are other relationships too besides having a soul mate!) and I
have written on life in general. I go by what my heart and mind say in
unison. So, when in future you see my photographs clicked when I am
releasing my book, please don't categorize me as a writer of a specific
genre. I will always have a surprise for you. And well that will have
its own share of advantages too! I will be read by people to know what
have I written every time I write a new book! So for now, I'll let Mr.
Bhagat do his own job and hey! the newbies! I have a small advice for
you..please look at life from other lenses too..or rather..'through the
looking glass'!! <br />
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Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com5IIT KANPUR25.799891182088331 78.046875-2.3731688179116688 36.738281 53.97295118208833 119.355469tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-50682387337028506872009-10-18T15:15:00.004+05:302009-10-18T15:30:59.280+05:30Diwali Gift<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUjFERpI3sY1WJL1kSdkyK_GSSQPjhI023fUrpeuonaCKCsGjSJvtyV3tz1VKMoFxu0aiSJJKGqm7C0-7LQ_BfozgWy6pc3CZNimm9V7IwJARcN8tGs2fjcXtiFWMQSAb2prb5vCD4f6z/s1600-h/diwali-firecrackers.jpeg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393877470010914034" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUjFERpI3sY1WJL1kSdkyK_GSSQPjhI023fUrpeuonaCKCsGjSJvtyV3tz1VKMoFxu0aiSJJKGqm7C0-7LQ_BfozgWy6pc3CZNimm9V7IwJARcN8tGs2fjcXtiFWMQSAb2prb5vCD4f6z/s400/diwali-firecrackers.jpeg" border="0" /></a><br /><p>Every year Diwali brings new clothes, lots of fire crackers, sweets, etc. But this year, it also brought with it a larger than life experience. My brother had reached home just a day before Diwali. Having reached before him, I was waiting for him to come and then go shopping for the fire crackers together. On the eve of Diwali, in the afternoon, we decided to go. In the market, he gave me some money to buy the crackers and got busy on his phone. He told me to buy the crackers and that he would return in a while. After I had finished, I looked around but couldn’t find my brother. My brother is of a very silent persona. He generally keeps to himself or his small group of friends. He hates beggars. When I or my mother stop to give them alms, he gets irritated and starts cribbing. I kept searching and when I couldn’t find him in the rush, I decided to make a call on his phone. But the call went unanswered. Lots of thoughts crossed through my mind. There were hundreds of people there. It was difficult to search for him. Suddenly he called me up and asked me to come where the car had been parked. When I asked him where had he been he just made a few excuses and didn’t make an eye contact. I suddenly realised that he didn’t drive back to home. We were going ahead into the city. I kept on asking him but he didn’t reply. He suddenly stopped outside a narrow lane and took out a huge packet from the ‘dicky’ and asked me to accompany him. I couldn’t help except for giving puzzled looks. We walked further and saw lots of huts. I then came to know that my brother had left me there to buy crackers for the poor children living in this area. Now he was busy distributing them to him. I just stood still and kept smiling. I had never in my dreams imagined that such a change could dawn on my brother. We having got late in reaching home, my parents were calling us. My brother was still not answering them. He was busy with the children. But I wanted to be back home quickly to share with my parents what I had witnessed!</p>Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-88200118726489946282009-07-09T10:33:00.003+05:302009-07-09T10:44:09.000+05:30Forever Young<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVbKEaYo57MJnX4HAFbmNpUHFux_sk2GqAnxb2TU00igafXky7GqX5uaEe9DkC3DeUFutXr32zqfJgDrAotrBFO7EZ76HeYsr5lnl5SuaAifqcT4M_LdeMqQAHjaSedHmLm2drDNXMvef1/s1600-h/xin_3406031517287242661547.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356323076067962386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVbKEaYo57MJnX4HAFbmNpUHFux_sk2GqAnxb2TU00igafXky7GqX5uaEe9DkC3DeUFutXr32zqfJgDrAotrBFO7EZ76HeYsr5lnl5SuaAifqcT4M_LdeMqQAHjaSedHmLm2drDNXMvef1/s320/xin_3406031517287242661547.jpg" border="0" /></a> <em>**This is just a parent's expression to his child.**<br /></em><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Birthdays come and birthdays go,<br />Children grow young and parents old.<br />So shall we and so shall you.<br />So dear child,<br />When you went to school,<br />I enjoyed a game of pool.<br />When you with your friends make merry,<br />I enjoy a ride of ferry.<br />With your partner when you’ll romance,<br />I’ll also enjoy a rain dance!<br />When you’ll teach your child to write,<br />I’ll teach him how to fly a kite!<br />However old I may be,<br />Existence of my inner child shall never cease.<br />In you I’ve found myself afresh,<br />You’ve brought in my life a fresh breeze!<br /><br /></span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></p>Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-12509576103527161102009-06-28T12:17:00.002+05:302009-06-28T12:30:45.755+05:30The yellow roses<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWN3803brZKjf5jfnhw2-M1U3lmu_oXJ8kcE2l4bItk8771uANHA4uVaFAWO8cZ36hTL9njyXu6XwONi8WsqtVMI-Ar9vWF8wvS7WNY7GzxniOSKEnUuqFTtvBIRWsJyEokv79dWDq31yX/s1600-h/image-of-yellow-roses.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352269827745573570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWN3803brZKjf5jfnhw2-M1U3lmu_oXJ8kcE2l4bItk8771uANHA4uVaFAWO8cZ36hTL9njyXu6XwONi8WsqtVMI-Ar9vWF8wvS7WNY7GzxniOSKEnUuqFTtvBIRWsJyEokv79dWDq31yX/s320/image-of-yellow-roses.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It was that day of the year again. I knew he would be waiting for me. Yellow had always been his favourite colour. He always brought yellow roses for me when he met me. And today, it was me who was taking them for him. It was raining heavily. We had loved rains. We held hands and walked in the downpour. He used to hold me tight when we laughed. My car’s tyre got punctured. But I had to give him the roses today. I take a bus. My raincoat is getting dirty because of the mud. But I take care that nothing happens to the roses. I hold them close to my heart. He helped me enjoy the beauty of the world. The bus halts and it is still a mile’s distance where he would be waiting, still waiting with great love and affection. I walk, I run, I want to be there as soon as I can. I finally reach him. I know he is still smiling. I lay the roses on my grandfather’s grave on his 75th birthday.</div>Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-698347317220902392009-05-08T18:57:00.000+05:302009-05-08T18:58:44.566+05:30The Murder Last NightThe phone rang. Sheela ran to answer the call as fast as she could. Every time the phone rang, she ran to receive the call hoping it to be the one she had been waiting for since an year. She would pick up the phone and the “Hello” would be said with great enthusiasm. But soon after, the expression of her face changed for she didn’t get to hear what she had been waiting for. But, today this was the most awaited call. The expression of her face had changed to that of relief mixed with surprise and curiosity. The police officer had called to tell her that her husband’s killer had been nabbed and he called her to the police station to complete some paper work.<br /><br />She could not control her emotions. Her husband had been killed last year just a day after their second marriage anniversary. He had been sleeping in his room when someone strangled him to death. Sheela had been sleeping alongside but could not sense the danger because the killer had made her unconscious by a strong dose of chloroform. She woke up in the morning only to find that Ravi’s dead body was lay beside her all night. She was dumbstruck. The man with whom she had just celebrated two years of togetherness had left her. She was too terrified to scream. She soon got up and went to the guest room where her brother Ashok, his wife and children were sleeping. She woke them up and they ran towards Sheela’s room. The police was soon called and investigations began. The killer had left no trace; no finger prints, no articles. But Sheela had immense self control. She was not overruled by emotions.<br /><br />The formalities were over within a week and Ashok and his family left soon after as Ashok had to return to his work. Sheela would regularly call the police station to enquire about the progress of the case but to her dismay, she got only one answer, “Ma’am the search is on.” Ashok was too busy in his work to offer any help to his sister besides consolation. Sheela had been running from pillar to post to get the case solved. Ravi had been transferred to this city just a month before the murder and so, they didn’t even have any servants whom one could suspect. Time heals wounds but some wounds are too deep to be healed quickly.<br /><br />Sheela took up a job as a typist in a local college at a salary which was enough to suffice her requirements. But the horror of the murder and the memories of Ravi lingered on. She was leaving no stone unturned in helping the police; providing all the details asked for, going to the police station whenever called for. There was some guiding force within her that didn’t let her lose hope and she moved further.<br />She had just returned from work today when she got this call. Without wasting anymore time, she quickly grabbed the keys of her scooter and rushed. When she reached the station, she saw that the inspector was in deep thought. He asked her to sit and Sheela had just said, “who is…?” when he said in a direct tone, “I’ll call the killer but don’t lose your self control after seeing the person.” Sheela was too anxious to know who the killer was to pay attention to what the inspector said. She just nodded quickly. The inspector called his sub-ordinates and asked them to produce the killer before them. Sheela was thanking God for her prayers had been answered and as she lifted her head up, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The person standing before her was Ashok’s wife, Reena. For a few moments, Sheela was quiet. Her heart plunged into grief. She had never thought that her own sister-in-law would be the cause of her life’s dramatic turn. She didn’t say anything to Reena and turned her face away and asked the officer how the case had been solved.<br /><br />The night the murder took place, Reena was wearing a red shirt with a black trouser. When the police had come to Sheela’s place in the morning, and walked past Ravi’s bed, suddenly there was a notch in his trouser on the side of his left leg. There had been a nail protruding out from the bed towards Ravi’s head side. He observed a similar kind of a notch and that too on the part of left leg on Reena’s trousers. This could have happened only when someone unaware of the nail had gone too close to Ravi. Since Ravi was aware of the nail , there was no notch in his clothes. Also later on, Reena had confessed of being the murderer. Ravi and Reena had been together at college and Reena had developed a strong liking for him. But Ravi didn’t respond in the manner she expected and refused to marry her. He did this not only once but on many occasions even in front of her friends whenever Reena tried to approach him. Reena had thus become a subject of ridicule and this had infuriated her. Also, many times, Ravi had refused to go to Reena’s place on her invitation on the pretext of being busy. All this led to the consequence which changed Sheela’s life forever. Reena also told the police that earlier she had planned to kill Sheela but since that night when she entered the room, she saw Sheela lying in such a position which could make it difficult for her to strangle her while she could easily do so to Ravi. Moreover, killing Sheela would have had far more dangerous consequences because Ravi would have lost all his control and done anything to ensure that Reena got the most severe punishment utilising all the resources at his disposal, he being the secretary of the divisional commissioner of the city. Sheela’s thirst for the killer had been quenched but leaving her amazed at the feeble nature of relations..Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-59252379853650020272008-12-14T00:21:00.002+05:302008-12-14T00:25:50.448+05:30what chola bhatura can do to a man!!<p><em>Unbelievable but true!!</em></p><p>Before being employed by my father, our driver, Ramesh worked in Delhi for a bureaucrat. The bureaucrat’s office was just opposite to the building of Hindustan Times. Every afternoon the bureaucrat left his office sharp at 12:30 and would go home for lunch. The driver, had his lunch, prepared by his wife every morning and packed with great love and care for him, before his employer could finish his work in the office. One fine evening, he had a fight with his wife for returning home very late. He asked for forgiveness many times. Neither this nor a variety of excuses could move her; she had declared that she would no more prepare his lunch. Poor Ramesh! He had only one option left-Hindustan Times’ building’s canteen. Alas! He had no other choice. Only <em>‘chola-bhatura’</em> and tea were available in the canteen till 12 noon. The next day he went and had <em>‘chola-bhatura’</em>. To add to his woes, as the conditions weren’t improving at the home front, he had to have <em>‘chola bhaturas’</em> for 15 days at a stretch! The situation is that he now dreads <em>‘chola-bhatura’</em>, which he says used to be one of his most favourite dishes, because as a consequence of having them for such a long period of time daily, he had to take a month’s leave as he suffered from jaundice!!</p>Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-41435540176150663012008-10-29T22:10:00.000+05:302008-10-29T22:15:14.203+05:30Man's Utilisation of GiftsGod gave man the power to speak,<br />Man used it to make the world a place bleak.<br /><br />God gave man the power to write,<br />Man used it to chain all tight.<br /><br />God gave man the power to think,<br />Man used it to make his brethren sink.<br /><br />God gave man intelligence,<br />But with it man built a fence.<br /><br />God gave man life,<br />Alas! Man used it to strip others’ with a knife.Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-66468619449863728642007-11-28T17:09:00.000+05:302007-11-28T17:13:45.955+05:30My neighbour<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know this poem might seem very kiddish, but I wrote it when I was a kid! Also, I had nothing else to do, so, here it is:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My neighbour is fat like an elephant,<br />She fights a lot and bursts like volcano from a vent.<br />She has many pimples,<br />But has an illusion of dimples!!<br />Her hair is short </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And her face is like a pot!<br />She loves politics,<br />To peep in others’ houses, she has many tactics.<br />Her teeth are not white<br />To tell a lie, she never cares for the site!<br />I haven’t shown this poem to her,<br />Lest, a dispute could occur!!</span>Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-37025052168905486612007-11-04T19:58:00.000+05:302007-11-04T20:00:30.037+05:30That Scary NightOne pleasant evening, while I was reading a book,<br />My mother asked me to get some cream from the market<br />By hook or by crook!<br /><br />And so like a free bird,<br />I was off on my bicycle,<br />Whose squeaking noises I heard.<br /><br />Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder,<br />I wondered who was on my bicycle’s carrier.<br />And so I couldn’t move any further.<br /><br />I stopped as my hands were freezed.<br />I turned to see the creature at my back.<br />When I saw, with me it seemed to be very pleased.<br /><br />I found it resembled my dead friend.<br />I screamed without sorrow or joy,<br />While the creature tried to descend.<br /><br />It called out my name.<br />I was puzzled to find its reality,<br />I had never been in a situation same.<br /><br />I was about to lose my consciousness,<br />When it again spoke to me,<br />Shocked, I was back to my senses without a guess.<br /><br />It spoke in my friend’s voice,<br />About her life and style,<br />I felt for my sins, I was paying a heavy price.<br /><br />I put a step to retard,<br />To escape the ghastly creature,<br />But alas! I fell on a stone hard.<br /><br />I had forgotten the cream,<br />And when I opened my eyes, I found,<br />All this was just a dream!!Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-55766262960543340592007-10-31T21:27:00.000+05:302016-12-06T12:30:51.185+05:30LIFE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Life is a voyage,<br />
The route is set.<br />
Both joys and sorrows,<br />
A man will get.<br />
<br />
Destiny has to be shaped,<br />
On one's own.<br />
That person will succeed,<br />
With flying winds, who will not be flown.<br />
<br />
With shortcomings and disasters,<br />
One has to cope.<br />
Be it <strong>anguish, pain, scares,</strong><br />
<strong>But most important is hope.</strong></div>
Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4924005636253027425.post-11834168765466360382007-09-18T18:55:00.000+05:302007-09-18T19:02:57.161+05:30My Little Sister<span style="font-family:lucida grande;">She has not even a single blister,<br />The real home minister,<br />Dislikes litter in a cluster,<br />Always handing over to me the duster,<br />Loves the ride of a roller coaster,<br />In the making of the coolest youngster,<br />For her, very irritating is a tongue twister,<br />Never liked a hipster,<br />A big prankster,<br />Oh! My very own little sister!!</span>Shrutihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08623409890407383228noreply@blogger.com4