Wednesday, 26 August 2015


It's a hipocratic world we are living. Were we talk about right and wrong and good and bad. We tell others not to do wrong things but we ourselves do the same.
I've seen people talking of kindness. And I have also seen then performing the acts of the so called kindness.
I've heard how they they talk when they see a poor handicapped. I've seen how they react when a poor little lad beg them for money.

So, here is a TRIBUTE to all those who talk about kindness but ne'er in their whole life have done a single kind thing.


Their tounge do not get tired
Speaking of humanity
Which is un-wired
Form task they do
And acts they perform
Holds a difference in a form
They say not what they think would say
Spoken words lies far away
from thoughts built up in mind
Are malacious, nowhere near to kind
Hipocracy runs in their veins
And a world were irony rains
They talk among seeing a handicapped
"Oh poor fellow! In life he is trapped"
He comes to them begging for a penny
For a meal for the day to fill his belly
"The loon asks like we have his money
Foolish person! Go find some other body"
Yes he is trapped in a lunatic world
Where personality  is measured in costly jewels
Where kindness lay on the verge
To extinction it would soon merge
Oh! Wise old man find some way
Oh! Almighty  bring that day
Where humanity rules their heart
And all the heart throbbing sorrows would depart.

                                                                                       By: Shivani Pal

Thursday, 6 August 2015

A Soul Brought Into Existence

I've always been told, if we have to live in this world, we have to work according to the society. And if we don't, we we'll be thrown out like some trash.
What does society tells us?
I'll answer this question.
The society tell us what to do, what decisions to take, how to live.
Society is ironic.
It says that the world should mind it's own buisness but at the very same time it tell every one what their buisness should be about.
It takes decisions for us.
Even the most important decisions are not our own.
And if by mistake, we choose our happiness instead of the society's way to live we are thrown out. As if we don't belong to this world.
 The world decides for you before  you enter it.
And at the end, you end up doing th same- "DECIDING FOR OTHER'S"

Here is a little poem.
Hope you like it.

A Soul Brought Into Existence

A soul brought into existence
Un-acquainted with this worlds appearance
Identical to the moonlight
The little soul is pure and bright
Oblivious to the kindness
And beastly acts lead by blindness
Is engrossing a journey to life
But would desire his own way to survive
Born where he can't take decisions
Is told to follow others vision
He is taught each day
But ne'er allowed to learn
He knows to yearn
But not how to earn
Will grown up, into
Somebody he has ne'er known
In order to carve out the best
The world would make him like the rest
That desire and fire, will be lost
And his life will be the cost.

Monday, 3 August 2015


Freedom is a big thing. Who doesn't crave for it.
Even  a brainless creature when placed in a cage tries to get out of it. And why should it not do that. Everyone on this earth wants to live the way they want. 
But ever wondered about those creatures who are forbidden to live just because they are way to much enchanting.

Ever seen fishes in an aquarium. Magnificent. Aren't they?
Of course they are. After all it cost their freedom for the decoration of our houses.
It is indeed an irony that everyone craves for their own freedom but when it comes to other's they hardly pay a heed.

This poem is a personification.
But more a metaphor for all creatures who are captured for their beauty.
Hope you like it


A place so small
From my world 
Where I belong
Have I been deprived
From mine own life,For nothing,
 but cruel creatures pride.

I am placed here 
Like a work of art
They come and stare 
And then depart.
Born I was to
Swim In the sea so vast
And here I lay, 
from my own kind outcast

There lay a wall
Which stand so tall
Through which I gaze
Out to a room
Till the very day,
I meet my doom

Ah! Poor me !
Will I ever revive
To my own life
For nothing, but mine own
Way to survive.   
                             By- Shivani Pal

Life, Writer, Poetry

Hey. Well! Hello everyone. I'm Shivani. Of course you have read my name already but a formal introduction is must.
So. I am Shivani Pal. I am a seventeen year old teenage school going girl. I belong from a typical indian family. But somehow, i love my family. Who doesn't? Yeah! Things go a little upside down sometime but family is family.
Everyone might be wondering

What made me start a blog of my own?

That's certainly not a tough question to answer.
I've always wanted to be a writer. I feel them cool. Yeah I know most of you might find writers boring but according to me they are the best kind of personalities born on the earth.
 They see the world much more differently then normal people do. I think writing is all about appreciation. A writer  appreciates everything. From sunrise to sunset. From greenery to a barren land, from the shades of sky to the darkness of night. There is never 'NOTHING' for a writer. 
And so is the case with me.
I want to be a writer and I want people to read what I write. To know how much beautiful this world we are living in is.

And nothing could be better then starting a blog of my own.

So, here goes.

My First Blog Page

A POEM written by me.

A Mourning Seen

An old lady wan and pale
Her skinny hands lift up but fails
Her timid eyes with vision blurred
And her face in dismay covered

Lost in thoughts profoundly wise
Again is startled by a noise
Lifting her head she gazed around
Familiar faces, she did found

Perfect attires those people wore
Explicated on her dress outworn
Prowling through the enormous circle
Diabolical talks of people bustle

Lost she was and lost in a way
Forgot about the very day
Marching forward to the crowd
Which prattled in a voice so loud

About the food which lacked taste
About the feast which seemed a waste
About the dead and about his money
About clothes and old enemy

Stepping ahead she recalls
About her wedding and the hall
Crowd and faces were both similar
But nothing and everything differ

The white attires were now black
And the music that played back
Reminds her of a mourning seen
Struck with fear, was no more keen

She was pale but now cold
With each step a truth unrolled
Her throat choked and she was captive 
By destiny, which seemed deceptive

A body with no soul lies beside
Of her mate who had died
An ache did clasp her heart so hard
Memories of her past embarked

Realisation swept over her brain
And she prayed she could bargain
Her soul for that of her mate
But on this topic she could not debate

That day was her husband's funeral
The crowd was there for his burrial
Mask of sympathy and pain the held
Stood with false tears in the weald

False and fake, the crowd started
With dismal faces, they all deprted

                                                    By- Shivani Pal