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

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


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

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