# Snapshots

Poem By Mamta Agarwal

Just across the busy road and the crowded cityscape,
Ocean waves playfully froth and undulate, while I gape.
All you have to do is to turn your back to the city,
And captivated, feel filled with serenity…

From the distance hooting, leisurely ships approach,
I walk towards a beckoning rock, shining and smooth.
Sail boats from afar; appear as colourful, tiny dots
My mind’s eye is busy capturing the snapshots.

Tanned fishermen return with the day’s catch and nets
Sun is spreading its amber steaks and aura in the west.
Soon city dwellers flock to the cool sandy beach,
How lucky, it is walking distance and within reach.

Taken by surprise, a huge wave drenches one and all,
Children go on screaming with delight and play ball.
Rejoicing in the company, I watch the distant horizon,
It seems the sky has come down to converse with the ocean…

Comments about # Snapshots

mamtaji, i wish a painter like ravivarma would have painted all these snapshots... how wonderful it could have been!
These beautiful snap shots from memory, when printed in books, When an imaginative poet reads them, they all begin to move! 10! -Raj Nandy
Poem pictures of great worth. I can feel the serenity. Very profound last lines. Ten without hesitation. Love, SandraX
Mamtaji, You have a great ability to portray real life visuals with your penstrokes. This is really so beautiful
So true Mamta Peace is where one finds it... Andrew 10


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Other poems of AGARWAL

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Playing on the flute, gently holding the instrument
Eyes half closed, in a trance or a kind of enchantment.
Oblivious to the presence of all loved ones around
Perhaps in conversation with someone lost, not found.

! ! ! ! Playing Make Believe...! ! ! !

Like a child today I play make believe,
And have bought all your favourite things.
Guavas, purple grapes, dark chocolates, I bring
Telling myself, while arranging, not to grieve…

# A Captivated Audience...

The sombre glacier breaks
Eons of its icy silence
As a water fall,

# Conspicuous By Its Absence

While tending to the garden one balmy November,
Helping my mother wash the leaves of the dust,
And gently cut off the dead branches and flowers,
Spraying the ones still seeming bright and robust…