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Poems By Poet Vera Sidhwa  12/21/2014 2:46:34 PM
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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword

He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.

So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.

In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,

This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.

But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,

Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.

He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.

He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
Vera Sidhwa




Warm hearth and table tops reflecting,
Orange and yellow jumping flames.
My hand holding an apple,
And crunching, crunching and scrunching.
My home.

Steamy doors of my shower,
Springtime front garden flower.
A garden filled with so much overflow,
In which everything can grow.
My home.

My heart, your heart beating in synchrony,
Us sitting arm in arm on our sofa.
In the kitchen, eating bread and honey.
The aromatic room.
My home
Vera Sidhwa



I Decided

I decided when this world's wars would end.
I needn't pick on details.
I was not rich you see or a politician.
I was just a young man in need.

I wrote to my heart's content,
And people wrote me back.
They had no words to spare, no lack.
They really thought they would spare our world.

We, they and I imagined a lot of things.
We sadly saw all those crumpled up buildings.
We sang long chants in honor of peace.
But the chants' messages did not help in the least.

I knew now that a war has a mind of it's own.
Troublesome and alone.
So I decided to leave it to somebody else,
Who could sing the chant much better.
Vera Sidhwa




Lights of the city,
You light up the mighty,
Boulevards of light.

They seem to me so pretty,
These lights of the city
Seem everywhere indeed.

I walked under,
A sidewalk lamp.
Where it diffused the fog so damp.

Lights of the city,
You light up the mighty,
Boulevards of light.

You lit-up my heart.
Vera Sidhwa
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Poems By Poet Vera Sidhwa