Inspirational Quotes

  

"Nothing is impossible, the word itself says, 'I'm possible!'"
Yes, yes, yes — all is possible,
With steady desire and efforts unstoppable.
Dream with courage, stand up tall,
Believe in yourself, and conquer it all.

Yes, it's possible to reach your goal,
With faith in your heart and fire in your soul.
Walk with purpose, never fall,
Rise again whenever life may call.

Start with sharp focus, clear and bright,
Never let the jokers steal your light.
Stay grounded with values, humble and true,
Let every challenge strengthen you.

Reach great heights through honest work,
Never from shortcuts that simply lurk.
Lift every rock with strength and skill,
Knowledge and wisdom shape your will.

Power grows with heart and care,
Attention and action take you there.
Blend art with passion, purpose with grace,
And leave your own remarkable trace.

Think creatively, step out of the box,
Unlock new doors and break the locks.
Win the hearts, inspire the mass,
Earn respect from every boss.

Try your best, don't fear delay,
Small steps lead the greatest way.
Success may seem a distant star,
But every effort brings you far.

One fine day you'll proudly say,
"I made my dreams come true today."
Yes, yes, yes—all is possible!
Yes, yes, yes—I'm possible!

(This poem is placed among the 1st in the poetry contest by poetry soup: https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/inspirational_phrases_and_what_they_mean_to_us_24090)

Sales Pitch – A Rhyming Poem

    

"Come gather near," I gladly say,
"To brighten up your tea each day.
A cute little teapot, what a sight,
To make each morning warm and bright.

Just brew your tea, then pour with glee,
The perfect cup for you and me.
In winter's chill, it stays hot,
In summer's sun, it stays cool—not!

No need to fuss, no need to plot,
It keeps the season's perfect spot.
You'll smile a lot, believe me true,
Each cup tastes fresh from first to last for you.

Leaf patterns gently grace the pot,
Handcrafted charm that can't be bought—
Well, not at prices sky-high, see;
It's friendly on your pocket, happily!

Made from eco-friendly care,
With artisan hands beyond compare.
No waste, no rot, no cheap old sort,
Just beauty made with loving thought.

A family of four can gather near,
Sharing laughter, love, and cheer.
An evening tea, a memory caught,
The sweetest moments can't be bought.

"What a lovely pot!" the children cry.
"The tea stays perfect!" comes reply.
From little tot to grand old we,
There's joy in every cup of tea.

The price won't leave your wallet blue;
It's made with everyday folks in view.
A little cost, a mighty gain,
A daily pleasure time and again.

So take it home—why wait, why not?
This charming little handcrafted pot.
The buyer smiled, "I've found my key
To better days with perfect tea."

The deal was done, the hands did shake,
A happy choice for goodness' sake.
The seller grinned with heart and glee,
"Thank you kindly!" said he.

Happy went he, his task complete;
Happy went she with her cozy treat.
She poured her tea with joyful plea—
"Here's to warm hearts... and perfect tea!"

 

(this poem won second place in poetry soup's contest : https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/sales_pitch_24045)

Highway Dawn Companion

Travelling in a car along the highway lane,
I watched the morning wake again.
To my left stretched fields of living green,
With yellow flowers scattered in between.

Above, the sky stood white and blue,
Clear and endless in its view.
Greyish roads ran smooth and wide,
With black-and-white stripes along their side.

The orange sun rose soft and slow,
Spreading its gentle morning glow.
Roadside stalls began to stir,
Preparing warm breakfasts for travellers.

In the fields stood oxen, strong and still,
Ready to plough with patient will.
Two crows and sparrows, side by side,
Chatted on a cable line with pride.

Not far away, white goats grazed free,
Moving calmly like waves at sea.
Far beyond, through morning's veil,
Misty mountains told an ancient tale.

And on a rocky mountain high,
A shape beneath the waking sky—
Its scratched and weathered face seemed to bring
The image of an elephant’s trunk emerging.

Along with us upon the way,
A rider rode through break of day.
Dressed with purpose, sharp and bright,
Journeying onward with focused sight.

He in his bike and we in our car,
Travellers beneath the same morning star.
Companions only for a passing while,
Sharing one long highway mile.

May: A Month of Green, Pink, and Red

      

May is green and pink and red,
A month where spring’s soft footsteps spread.
Green leaves dance on bushy trees,
Whispering songs with summer breeze.

Pink flowers bloom so fresh and bright,
Making every garden light.
Red rays of the glowing sun
Turn the world to golden fun,
Shining bright like sparkling wine
Across the earth in every line.

May brings melons juicy and sweet,
Mangoes rich for all to eat.
Marigolds in red and gold
Paint the fields so bright and bold.
Green and yellow everywhere,
Colourful beauty fills the air.

Though May walks with scorching heat,
Sweat and thirst the days may greet,
Cool breezes through the trees arrive,
Keeping tired hearts alive.
Tender coconut water sweet
Makes the summer feel complete.

Jackfruits ripe and sweet lime juice,
Sugarcane with cooling use,
Butter milk so fresh and light
Fill our days with pure delight.
One by one the treats appear,
Bringing happiness and cheer.

May’s the month of holiday time,
Fun and laughter in every rhyme.
No school bells and no class race,
Only joy in every place.
Practical learning, games, and play,
Happy memories every day.

May is always green, pink, and red—
Colours of the path ahead.
Green says, “Go and grow each day,”
Pink says, “Care along the way,”
Red says, “Stop and think awhile,”
Helping life move mile by mile.

Life is made of this bright trio,
Walk with courage, be the hero.

 

 

THE LIGHT DRINKING TREE

Winter whispers promises.
Spring clears its throat with flowers.
Everything blooms politely,
on time.

Except the gulmohar.

It is not a morning flower,
not a breeze-flower,
not something that opens
to be admired gently.

It waits for the sun to lean closer,
for afternoons to taste like metal,
for roads to shimmer,
for leaves to curl inward
like tired hands.

When the world begins to thirst,
the gulmohar drinks light.

April sets it on fire.
May lets it burn.

Red spills from its branches
like pomegranate broken open,
like embers caught in green fingers.
Sometimes orange,
sometimes yellow—
as if the sun forgot pieces of itself
in the tree.

While other colours retreat,
this one arrives.
While gardens go quiet,
this one speaks in flame.

It is mango season confidence,
watermelon courage—
sweetness that needs heat to exist.

Not early.
Not delicate.
Not asking to be different.

Just summer,
discovering it has a superpower,
and wearing it
in full daylight.

 

(This poem has been published in  Issue 21 of Gulmohur on 30.3.26: https://www.gulmohurquarterly.com/poetry/the-light-drinking-tree-anuradha-sowmyanarayanan-issue-21)

 

The Slippers That Crossed Love

  

Once upon a time, in the month where hearts hum pink,
Love floated in bubbles, in breeze, in bees that blink.
Why not a sandal dream, a chappal brave and worn,
A slipper seeking bridge-love from dusk to dawn.
Footwear with a mission, leather laced with faith,
Walking toward a lover across distance and wait.
Love, love, love—it travels one way or some way far,
Fetching souls like letters carried by a star.
Like seeds that trust the air to choose their land,
Pots or palaces bloom from that brave plan.
Love erupts like laughter cracking silent stone,
Love yearns with the ache of paths unknown.
Love longs to love the lover, fierce and true,
To catch you wherever the world slips you to.
The slippers slipped in, slid sideways through doubt,
Finding the curve where hope bends about.
Soles stood strong before sure love’s flame,
Worn thin but walking all the same.
For even the humblest shoe knows what to do,
When love calls—cross the bridge to you

The Moment That Made Me Feel Alive

 

 

 

The moment that made me feel alive
was not loud, not fast—
it simmered.

Energy came to me
on a warm plate,
served by my mother’s hands.

Food—the first power source,
the quiet fuel of joy.
A ladle in her grip
turns the ordinary into wonder,
makes heaven feel
just a few steps from the dining table.

A simple dish,
yet the taste blooms—
worldly, rich, unforgettable.
I lick my fingers,
wipe the plate clean,
trace the last memory of flavor
with my tongue, again and again,
unwilling to let the moment end.

Sweet or hot,
pickle sharp with love,
brinjals, beets, beans—
every bite says live.

And it isn’t just the food.
It’s her words,
soft as steam rising,
her smile seasoning everything just right.

In that moment,
full to the edges of my heart,
I am active, joyful, happy—
completely, unmistakably alive.

Bottom of Form

LET IT RAIN

   

A tiny drop touches the earth in summer;
The dry soil feels a fresh breath of life.
Awakened by the rain’s gentle touch,
The earth smiles, gazing up in hope.
Grandeur rises in the scent of petrichor.
Rain on a dry leaf blesses it with gloss,
Shining again in its original green.
Drizzles paint flowers with color and fragrance,
And all sing softly, “Let it rain, let it rain.”

  (Please write the sponsor's name, contest title and date of poem.)

1. NETTE ONCLAUD - sponsor's name

2. LET IT RAIN poetry contest - contest title

3. Date Of  Poem - 20.1.26 

A Year of NEW START

 

NEW START is wisdom for a brand-new way,

Eight laws of health to guide each day.

Nutrition feeds the body well,
Perfect food—its healing spell.

Exercise keeps strength inside,
No day missed, a faithful guide.

Water fills each cell with grace,
Your body thanks you, face to face.

Sunshine greets you every morn,
With gentle heat, new hope is born.

With sun and water, food so pure,
Temperance dances, calm and sure.

Air so fresh from garden flowers,
Or fragrant rooms that lift our hours.

Rest arrives when bodies plead,
Answering every silent need.
From quiet sleep, we rise anew,
With strength and joy to carry through.

At last comes Trust in God above,
Completing life with hope and love.
What once seemed lost is clearly shown—
Trust in God, and you’re led home.

NEW START

    

NEW START is wisdom for a brand-new way,
Eight laws of health to guide each day.

Nutrition feeds the body right,
Exercise builds strength and might.
Water heals from cell to heart,
Sunshine greets each morning’s start.

Temperance keeps balance true,
Fresh Air gives life anew.
Rest restores both mind and soul,
Making broken spirits whole.

Trust in God completes the way,
Guiding life from day to day.
With NEW START lived in faith and art,
Health and hope fill every heart.

(This poem is prepared for the poetry contest in poetry soup)

 NEW START is an acronym of the 8 laws of health. They are as follows:

N. Nutrition E. Exercise W. Water  S. Sunshine T. Temperance A. Air R. Rest T. Trust in God

NEW START POETRY CONTEST- DETAILS - HERE

Yuletide

  

 

Yuletide arrives

with celebration in its breath—

festivity everywhere,
streets dressed in colour,
lights blinking like quiet stars
that forgot to stay in the sky.

Flowers bloom beside frosted windows,
cakes carry the scent of sweetness,
Christmas trees stand tall,
wearing ornaments like stories,
while snow drapes the world
in a soft white paint of peace.

Reindeer step into the ready fair,
hooves light, hearts eager,
pulling sleighs heavy with dreams—
Santa riding hope itself,
a figure stitched with kindness,
synonymous with gifts.

Christmas brings delight—
cold air that wakes the skin,
candles that whisper warmth,
cookies that crumble into comfort.

Children wait with wide eyes,
elders smile with remembered wonder,
adults pretend not to wait
but listen just as closely.
Everyone expects Santa,
knocking gently on belief.

Wrapped gifts rest beneath the tree,
patient, silent, shining—
for little hands,
for loved ones,
for moments yet to open.

Love is sharing.
Love is giving.
Love is gifting, too.

Santa loves us.
We love Santa.
God loves us all.

Everything on this earth—
light, breath, kindness, time—
is a gift of God.

Gifts brighten the dim corners,
lend hope to low spirits,
offer strength when hearts feel heavy.
Gifts boost courage,
encourage faith,
assure positivity.

And so, everything becomes yuletide—
every glow,
every giving hand,
every quiet miracle
wrapped in love.

GIFTS

  

Gifts arrive with yuletide
Lights wrap warmth in winter
Snow softens every corner
Trees cradle patient parcels
Candles hold quiet prayers
Gifts speak love without words
Sharing becomes celebration
Hearts rise through giving
All gifts echo grace

( 9 lines only...free verse... 5-10 syllables per line... details here : https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/love_language_of_yuletide_23818)

(The poem got second place in the contest : check out here : https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/love_language_of_yuletide_23818)

READY TO REFLECT

  

 

 Time to recollect, rethink, and reflect.

Ink ignites and inspires introspection.

On a white page, splash hues of reflection,

Like the moon mirrored in a tranquil pond.

Writing becomes a medium—water, mirror, glass,

Oil, or the pupil's gaze—capturing images,

Echoing thoughts that surround and abound.

If you're ready to reflect, choose to write—

But never be the lion mistaking its reflection,

Perceiving another, leading to its demise.

Be true to yourself:

Acknowledge flaws, amend missteps,

Recognize your image, realize through reflection.

Let a new you bloom,

Always reflecting through writing,

For a better, truer self.

 

(THIS POEM IS SHORLISTED IN THE WORDWEAVERS POETRY CONTEST 2025 :  https://www.wordweavers.in/2025/12/poetry-2025-shortlist.html)

THE HUNGER CLOCK

  

 

Ding dong, the hunger strikes,
A rhythm felt in bones and spikes.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner near,
The stomach rings, its call is clear.

No hands, no gears, no ticking sound,
Yet perfect timing always found.
Biology knocks, a subtle beat,
A clock within, precise, discreet.

A glass of water, a morsel fed,
The ringing fades, the body led.
Yet even empty, the bell may chime,
A pulse of life, a silent rhyme.

Some heed it fast, some let it wait,
The hunger bell respects no state.
Food or not, it strikes in tune,
Morning, noon, and fading moon.

It knows the body, knows the need,
Each cell aligned, each organ heed.
No battery, key, or settings new,
It’s built to work, in every hue.

Ding dong, a pulse through veins and gut,
A faithful rhythm, sharp and shut.
It hums of balance, life’s design,
A measure older than our time.

So hear it strike, that inner sound,
No feast, no prayer, no offering bound.
The hunger clock, so finely spun,
A song of life, and of the sun.

LETTERS I'LL NEVER SEND

   

I write to speak,
Of feelings folded neat,
Of dreams untold,
And words left incomplete.

A letter — meant to travel far,
Needs an address, a name, a mark;
But mine — they linger, sealed within,
No stamp, no post, no destined kin.

To whom shall I write
When no one waits?
When the heart itself
Locks its gates?

Some are written out of fear,
Some in silence, held so near;
Some for love I’ll never claim,
Some for guilt without a name.

To the unknown, the lost, the dear,
To shadows I hold close and clear,
I write — not to be read or known,
But to whisper truth to my own.

These letters rest where secrets blend,
Pages of thoughts that never end.
They are my diary, my unseen friend —
The letters I’ll never send.

VIOLET GRAPE PURPLE ENVELOPE

 

A little one, bright and true,
A topper in studies, talents too.
On stage a star, in play a spark,
Running and jumping from dawn till dark.

Her dream was tall, her steps so fleet,
Grandfather said, “An athlete to beat!”
Like P. T. Usha she longed to be,
Strong as the wind, forever free.

Friendly in heart, with hands open wide,
Inviting her friends to laugh by her side.
Snacks and tea, a joyful spree,
Moments of love in simple glee.

The postman’s knock—she’d run with cheer,
Letters for family, she’d hold them near.
She never opened, for well she knew,
Each word was personal, each line was true.

She carried replies with careful pride,
Dropping them neatly in the box outside.
Yet in her heart a wish did stay,
For pen friends she had read of one day.

Then autumn came with surprise so sweet,
A violet grape purple envelope neat.
On Children’s Day, her name it bore,
A gift of love she had longed for.

From a family friend, a teacher kind,
Who carried blessings in heart and mind.
A greeting card, with wishes deep,
And a hundred rupees for her to keep.

A message of hope, of love, of cheer,
For a bright, long, intellectual year.
That violet grape purple envelope rare,
Became her treasure beyond compare.

FRAGRANCE AT A DISTANCE

 

Athar, Javadhu, colognes of delight,
Brut in a bottle, glass catching light.
Fragrances gather, they fill up the air,
A new look is given to all who wear.

Shapes and sizes, so dainty, so tall,
Perfume parades, I admire them all.
Lovely sprays, tiny pots on display,
Mesmerise seekers who pass by their way.

From Parisian fashion to Gulf’s scented art,
Ancient secrets with herbs play their part.
A jar once closed holds a world inside,
A fragrant breeze with the wind will ride.

Yet when I open, a sneeze takes hold,
Nose in protest, blocked and bold.
All ends in rain of sneezes untold—
As I’m allergic to perfumes.

MORE THAN A SOFT TOY

      

Infants begin
with closed fists—
white and red,
like the sun
about to rise.

They grow,
thumb resting in their mouth,
fingers curling around
the saree’s edge of the mother,
the sacred thread of the father—
building a small,
secure world.

A few months later,
with tiny movements,
gentle manners,
they reach for toys—
holding them close,
day and night,
whispering in their own language,
never alone.

A soft toy becomes a world.

Sometimes it is a spoon,
a cup,
a tumbler—
clutched for years
as a secret friend.
Sometimes a locket,
a ring,
a bracelet—
shining with unseen magic.

And now,
Doraemon walks beside them,
on TV,
on mobiles,
everywhere they go.

These bonds,
woven with innocence,
give strength,
bring laughter,
carry a quiet promise—
that joy will stay,
and life will be kind.

THE SILENT KISS

                       

A baby is born—
wrapped in soft white,
breathing gently,
half-asleep,
a trace of a cry still lingering in the air.

The sister carries this tiny bundle
from the stillness of the ward
to the waiting arms of the mother.

The father stands close,
eyes fixed,
heart rushing ahead of time,
as if he too is being born again.

The mother,
her body weary from the long storm of pain,
rests, breathes,
waits—
and then at last,
the weight of the child settles in her arms.

She studies the face,
the skin, the fragile fingers,
searching for traces of God
in every curve and color.

In that moment,
time halts.

Tears fall freely—
of gratitude, of surrender,
of love that has no language.

No sound, no word is needed.
The world begins anew
with a silent kiss.

FRIENDS THROUGH TIME

   

A young girl,
An old lady,
A mother of two,
A passionate dancer—
All were friends of mine.

Across the decades,
Through Chennai floods
And Hindi classes,
They stood with courage and quiet dedication.
Their words—scattered notes of inspiration,
Their choices—prompt, firm, and full of grace.

They stood as ideals—
In studies, in marriage,
In hobbies and in ageing gracefully.

 

Friends from every age group—
A potpourri of ideas, actions, and lived experiences.
Jolly days and radiant faces,
Deep talks and shared silences—
All in pursuit of a life
Guided by values,
Uplifted by love.

Friends, friends, friends—
Let’s carry on.
Celebrate with furry companions,
Wipe away tears,
Stand shoulder to shoulder, always.

In life’s long sail,
We brave the roughest tides,
And reach the distant coast—
Of course, with friends.

Friends are the spark,
The rhythm, the fire.
They are the heartbeat of joy,
The shower that soaks us
In all that makes life truly happy.