Pritha's pomes

Some rhyme, romance and a wee bit reason maybe, bear with me ?

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Strings attached…


The strings that free us,
The strings that bind,
The strings with color,
That we gently unwind.
The strings that tie a million tales,
Or the ones that play a song,
Are the very same that hold our sails,
As life makes us drift along.
A gentle tug in your heart,
Or careless strums on your guitar,
A few strings attached,
And colorful dreams beckon from afar.


To the “fabulously ordinary” mom…

It’s ok if the laundry pile is now, a little mountain on the floor,

And it’s totally fine if crayons have created a Monet on the front door.

It’s super cool if the car smells of long forgotten meals,

And sometimes, a missing child can only be located through high-pitched squeals!

It’s ok to have lampshade hair when you drop your child off to school

And don’t worry if folks think, your legs are not shaved enough for the pool.

So what if the little black dress is a stitch too tight,

And those oh-so-white lace napkins are a strange creamy delight.

Ice cream on the counter top or coins in the sink,

The child is only “learning”, say it to yourself with a wink.

If tattoos are the only thing you see when the first “date” comes home,

Breathe a little deeper, and then go rent some chick flick about Rome.

So sit back, relax, celebrate yourself, and know perfection is a thing of the past,

Being yourself and a “fabulously ordinary” mom is what will truly outlast!


The ever clichéd broken heart



Too many sonnets, too much tears,
Too many nameless, unknown fears ,
Seem to follow the proverbial broken heart,
The owner hapless, on where to start.

The stifled sobs, the muffled rage,
Ah! those melodramatic sighs with age,
Was it worth the road less taken?
To leave one stirred, but not really shaken?

Does romance die, because one chooses to smile anew?
To laugh and cry with every hue?
Is it fashionable to dwell in pain?
Or learn to live and love again?


as I look through my window…


As I look through my window one rainy evening,

My skies, my grass, my world, all seem to be in a cage.

I stare, and much more than the rain, cloud my eyes.

I find memories that trap me within myself.

I look again through my window and take in the world.

The cage is in my mind, the clouds are in my eyes.

A soft fragrance of the wet earth wafts in ever so gently

I am alive, I am awake, my soul is drenched with the nectar from the skies…