My Native Land
My Native Land
(Collected Poems)
Menonim Menonimus
Internet Edition
menonimus.org
My Native Land (A Collection of English Poetry) by Menonim Menonimus, First Edition: 2019
All Rights Reserved
Price: ……………
D. T. P. By
Adid Shahriar, Barpeta.
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CONTENTS
My Native Land
Had I a Piece of Land
Had You Known
House
Pain
Resolution
Love
My Death
Prayer to God for Patricia
Love Stanzas
None Sees None Knows
What is Love
Dream
Grandfather’s Report
Poetry
To Spring
I’ll be Loving Thee
What is Life
The Poet
What will I Say
Yes, I Can
Exchange
Revolution
Dress
Resolution II
Parrot and Piegon
Wild Flowers Speak to me
Mansion
The Patriot
That Night
Dream
My Cottage
If You Had Not Come
I Want A Poet
Net
Sorrowful Night
Thy Love
A Love Poem
My House
The Forbidden Flower
So are the Poets
In the Horizon of Your Mind
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MY NATIVE LAND
(Text)
My Native Land
My native land is my universe in itself
Having the sun of its own
Having the vales and hills
Rivers, lakes, seas and oceans of their own.
It is my land where there is an abundance of rain
And drought within.
It is my land where cat grows fat
The mice grow into a skeleton.
It is my land where roses are for the bees
And the thorns are for the pigs.
It is our land where tears are our wealth
Smile is our dream.
It is my land where featherless birds eat most
But the birds that fly most suffer the most.
It is my land- a land of Heaven and Hell in itself. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Had I A Piece of Land
Had I a piece of land!
I would have planted all kinds of trees
I would have planted the shisu, the teak, the sonaru
And the plane trees for the birds to perch on them
For the strangers to take rest under
After their tiring long journey.
Had I a piece of land!
I would have planted all kinds of fruit trees
The jack tree, the beech tree, the mango tree,
The apple tree, the pear tree and the palm tree
To feed my native brothers in my own hand.
Had I a piece of land!
I would have planted all kinds of flower plants-
The rose, the jasmine, the masunda,
And the sun-faced flowers
To disseminate their fragrance
To the nook and corner of my native land.
Had I a piece of land!
I would have dug a lake
And have nursed there all kind of fishes of my land
To feed my people feast with.
Had I a piece of land!
I would have built a hut
With my own hand to live in peace.
Had I a piece of land!
I would have set up a society
Free from caste and creed-
Free from Hindu and Muslim,
Free from Christians and Jains
There all be men
Free from the narrow bondage of religion.
Where there will have neither high nor low
Neither the lords nor the slaves
All will be brothers and sisters
Where all will pray to only one God
Without mentioning the names of religions. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Had You Known
Had you known-
For whom is my love!
Had you known-
For whom are my tears!
Had you known-
For whom is my verse!
Had you known
For whom are my days!
For whom are my hours!
For whom are my minutes!
Had you known-
For whom is my sleepless pillow!
For whom is my starless sky!
For whom is my sunless day, moonless night!
Had you known-
For whom are my eyes, my ears!
For whom is my heart, my soul!
Had you known-
For whom is my life!
For whom is my death!
Had you known-
I would have a mate or maid
To share my everything! 0 0 0
My Native Land
House
We have only one House
Where we live, sleep, drink, weep,
Cry, laugh, smile
Make quarrels
And make compromises among ourselves
We inhale the air of both peace and enmity in the same house.
The house was built by our father
With all his fondlings
With all his labour.
It becomes old now.
It does not match the fashion.
It is not beautiful to look at.
We criticize it from all rounds
And often say:
It is so much hackneyed
Let us have a new one.
It is devoid of any furniture
Our father was naive,
A poverty-stricken poor peasant
He did not know- what furniture means
Neither he knew- how to decorate a house
So the house is lack of beauty.
We are the production of modernity
We do not like the house and desire to get a new one.
Our minds have caught the sense of beauty
But we cannot come out of the trammels of poverty
We have inherited the same legacy
As our father inherited it from our grandfather.
To suit our sense we have bought some furniture
In the old house.
Now the beauty of the house has somewhat increased
But the foundation of the house remains the same
It has been becoming weaker day by day
But everybody of us ignores it.
Now, though late, we have realized-
Instead of decorating the house with paper-made flowers
And steel- made furniture
We should strengthen its foundation.
Like the house built by our father
The houses of us all have been going to be
Weaker and weaker day by day.
So, my brothers
Come out, let us strengthen our home
Before we decorate it. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Pain
I’ve no pain of my own
I’m beautified by the pain of thine
As the Rainbow is coloured by the rays of the sun.
It is said there are twelve colours in a Rainbow
But we know not- where they begin and where they end.
If the sun is in the east
The rainbow appears in the west
And if the sun is in the west
The rainbow appears in the east.
It is a rainbow looking at which
The children leap up with joy
The adults feel thrilled in their hearts
The old men thank God for His freak
And the poets think of the charm of their beloved.
But to the men of knowledge, it is the reflection of the sunbeam.
It was, to our forefathers, a road for the clouds
Or the bow of the Sky- god
Or the fate of the farmers.
But it is to me the spirit of life that makes me live. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Resolution
You have eyes to see
You have ears to hear
You have a nose to smell
You have skin to feel
You have the heart to resolve
You have head to judge
You have hands to put into action
Then why do you not hoist the flag of revolution-
Against the darkness
Against the bloodsuckers
Against them who eat the fruits
But throw the peels to your face? 0 0 0
My Native Land
Love
My Love twinkles
Rounding the blue of the sky
As a star.
It’s mild
When I’ve no desire
As mild as the breeze.
It is severe when I’m angry
As severe as the mid-summer.
It is as lovely as a rose
When my beloved is at my door
With a face as smiling as the rainbow.
It is as kind as my mother
When I weep.
It is my maid
When I’m alone on my lonely couch at night. 0 0 0
My Native Land
My Death
I know not- when I’ll meet my Death
I know not- where I’ll die
I know not- if I’ll be assassinated
I know not- who’ll be my assassinator
I know not who’ll be the patron of my assassinator.
I know not- if I’ll die by violence
I know not- if I’ll die of the disease
I know not- if I’ll die for some great cause
I know not- if I’ll die in an accident
I know nothing about my Death
I know not- how it’ll come
But I know that Death must seize me forever
One day or other
Either sooner or later. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Prayer to God For Patricia
God, cast your gracious eyes on my dear sister
Let her heart be enlightened and let her bear,
A life full of joy, peace and perfect pleasure
To enjoy them, bestow upon her hundred years,
O God, be kind, look at my dear Patri sister.
Life is not life if it keeps away from marriage
O God, provide her with a groom in her thirty age,
A groom endowed with love, affection and beauty
Frank in dealings, free from being haughty,
Let his heart be so benign to be my Patri’s dearer.
God, respond erelong to my kind and humble prayer
Let her embrace the groom full of love, o God, hear
Let her soar up from joy to joy, from peace to peace
Celebrating her thirtieth birthday it is my prayer. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Love Stanzas
Love has its own season
As the night jasmine bloom in autumn
As autumn follows summer.
Again the jasmine does not drop down
Unless the dew falls upon.
Now still I’ve been burning like a candle
As much as I burn
I turn stiff as a piece of iron.
No heat of the fire can melt me.
The gone days are precious for me
I derive either peace and comfort
Either pain or agony from them
Hence every day
I open up the page of my memorandum
It contains the fragrance of my long past. 0 0 0
My Native Land
None Sees None Knows
I could not love who I had to love
Whom I had not to love
I’m imprisoned to him.
My heart fills up with emptiness
Though it is as vast as the sky.
Whom I wanted to have-
He is away from me.
Whom I wanted not to have
He sticks to me.
My love is my easy tears.
Sometimes I see my lost memory in the dark night
And sometimes I lost my entity
In the midday light.
Now I’m away from me
And away is my dearest one
Yet I’m living, yet I’ll be living.
I’ll learn to smile embracing my sorrows
My tears drop down being smiles through my lips
But none sees none knows. 0 0 0
My Native Land
What is Love
Why do we talk of love?
It is a cup of wine
We drink and forget the world-
Its passion, its tears and joys.
It is a fountain pen that goes on scratching on paper
Consuming its ink.
It is a piece of black cloud
That flows down to the sea being rain
Then is seen no more.
It is the left-hand palm of one’s dearest one
On which one kisses and enjoys
Moments’ joy and then is forgotten.
It is an antique one-act play
In modern frame
When staged the audience seem
To dance and weep
And then is forgotten.
But for me, it is my eyes, my hand
It is my feet, my head and my skull.
It is a story told from an eccentric brain
That does not know what he tells. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Dream
Last night
I’ve dreamed of my father
He is dead
He has left us forever.
In my last night’s dream, he appeared before me
He turned neither fat nor thin
He seemed as he was.
He told me something
But I’ve forgotten
If he wished he could say to me
Everything whatever he wished to say
He could have said:
Let the world be shined by your light
But he said to me nothing
He only gestured
That may be interpreted as:
You would be the beacon
A beacon to guide the dark cells of the human brain. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Grandfather’s Report
Have you ever heard of this green valley?
Once there was a forest-
Full of wild beasts:
Lions, tigers, pigs, donkeys, deers, hares
And so many animals.
Various species of trees, reeds and shrubs grew there
In its bush, the tigers growled and roared
Breaking the roof of the blue sky
The hares and deers ran, leapt and grazed there
A river flowed through the belly of the forest
In its own melodious way.
There was no man, no society,
No king, no slave, no politics
In such an antique time
Our forefathers immigrated here from the west
They came, they saw, they embraced the valley as their own
And it became their native land forever
Peace and safety, brotherhood and unity,
Joys and smiles were abundant in them.
They sang the song of green grass
And ploughed this green valley
And lived as if it was their earth- heaven.
Days passed and once there raised a king
Then all the evergreen peace, joy, pious plough
And honest labour began to fade away one by one.
Now, there is still a king sitting on the throne
But all the glories of my forefathers have gone away.
Look at here and there.
Look at the east and west,
Look at the north and south
The green valley has turned into a desert. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Poetry
For many a day, I’ve not walked through the land
Where one is drowned in water
He needs not drink water.
So is my soul
It is itself a vaster epic
My every moment, every hour, every night,
Every week is surrounded by living poems
As while walk I weep, I laugh while I should shriek
I sing while I should keep silence
While I’ve to see- I close up my eyes
While I breathe it becomes sighs
My life is itself living lines of a thousand living poetry. 0 0 0
My Native Land
To Spring
Spring, the bride of Nature
Thou being nursed by twelve sun
Have bloomed.
During these months
Thou have grown up to young
And has experienced the cool, the heat, the breeze,
The storm, the hail, the waves
And even smiling and weeping.
Now thou art matured
Thy organs have filled up with juice and honey
The west wind is blowing on thy hair
And thy hair is flying as cotton floats in the wind.
The transparent sky has become thy veil
The rose bloom for thy delight
The bare trees bear new leaves
To provide shade to the strangers
The butterfly dances upon the flowers
The cuckoos, the nightingales, sing for thy joy
The rivers glide down for thy music.
Spring, may God bless thee
Be remain young forever
And let us live on thy lap. 0 0 0
My Native Land
I’ll Be Loving Thee
O, my Love, I’ll be loving thee
Till there is the sky with endless blue
I’ll be loving thee as long as the sea bears salt and water
O my candid love, I’ll be loving thee
Though my days are engrossed by Death.
I’ll be loving thee as deeply as the moon does the earth
I’ll be loving thee more
Than the flies love the bloomed flowers.
I’ll love thee more than the river loves the sea
I’ll love thee as long as there is the wind
And the hills with ice
I’ll be loving thee though the entire world turns against me
O my love, I’ll love thee with all my might. 0 0 0
My Native Land
What is Life
What is life?
Is it not a sea full of waves and water
That dance and strike on the strand?
Is it not a pair of eyes
Through which the lava of a burning volcano
Burst forth and coagulates to become granite?
Is it not the west wind
That blows over hills and vales
Shaking off the boughs and leaves of trees?
Is it not a rainbow?
That takes birth in the sky
Like a bow without an arrow
Always to the opposite of the sun?
Is it not a crystal
That looks fine
But if breaks
It breaks into pieces forever? 0 0 0
My Native Land
The Poet
Yes, I’ve realized today-
I’m a poet
As hunger is the ever mate of my belly
My bride starves by day and night.
I’ve to spend the hours in the dark
As I’ve no lantern to shine my hut
My brother walks on barefoot even in cool winter
My mother has to toil hard at seventy
My father had died waiting for a better day.
Am I not a poet?
My eyes burn at night finding no blank paper
To put my hot tears.
My days are spent after the endeavour of gathering fuel for the hungry belly
Am I not a poet?
The storms blow upon me-
Yet I’m compelled to say- I’m in safe.
Why am I not a poet?
If not why am I despised by all?
Even my mother condemns me to go to death
I am bleak like a dead hill.
I may not give birth to verses
Of higher acclaim.
My poems may not see light
Yet I’m a poet
As I’ve no means of livelihood. 0 0 0
My Native Land
What Will I Say
What will I say of your beauty?
It is to say-
You are the twentieth-century edition of Helen
For whom thousand and one young princes
Met their immature death,
Thousand died of disappointment
Thousand forsook the throne
And took shelter in the wild woods
Where they meditated not on God
But on thy fair face
And thus died of hunger at last.
I fear thee, O, the new edition of Helen!
My eyes love thee,
My heart love thee
My senses love thee.
But in front of thy beauty
I’m a piece of the dark pitch.
Thou art the full moon and I’m the dark cloud
Thou art the glittering gold
And I’m the rusty piece of iron.
Hence I keep far away from thee
Otherwise rays of my dark shade
May corrupt thy beauty. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Yes I Can
Yes, I also can raise my hands upward to the sky
I can sing the song of bolt and storm
And can set fire to water
I can run and run and cross the bar of Death.
Yes, I can fly with the birds
And can travel throughout the wild world.
Yes, I can get angry with all
Whom I love or don’t love.
Yes, I can overcome all
Who are my antagonists?
And who are not my antagonists?
Yes, I can live and make others live
I can do what only a few can imagine.
Yes, I can make others weep and live with life
I can do what a few can do
But the time is yet to come
And yet I’ve to make my way
Through the unknown ways. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Exchange
Friend,
Would you like to exchange your mirror
For my marble monument?
Or would you agree to exchange your chair
For my bookshelves?
Friend,
Would you like to exchange your fingerprint
For my palm?
Would you consent to exchange your pen
For all my papers?
Friend, if you like –
Let me know erelong
I desire to be living for some more days. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Revolution
Let one die and a hundred live
Let a hundred die and a thousand live
Let a thousand die and mankind live.
Be hopeful of an ordered newer life
Pick up your rights
Shake off the chain
If you are too weak
Begin to hate the chain of bondage-
It is the inauguration of victory over the forced darkness. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Dress
I have a friend.
The hour of his departure arrives
But he has not prepared his dress to wear on
He has means
Yet willingly he is naked.
The hour of my departure has not arrived
Yet I’m in a hurry to get at my chariot.
But I can not
Because I‘ve no means to walk ahead.
He is a man
I am a man
He with means
I without means
He has not made up his dress
Though he has means
I’ve no means yet I’m anxious to make it
But I don’t know-
Who is in the wrong?
Whether he or I. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Resolution – II
I go to the running river to take a rest
As a frustrated poet goes to the brothel
I may lose my brightness
But I can twinkle like a star
In the night sky to guide the strangers.
I am a source of blood and light
As a rainbow is a source of the song to a minstrel
I can speak, I can hear, I can meditate
I can introspect as a man does.
Then why o, my soul, why you are dead?
Wake up to life
Speak louder than ever before
Learn from your sin and become brighter
As a piece of burnt gold
Be like a rose
Let your fragrance come out. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Parrot and Piegon
Only a parrot
And a flock of pigeons.
The parrot sweeps down the flock of pigeons
And at one bounce smites off the head of the pigeon
It tore the throat, belly and the head
And eats away the flesh with content.
Everybody of us becomes the pigeon
Everybody of us nurses the parrot
We the poor grow fat only to feed the parrot. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Wild Flowers Speaks to Me
One winter evening I happened to pass
Through a dense forest.
I was alone-
Neither a mate nor a maid was with me.
Depending upon my weary feet
I rushed onwards
The woods was deep and silent
The night was falling down with all its darkness
Around me, there were only dense shrubs and bushes
Besides my left and right there were
Wild yews and plain trees grow proudly and wildly.
In the bush, the wild beasts were growling,
Howling, yelling and roaring.
The more I went ahead the more deep silence attacked me.
All of a sudden a wild fragrance caught my senses.
I looked around and suddenly chanced to see a flowering plant
That was neither seen nor heard of before.
It was not a rose but was almost like a rose
I stared at it, gazed at it and I lost myself.
Thus many moments were spent
There was none whom I could ask about the flower
Then I asked the flower
And it whispered to my ears:
I grow and bloom here after the will of my Lord. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Mansion
I’ve got a mansion with many cells
When I took place in the willing womb
Of my mystic mother
I found all the cells of my mansion open
The light could go in and out easily
All the windows were active
The sunlight could peep through.
But while my age became one month
One of my cells closed up
When I became three months old
Three doors of my cells got closed up
When I became six months old
Half of all the doors were closed up
While I took birth through the painting path
Of my mystic mother
All the doors along with all the windows
Got closed forever.
I became suffocated and could hardly breathe
Since my birth, I’ve been struggling
To open the doors and windows of my mansion
But as much as I struggle so much the doors got tightened.
Now many a spring with many ups and downs has passed.
Much of my spirit and strength have exhausted
And just now I’ve got only one of the doors opened.
In doing so half of my life has passed
Now I’ve become worn out by age.
If I could open more of a door
I would have been able to unlock all the paths of mystery
That the men of science and philosophy
Have been struggling to catch the rays
Throughout the ages. 0 0 0
My Native Land
The Patriot
He has been sent to death
Because he was an exception.
His acts and deeds, his voice and speech,
His eyes and looks, his heart and shirt
We’re not like that of others.
He had an arduous sense of amour for his land
For his people.
He uttered to his utmost voice for the liberation
Of the oxen from the yoke of bondage
He sang the song of light and of free oxygen
With a voice more inflammable than the flame of fire.
Wherever he went the sun rose
Wherever he walked through
He swept away all the mud and dirt
He became the voice of people
And that is why he was carried off to the unknown jungle
Both his hands were shackled tight behind
His eyes were turned off
He was whipped till he lost his sense
His breast was torn with gun and bullets
And thus he was rewarded and was sent to death. 0 0 0
My Native Land
That Night
That night we were in the same city
The night was burning with red flames of fire
The uproar and tumult of the night were burnt to ashes
And the city became nude
Like a leafless tree in winter.
I fell into trance where I was
You turned to death where you were.
That night is known to us all
Yet we are reticent. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Dream
I’ve forgotten to tell you
The dream dreamed yester-night.
What the dream was!
Oh! It’s come to my mind
The image of thine
Holding thy hand upward
You were soaring up to the sky
Hoping to catch up the stars
But as higher you soared
So higher the stars rose. 0 0 0
My Native Land
My Cottage
It is my cottage
I myself have built it
With reeds and wood, barks and bamboos
I built it after the will of my wills
I made the doors, I made the windows
I made all its belongings myself
I got its walls painted with my red blood
I made the selves and plates
Tubs and tables and arrayed them after my freedom.
I built its ventilation to let the air
Come in and go out easily
I’m the owner of it
And mine is the cottage
Yet over the years, I’ve had no right to it
Yet still today, I’m a homeless vagabond
That is my cottage without life. 0 0 0
My Native Land
If You Had Not Come
It would have been better
If you had not come to my life
Though joys and happiness were alien to me
I had a green garden of peace
With whom I played and danced
Laughed and quarreled, quarreled and laughed.
I had nights and days with stars
I had rose- white and red so dear.
I had no past but present and future.
When you had come
I begin to lose my eyes
And grew blind
My green garden grew pale
My peace jumped out of my wooden window
Breaking my all-
My garden, my eyes, my tables,
My peace and my present and future.
Now you have gone far away from me.
And with your departure my days begin to run back
The present turns into past
Now I have no days, no nights
I’m in the twilight groping after the shade of my past.
Had you not come it would have been better
I would have been not dead! 0 0 0
My Native Land
I Want A Poet
I want a poet
Who before scratching his lines
Will soak his quill into the boiling blood
Of the down-trodden and of the exploited peasants.
I want a poet
Who sees with the eyes of his heart
And feels with his entity
And who has had a pilgrimage to the heart of the earth?
I want a poet
Who would utter the suffocated voices
Of our people’s throat
And whose blood has already been exchanged
with that of ours.
I want a poet
Who has got his arms thrown down to the hills
Yet can fly against them who make us kneel to their feet.
I want a poet who can blaze fire in the water
And can burn up all the dirt on our path.
I want a pet
That can drive away the scratches of elegy from our face.
I want a poet
Who can face death to gift us life? 0 0 0
My Native Land
Net
To make meat of my flesh
He spread up the iron net in my path
I, often become his victim
But my heart is so hard and still
That he can hardly catch me off.
He chews and bites and again chews and bites
And finding my heart hard to crack
He lets me out causing me a great wound,
And thus every time I happen to become his victim
And thus every once I’m sent out
Every time he bruises me
But every time I’ve been becoming more immortal. 0 0 0
My Native Land
Sorrowful Night
You will learn one day-
What is a day, what is night?
I have got the image of a sun
That will make an end to the nights
But woe is that the sun seems to rise
After the gun-shooting! 0 0 0
My Native Land
Thy Love
Your love has made my heart so spacious as the sky is
Now in my heart
All the seas with all the drops of water can take shelter easily.
Your love has made me as soft as cotton
And as tight as hard stone
Now I have got the strength to climb up to Everest
And break the hardest hills into pieces
But sorrow is that I’ve lost my heart forever. 0 0 0
My Native Land
A Love Poem
Your beauty is fleshier than your amour
Your hip is more brittle than your desire
The yellowish waves of your naked dress is more costly
Woods grow in you where the darkness hides.
Beauty flows from there
As the brook flows down with a rippling sound from the hills.
A crocodile swims in the sea
It keeps living with the warmth of your sighs
Shedding the tears of love. 0 0 0
My Native Land
My House
Last night Lusi came alone to meet me
He came when all the bulbs of light in my house were off
Only the window was open.
I knew she would come.
She came and knocked at my heart
I woke up
But it was too late
Now she is dead. 0 0 0
My Native Land
The Forbidden Flower
For the honey of the forbidden flower
Wakes up my hunger
I’ve taken a bath in the river
And felt a sharp current in my veins
Now I am swimming and drowning in the whirlpool
As much deep as I’m drowning so much my thirst is increasing. 0 0 0
My Native Land
So Are the Poets
Truly so are the poets
They shoot their guns to the sky
And die within
Their silent voices wonder about the universe
Being the rays of light.
And make resonance in the heart of Africa
Or tillage the revolutionary arms of Vietnam
Or they fertilize the brain of the proletariats in Yugoslavia.
They are ceaseless artists
They make an order to the disordered words
And make edifices with them
On the craggy hills.
They grab up the wounds of the people, knit the robe of brotherhood,
Give life to the flow of the river
And inundate the bellies of Brahmaputra, Amazon or Mississippi.
They wearing a shabby dress
Practise the art of beauty
Kiss flowers to be bloomed, and sow the seeds of equality
Some flying kites sweep away their hard-earned crops.
Truly so are the poets
They get forlorn
Being burnt like a candle. 0 0 0
My Native Land
In the Horizon of Your Mind
On the horizon of your mind
Washed off by the great flood
There is the shriek of thousand birds.
The sky breaks down in the resonance
And break down the rivers and stars.
In your lost childhood
The dove coos.
In the forest of peace
There is no fear of the roaring of tigers
Because the Mahatmaji is dead! 0 0 0
My Native Land
The End
Books of Composition by M. Menonimus:
- Advertisement Writing
- Amplification Writing
- Note Making
- Paragraph Writing
- Notice Writing
- Passage Comprehension
- The Art of Poster Writing
- The Art of Letter Writing
- Report Writing
- Story Writing
- Substance Writing
- School Essays Part-I
- School Essays Part-II
- School English Grammar Part-I
- School English Grammar Part-II..
Additional Searches:
- Best Motherland Poems
- Dear Motherland
- White Heart Poem
- Love Poems
- Love Poems Collection
- Love Poems for Her
- Andrew Marvell Poems
- Shakespeare’s Sonnets
- Chaos Poems
- Rain Poems
- Poems About Eyes
- My Verses -a poem
