Voices Within: Shristi Sharma

Srishti Sharma is Mumbai-based poet and a writer. She is pursuing Masters in Business Economics from Birla College, affiliated to the University of Mumbai. Her poems are published on various social networking sites and the prestigious Setu Magazine and Destiny Poets.

Earth Day

Earth day is a special one,

As it gives us soil, water and sun,

The earth does not let us starve,

Till it has its spark,

Let us not make it dry,

Otherwise it will make us die,

Let’s plant more trees,

It will make the earth reap.

Let’s plant trees,

It will make home,

For you and me,

Let’s save water,

It would only be less hotter.

Try to reuse and recycle,

For a healthier,

Environment cycle.

This is our Earth,

And not a waste,

Make haste

Before it becomes a ‘waste’.

Plastic Bottle

The inferior material,

Made from,

Semi-synthetic organic solids,

The- plastic,

Allures the poor kids,

To run widely,

And catch a bottle,

Of malleable material;

This molded substance,

Fills them with happiness,

As the kids don’t have,

Amazing toy cars and,

Cute Barbie dolls

To play with,

And so they,

Enjoy with,

The plastic bottle

A poor substitute,

But a rich source,

For imagination,

The semi-starved,

Children of the slums,

Give forms and shapes,

By twisting and turning.

Opening and closing,

Filling it half,

Seeing the clear aqua,

Through the,

Plastic’s transparency,

The vibrant,

Malnourished kids,

Find their happiness,

Through very,

Small objects,

Which,

On the other hand,

For the affluent,

Posh society,

Is useless waste?

To be thrown,

Or merely crushed,

Under their uncaring,

Well-Shod feet.

Eve of New Year

Two little kids,
Covering
Their,
Malnourished bodies,
With a dupatta,
Walking,
With a spring
Bare-foot,
Gawking,
At the,
Towering buildings,
Mesmerized,
Where,
Mindless displays,
Of Scarce energy,
In halls and lobbies.
Whereas hovels,
Opposite,
Remain dark,
And unlit.
Lanterns, lights,
Put on,
French windows,
For ushering,
In New Year.
Pretty ladies,
In slim-fit sheaths,
And I-Pods,
Men in Jackets,
And branded
Leather shoes,
CK fragrances,
Driving off,
In a chauffeur-driven sedan,
For splurging,
On the,
High-calorie food.
Without bothering,
For the,
Poor, hungry people,
In unhealthy slums,
Waiting to get,
A two time-meal,
Which will,
Help them live and sustain,
In this big world.

Mumbai and it’s Trains

The local trains are rushing in and out,

Of the different stations,

Having unique names,

People-Tired, bloated and stuck heavily in between,

The mixed crowd,

Of various sellers,

Selling fruits,

Selling cosmetics,

Selling accessories.

It’s a mini-running market,

Where people find,

No space to breathe,

And the cool breeze,

Makes them happy,

Though for a while.

Be it rains or sunshine,

Mumbai trains never,

Let down those,

Who put their,

Faith in her.

First class,

Is second class,

And second class,

Is third.

But, yes,

The first class,

Is filled with,

People wearing perfume,

While the second class,

Is an all-inclusive class,

Like Mumbai-the city,

Welcomes all.

It never lets down people,

Who come with a dream,

In their eyes.

Voices Within Complete List of Poets :: Setu, January 2019