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1 vote, average: 4.00 out of 51 vote, average: 4.00 out of 51 vote, average: 4.00 out of 51 vote, average: 4.00 out of 51 vote, average: 4.00 out of 5
English Poetry











The basket of memories

had started growing heavy

on my wizened hands.


The apples therein

looked as fresh as ever

Every fresh drop of tear

added to their tone

Every latest spill of blood

improved their colour.


Few more yards on that

dimpled sandy shoal.

I can see the end

half clear; half blurred.

Somewhere I have to stop.


The roaring waves looked kindly

at me.


The evening sand under my feet

 felt lukewarm.


The dusking Sun flashed his

last parting grin.


My only worry;

can I carry my basket till end

and……… beyond?






  1. kusumgokarn says:

    Good one.
    ‘Dusking’ looks like a newly coined word by you. Sounds good though.
    Some unwanted, undesired ‘apples’ of memories can be dropped on the way of oblivion to lighten your burden.
    Try to retain only sweet memories.
    Best wishes,

  2. Vishvnand says:

    Beautiful picture and making the elegant poem search our memory baskets too.
    I think God has organized with advancing age with our memory fading the basket starts getting lighter to hold only a few.

    Hearty commends

  3. medhini says:

    Very nice poem,Anuradha.
    Loved it.

  4. Aniruddha Vanage says:

    Yes, one’s determination and will power is the key.
    Nevertheless, perfect imagination and sharp words. Great composition.

  5. Gion Gion says:

    loved this poem.
    Verse 3 stands out for me,

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