"Where the beauty of our senses is realised" by DINESH R MAKWANA

Newer Poems



Itís the joy in the despair hour of leaving the unloved to my loved ones,

The frenzy,the smog, the sharing of the unwanted touch,sometimes from a stranger and maybe the no stranger to crime,

I endure, my child, my one husband, my one whole lifeís value as I speculate what my two wonders will surprise me with,

I canít read, itís too crowded, I canít study itís too crowded, I canít love because they are in await,

I afford the inconvenience to make my convenience,

With the screech of the now so common, the cabin glides to rest like the last ironing of the sleeve, neat and tidy and clean with a whisp.

I am late because those final accounts were out by the transposition of the factor nine,

I worked it out from the arduous care of my hub with the maths stub, whizz on numbers and useless on slicing the cucumber,

Iíll run in case his mind wanders to the creep in the office, so close at times, anyone would worry.

The kite of the neighbour in safe care of the sky, I ďhiĒ him and smile and congratulate his untorn flyer, majestic in rule with the chant of the Pied Flycatcher,

No bell to ring, I carry my love key, my life key, it is my key,

My baby rushes at me, jumps to his heart and joy and my joy and heart,

If oneness exists as separates, itís the mother and her child,

I seek the other; he seems to have left the welcome, something is in his mind,

Is it the lateness that enthuses the colour green, or the recall of the standard, modern, arrogant work creep?,

It must be one of his bouts of worrying, fiendish slander, not meant, not his armour,

Placed by the demeaning fears of the silent,prowling lifeís disasters,

What can it be, what can it be?

Rushing to change into my house cloth, I peer into the mist of my twin, my mirror,

And find the smudged lipstick, haunting me again, having changed from the power of red to the distress of the separating green.

That stupid smudged lipstick. 

Dinesh R Makwana (August 2016)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988


My Mummy Holds My Hand

I was in the park yesterday,

I pretended as the children played,

I guess they were the same face, the same grace and ate the same ice-cream,

Couldnít let them know, couldnít let them know my secret pain,

I canít move further on this bench because then I would fall.


Everytime they laughed, oh I can hear, I smiled as if I was seeing them,

Couldnít let them know as they played,

Please Mummy, walk me away but sheís gone for a minute looking for my ice-cream man,

I like the ice-cream, I like the ice-cream.

Hurry Mummy, hurry Mummy,

I canít wait for their ball to be hit my way Mummy.


I know, I will put those headphones on, I can hear you know,

Where are the headphones, where are they?,

That way, theyíll think I couldnít hear their ball call,

Hurry Mummy, hurry Mummy,

I canít find the headphones.


My Mummy is here now, you know I can hear and my Mummyís here,

She holds my hand, I have the ice-cream,

I am in no worry if there is a ball call,

The children donít know,

They canít know. They canít know.

Dinesh R Makwana (August 2016)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

What Am I Part One?

  From Geneva to the wild frontiers of the Arctic,
  From the sunny shores of California and the uncertainty of the Climatic or even 
  This contemporary masterpiece is asking you to keep from the last line with fleeting,
  For even in the world of the weakest, and meek and useless and even thick....it is 
  The question is simple, what am I, what can I possibly be, what a challenge I have 
  set for thee.

   I'll start with clues that may puzzle many but give hope too,
   Primes are a start, seven, and five and thirteen and two and three or even
   the double numbered 23....
   Of those only two numbers play a role in my being from century or centuries ago,
   At the time I came into Earth being!

    Colours like green,red,brown,yellow are often talked in my presence,
    And often there is swearing and confusion and damn right intrusion,
    Inventors like Smith and Hubbell could be rightly in frowns,
    Hubbell as in the telescope is not the answer, it's way too big for my worldly 

    The "walls" as in the world of ice-cream could be too big a clue,
    So I'll avoid that clue, for something anew!,
    How about I am smaller than Empire State but bigger than a penny,
    I think you'll think I am being silly,
    At least it is respective and gives you some perspective!

    Pins is probably the best and easiest of all directions but then you may think of four 
    Your credit cards, your passwords and computers and everyday marches,
    Everyday is the only word from the sentence that has any connection,
    And connection from that sentence has great connection!

    So, as many paragraphs have now passed to reveal the answer,
    I'll give one more chance to show you can be a Master,
    Pockets and Lockets and Dockets and Rockets,
    All rhyme with the great invention of the Socket!

Dinesh R Makwana (December 2014)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

Hopscotch Shoes


Whether Monday or Sunday or hindrances of the Saturday,

The twists and turns of Saturn of the school of the devout Hindu,

Or the churns and merits and cries of the hopeful of Martian Tuesday,

I loved my Hopscotch, the streetwise game. My best mate,

Was my long haired fellow Hindu with no curls, no cute locks,

But the discipline of the knee length sacrifice, so enduring, so restless,

So meticulous but always protected by her vigour and her fearless endeavour,

What I liked the most that she was never careless.

We played the one two, one two diagram to ten.

In India they have the Stapu or the Kith-Kith,

In Russia, it's Knaccuku, in Serbian robes with its neighbours,

It takes the name Skolica and is adored by many as Perigrina,

In the lands we know as Cuba and Puerto Rico,

With Italy labelling it the Campana.

In the World,Hopscotch is as sober as the cleanest water.

It was an easy to draw game, most stones doubled as chalk,

As clones to crayon, as clones to pen as clones to the dart.

In minutes we'd have our snooker table or table tennis top,

Or our Monopoly board or our tennis court,

And if it rained, we made no losses as the stones gave us our choices!

Rarely could we finish our Hopscotch match in the rain,

Even when we were both so close to winning!

She would run inside and so would I,

We had so much to do, the homework, the chores,

And The painful truths of the fatty lady, one part of the ugly duo,

So evil, so crude that would insult my Hopscotch mate,

And her beautiful long hair at every tune.

They call her the life's incredible spear,

If you read down on the left side now,

Kind of cool happens with the word SWASATIKA!..nearly anyway!

I liked my Hopscotch mate whatever hatred the fatty woman showed,

I never got drawn into her disgraceful tones, however much pain,

However much personal acclaim she gained,

In furiously, separating innocent children.

Because,whenever and wherever, her garden or mine,

Our Hopscotch Shoes would  come to light,

Even barefoot I called them my Hopscotch Shoes.

Hopscotch never injured me or her or any challenging tree,

It performs for the Alps and its skiers twists and sometimes you fall,

It's a quick game, like the down-hiller and slalom thinker,

Yet it maintains its Libra hold, the balanced,

The scales stay the same, whatever number you hit.

Dinesh R Makwana (August 2014)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

The Staircase Man

I  push through the spinning door,

To a larger floor, a giant floor,

I've forgotten the number lights,

Or the number of floors plight,

I am automatic, Synchromatic,

I never think because I don't have to,

I do what I do because I do.

The violin case and the bona-fide tunes, 

Under my elbow, I don't see them in risk,

Why should I they've seen decades of this bliss,

I never thought I'd break my strings,

It's because it has seen those welcoming Springs,

Surviving the Autumn and Winter's sunburnt toe,

The miserable kind, full of dirt and that thing,

That rhymes with my bow.

I think sometimes, I wonder now and then, 

I sometimes stub the toe, make a bruise,

Thinking of booking my love's cruise,

I run,I sprint, I stretch,I grief,I worry,

I remember the number, the floor and then I don't care,

I'll somehow find my way there.

Clowns,Meisters and Lawyers and men with frowns,

Running and churning and thinking aloud,

Some have made noises, some have laughed,

Many have hurried and hurtled and cried,

Case histories of flyers and saints, CEOs that ruled,

Walking a case, not any case, the staircase, my staircase.

Dinesh R Makwana (August 2014)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

Departure Lounge

Ants with candles, when really cars lit in tandem,

My tied up state, as the plane is about to claim its glide to rest,

Suddenly there is a plethora of interest,

For the gate, no-one cares, even at their best!

Some will rush blazoned with free to across,

Others will pay fees, costs and the thunderous poundage,

For me no end, for it is the lounge,

No ordinary lounge,no royalty lounge, it's the departure lounge!

I am used to the routine of the paper, the confirm of smile,

The stamps,the picture,the glares, the eyes of the inspector!,

Lorgnette on the nose, I like the enquiring audit fellow,

I don't mind, I sleep well on my pillow,

Whether at pace or at the turtle's sorrow,

I am used to being destined for the lounge,

No ordinary lounge, no royalty lounge, the departure lounge!

Here we see the pretentious diet,

Careless to eat any cream,and the bite-size of fats,

And lards and sugar coated tarts!,

Where rowers could only diffuse on a wherry,

Not the word worry, really the word wherry!,

Here you see smells hidden in the flames of perfume,

Most need bathes, baths and showers and even heavens rains,

Believe me they are tired and in inconceivable pains.

And my journey is not an end,

I don't mind, it's my life, it's my journey to acclaim,

Sometimes I see and meet even fame,how I miss them.

I seek the solace of the caffeine,

Only after the splash and the mirror's confirm,

It's part of completing my term.

The numbers stream from highs to highs,

Seldom to near zero,

When that happened once, I fell asleep, 

With no work from my famous feather of my biro,

So I continue, life's rewarding minors,

I am no facetious fool, actually quite cool!,

As I watch and work and wonder in the lounge,

No ordinary lounge,no royalty lounge,the departure lounge.

Dinesh R Makwana (August 2014)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988