Sondhi's writing journey

        I live in my home People say it is a house How do I know? What is a home what is house My teacher lives in a home It is her child and she its mom Morning comes with a smile Sun is just to rise and shine Mama is ready to beat the sun Always wakes before sun shine Who is shining mama or the sun? It is mama ever ready with a bun Feeding every one with lyric and fun My friends don't come to my home For it is old looks like a dome They live in a lavish house Whether for living or to douse Every one here is on a scale to gouge Mama is busy without any business Papa is busy fighting for his easiness Bun seems nowhere and no one to serve Mama thinks papa does not deserve Why it is always she is made to serve Papa must understand his duty Mama not a servant a queen of beauty While she is a cat and papa like mouse It is where that is called house No body to care but a play field for mouse. I do not like living in such a

Licking wounds and   waiting for luck to come my way   appears to be prediction of unsatisfied soul. Luck is what is   made by you you wish to get it no where to go find in yourself it is waiting for you You are licking your wounds luck is waiting to listen her sounds come out of engulfed   bounds The sun is shining and you will shine Luck is nothing but a   matter of fate May not be   found in the wind or spate you are the one to win over the luck Many paths are waiting   strong and sound just stop licking your own wounds.; old sad memories if remembered forever it may alive many a burn and smolder keeping these gathered in heart so deep whenever we thing we loose our sleep Get rid of past steer your life On a wheel that go fast making no sounds And just stop liking your wounds.

Death is eternity and is not certainty one should know what is life Death need no one to define It is life full of many   deaths every morning we live and die A life of a man is full of death whether he lives or takes breath what is death no body knows But if fact every body knows Death is forgotten when we live Living a life borrowed from death why we forget one is to die why do we play tricks to lie one can deceit a world It is sure not a death We deceit   even ourselves Conceal the facts from any body else Facts are known   to our inner self In fact we fear from ourselves Death is no fear for those Who are clear from worldly woes Death is like sleep indeed The only goal of death Should be to leave a path   of deed That   be followed by   everyone indeed