Rajendra Prasad Meena Jaipur India

A thought is born
quietly,
in the soft chamber of the mind
It does not stay there long.
...

Silence did not arrive gently—
it stayed,
when words refused to carry
the heaviness inside me.
...

O Winter, pale monarch of the silent night,
Thou com'st with frosty breath and iron air;
The moon stands trembling in thy silver light,
While shivering earth lies naked and bare.
...

Do not go where words are mean,
Where teasing hurts and jokes are rude;
Such places slowly teach the heart
To lose its warmth and forget what's good.
...

O Mother Saraswati, pure and bright,
Fill our minds with gentle light.
Teach us how to think and see,
What is false and what should be.
...

Every evening begins with the same soft plea,
'Papa, when will you come home to me? '
Small eyes fixed on the doorway,
hope and hunger waiting the same way.
...

Time flows on, both swift and deep,
It holds the dreams we wish to keep.
It never stops, it runs so wide,
Those who work, it lifts with pride.
...

O gentle Sleep, so calm, so deep,
You come when weary hearts must weep.
When books fall still from tired hands,
And drifting thoughts obey no commands
...

In silent rooms with tired eyes,
They work through dark and restless skies.
Pens move fast, hearts stay true,
Preparing lists for me and you.
...

God is a name that human tongues design,
By faith declared, by proof no clear sign.
No test confirms Him, no strict law defines,
No scale can weigh the hope that thought confines.
...

Love is not the hunger of the skin,
Nor the fever that asks to be owned.
Love is a quiet light within,
A flame that learns to stand alone.
...

Hurry up now, hands keep moving, thresher running loud and empty,
Rest can wait and shade comes later, water follows work completed.
Grain lies hidden in the harvest, separate the seed from chaff now,
Feed the machine fast and steady, keep the turning cycle flowing.
...

We taught machines to count and learn,
To help us think and help us earn.
They read our words, they hear our voice,
They help us make a better choice.
...

The weary sun sinks low in evening's fire,
And paints the sky with thoughts of fading gold;
He walks his path, obedient to time's desire,
And leaves the day to darkness calm and cold.
...

INTRODUCTION
This is not a poem for beauty.
This is a poem for truth.
Not written to decorate pages,
...

This is not made to sound sweet or fine,
This poem speaks when silence hurts the most;
When money makes our own blood cross the line,
And turns a home into a broken post.
...

He entered war too young to know its fear,
Yet bore a flame that age could not come near.
The circling trap that Drona's wisdom made,
He broke alone, while greater warriors stayed.
...

Across the sands of silent land,
Where faith and duty meet,
There walked a man of spoken truth
With vow beneath his feet.
...

Long ago, beside a river wide and bright,
There lived a king who loved what was right.
The land was green, the people were free,
And dreams were calm like the open sea.
...

Indian children strong and bright,
Known for courage, truth, and light.
But strength is not from words we say,
It comes from food we eat each day.
...