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Best Poems Written by Gisli Nair

Below are the all-time best Gisli Nair poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Life Acrostic

Lasting in summer's gleam, my childhood's delight.
In autumn's hug, I seek insight.
Fulfilling longing dreams, spring blooms lively.
Entering into winter, life bids me goodnight.

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Love Not Blood

The shadow cast by twilight's breath,
A tale transpire, of life and death.
A refuge boy, adrift and torn,
From distant lands, in agony borne.

To Italy's shores, he finds his way,
Where ancient mutters softly sway.
Betwixt the olive groves, he's found,
By the hearts that beat with love unbound.

A grandfather, with eyes so wise,
Where sorrow dwells, and joy defies.
His children gone, to foreign lands,
He takes the boy into his hands.

In alleyways where whispers sigh,
They walk, beneath the azure sky.
The old man's love, a beam bright,
Guiding through the darkest night.

In vinery green, they find their rest,
A refuge in a world oppressed.
For in the embrace of love's refrain,
The refuge boy is born again!

Through labyrinthine streets they roam,
In search of comfort, not of home.
For blood may bind, but love endures,
In hearts that kindle sacred fires.

In Italy's embrace, they find their place,
Where love not blood, embellish their grace.
The refuge boy, now grown and wise,
Beneath Italian skies, he thrives.

Details | Gisli Nair Poem

I Dreamed A Dream

I am on a train above the clouds, a wondrous scene,
No panic stirred, just enchantment filled the air serene.
Faces, familiar yet strange, in clownish attire,
A vintage dream train, stoked with childhood's desire.

A steward with rosy round cheeks, eyes like emerald gleam,
Offers a cotton candy, a sugary dream.
Bigger than Dad's hat, I devour without a delay,
Lost in this surreal, in this dreamy carnival play.

Complacent, I wander, to the train's very rear,
To the balcony's edge, without a hint of fear.
A misstep, a tumble, and I am cast adrift,
The "Choo-Choo" departs, leaving me to drift.

Abruptly, I wake up in a bouncy castle, vast and grand,
With friends from the clown shop, hand in hand.
Giggles and laughter, like music in the air,
Every step, a bounce of joy, beyond compare.

But then I stumble, a fall, and I am abruptly stirred,
In the quiet of dawn, my dream deferred.
Was it real? Was it true? In the pre-dawn's gleam,
I had dreamed a dream, more ludicrous than it seems.

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Boy With An Eye

Betwixt the vibrant threads of a busy bazaar,
A foreigner's gaze seize on a singular star,
A boy with one eye, an enigma raid,
Their dialogue begins, a journey to trade.

"Your salesmanship shines," the foreigner inquires,
"Does schooling attend you? Or familial fires?"
Orphaned and lone, no kin he admires,
The boy's tale unravel, as ambition inspires.

"English, how come its in your tongue?" the foreigner probes,
Through travelers' tales, the boy's knowledge thorough on globe.
In the loom of life, where destiny robes,
Their discourse unfurls, where curiosity lobs.

But the foreigner, intrigued by a deeper array,
Asks of the boy, his eye's fate's ray.
"Taken away," the boy voice like a squall,
No pity sought, nor tears to enthrall.

"Would you wish for new eye?" the foreigner's quest,
To gaze upon wonders, life's behest,
Boy apprise "I'd rather dwell in darkness, at rest,"
Than with one eye, bear life's test.

Silence ensues, the foreigner's heart sways,
By the boy's resolve, in life's maze,
A cashmere carpet purchased, in a daze,
Their encounter profound, in bazaar's craze.

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The Great Indian Kitchen

In my kitchen's grasp, where spices hop free,
Whispers of our memories, in each recipe.
Khichdi's humble grace, a bow to our roots,
In grains and lentils, tradition assent.

Herbal notes linger, a fragrant ballet, a scenic design. 
As generations gather, in love's display.
Grandma's hands, a harmony of care,
Amma's gentle touch, flavors rare.

Papadums bloat, tales of old flames,
In every fold, history takes flight.
Black tea's warmth, with Tulsi's caress,
A sip of time, warm embrace. 

Amma's pickle, a tangy delight,
Mingling with Khichdi, in consonance light. 
Handpicked mangoes, memories unfold,
A dab of pickle, a story retold.
The Great Indian Kitchen's embrace, ceaseless love

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Last Question

Time an elusive thread,  
Unraveling mysteries, yet time remains unread and unknown.  
From birth to death, its secrets keep winding,
Yet its origin, and ours, reprove our theories. 

A journey through aeon, our pale blue dot's misfortune,  vexed with time.
Lost in the vastness, like dust in the night.  
Time, a silent machine, devours without sound,
Leaving ashes for unborn life.

From young to old, a cycle we trace,  
Each slipt second a heartbeat, in time's endless loop. 
Father Time, steady and wise, holds the key,  
Co-existence of joy and sorrow, for you and me.
Time, an endless film.

Time a circle, loop of circles. 
Tracing new path every moment. 
In its loop, happiness and sadness unite. 
Time, our last question, remains unsettled,   
In its belly, our stories, yet to evolve.