मोर

मोर राष्ट्रीय पक्षी है हमारा ,

मोर ये पक्षी आता ,
अपना नाच सबको दिखाता,

नाच मोर का सबको भाता । 

अपने पंखों को फैलाता ,
इधर - उधर घूम आता। 
मोर करता नाच तमाशा ,

घूम - घूम कर नाच दिखाता ,

कुँह - कुँह का शोर मचाता । 

वह लोगों को आकर्षित करता।

-तूलिका तिवारी 

 ACHIEVEMENT AND APPRECIATION CERTIFICATE FOR MY POEM

Storymirror

 ODISHA - THE LAND OF CULTURE

 

Odisha also known as Orissa,
Has ample amount of temples🛕,
As its a home to various,
Temples and monasteries.

Every temple has a history,
Every temple has a mystery.
Its full of distinct culture,
That's why known as land of culture.

Bhubaneswar is Odisha's capital,

Also its the Indian city of temple.

Jagannath Puri, Konark art and sculpture,

Makes us all so memorable.

The Atharnala bridge in Puri,
Which consists of 18 arches,
dates back to the 13th century.

Lord Jagannath is related to Master of Universe,
Every year during Rath Yatra festival,
We pull the chariots, From Janakpur to one of the
four most sacred temples in four directions of India.

Sun Temple in Konark,
Is built in form of Surya, the Sun God's Chariot.
It comes complete with seven horses🐎,

Twelve pairs of wheels.

The architecture of the temple alone
is astounding giving us a glimpse,
into the 13th century when it was built.

 

The carvings on the walls only serve to enhance its wonder.
Rocks edicts of king Ashoka,
Can be found at Dhauli,
Caves of Rani Gumpha,

Khandagiri and Udaygiri.

Odisha has a continuous tradition,
Of Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism.

That's why Odisha is home to Hindu saints,
Buddhists and Jains.

Odisha is the Land of fertility,
With a significant part of its history,
Is reflected in forts such as,
Barabati fort in Cuttack,
Sisupalgarh fort in Bhubaneswar,
and Asurgarh fort in Kalahandi.

There are many more like Lingaraja Temple,

Shanti Stupa, Chausath Yogini Temple,

Brahmeshwar Temple, Ananta Vasudeva Temple, etc.

Each temple has a very famous name,

Future must earn fame.

Inspired us all in such way,

Each and every day.

What shall I write more about this place?

Full of wonderful places, each different,

But with style amaze.

Enjoyment with each flora and fauna,

This amazing lovely city is in India.

 

The written places are some of the noted,

But there are so many that they can’t be jotted.

 

"Jagannath ke bhaat jagat pasaare haath ke jaikaaro ke saath nikli rath yatra"

 

-TULIKA TIWARI

 RIVERS DO DRY BUT THEY NEVER DIE

 

In monsoon, the days of better rainfall,

It would flood through valleys,

Villages, small towns and cities.

It washed over the garden walls,

And nearby shops.

And when it was winter,

It froze, and you could skate for miles,

That’s how the river in my city lies.

When its the time to go,

Not here but there,

It was a beautiful disused route to the sea,

Before going there the river smiled at me.

It was a fish path with no fish in it.

A flowing river went to dry,

“Now what will happen next?”, said me

And did a cry.

It was like water forgot to flow.

It took my breath away,

The whole water went out,

And became empty.

The river dried up the same day,

And I couldn’t do anything to save it,

So, I still thought of poetry.

The flowing river has now become

Very small and damaged and quite dry,

Very eroded and faded, Exhausted,

Cracked and whimpering,

Very endangered now.

No voice but a clearing rustle

As of little distant sound of dry grass.

Little hobbling, tripping of a nearly dried-up river,

Little sucked thin low-burning glint of stones.

Rivers are also known as stream,

Flowing to the ocean deep.

Where the river was flowing,

Now lies every moment still,

In its dry up of nowhere going.

And the sky has become blue,

But still no more water coming through.

But a dried river looks old and dry,

Sky’s clouds are drifting by.

For every foliage to fulfill,

Dried up sprinkling life giver,

All you irrigate is now gone.

In these instant breeze shiver,

Carrying no water cycle on and on.

There is some point in our life,

When things get rough,

And also tough.

Like rivers, soon it will dry.

Neither it stays permanent,

Nor it stays forever.

Everything has an end,

Maybe today, or maybe not yet.

But as a river dries up,

There is something, a cause to it.

Something that is blocking it source,

Or something that has cut its connection.

But you can still find a way,

Like a river all dried up,

Water, it stills finds its way.

From here or there,

From the hot, dry and barren land,

It will struggle its way back,

Until it doesn’t reach.

The river did not give up,

Even after drying,

And it still didn’t die.

-TULIKA TIWARI