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Piles of Books

Kumar Chandra

Author & Poet
From Home To Home : Through The Eyes Of An Immigrant
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Or Scroll below to view a sample of  10 poems out of a total of 54 poems in the book.

Click the menu on the top right of this page to see the Table of Contents and Introduction 

Bio :

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From Home To Home represents my life's journey from having been raised in India as a child to then experiencing life in London.

It is a collection of poems which have taken me over 20 years to write.

I have always been interested in poetry from a young age and this book has given me the opportunity to express  my life experiences in the form of poetry. 

I have spent most of my working life as a Science and Maths teacher. During this time, I didn't write any poems. It was only after my retirement that I had time to practice poetry-writing once again.

I look back over the last twenty years of retirement, and I am so happy that I have had the opportunity to express my experiences. 

Poems :

My England, My Home 
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England is my heart’s garden,

Making happiness grow and widen;

Wherein the prettiest blooms grow

And a soothing wind does blow–

Which have the charm and sweetest scent

To cure the mind of any torment.

 

My Garden’s blooms are its people,

Working for a just principle:

Valuing fairness, and full justice

In every design and practice;

Such are the folks who make the story

Of my land of hope and glory.

 

My Garden has a charming clime,

Four clear seasons minding time:

Spring’s song-birds, and blossoms fair,

Summer’s warm, romantic air,

Autumn’s changing, leafy glow,

And winter’s white and flaky snow.

The land is always emerald green,

The seas around have sapphire sheen;

Its rolling plains are a poet’s gem,

And coastal sands are pearls in a hem;

Its rivers make the finest scenes:

The river Wye and its woodland greens.

 

And if I venture overseas,

My mind is never set at ease

To think I’m far, from my Garden,

Making my own resolve harden:

Never to leave my Garden and roam,

Never to journey away from home.

 

I couldn’t exchange my dear England

For any prize or any fund,

As this would take my only gem

And put my mind in full mayhem.

My England, I’m forever thine,

Be it rain, or be it shine.

My London
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My London shows its glory

From the monuments on the Thames,

Where the buildings tell the story

In a host of cultural gems:

 

The Parliament building in stone,

The Tower Bridge in iron cast,

And Saint Paul’s in no less tone

Remind us of the glorious past.

 

London has a temperate clime:

Neither hot, nor too cold;

Four clear seasons blend the time

Into a charming, soothing mould.

 

The city has a natural beauty,

For its paths were never planned;

They arose from need and duty,

Not designed by office hand.

 

London’s suburbs are efficient,

Self-contained in themselves,

Where things of need are sufficient,

And food enough for kitchen shelves.

The city excels in flowers,–

Regent’s Park with cosy bowers:

Roses casting magical powers

On the mind in blissful showers.

 

Its diners serve the best gravy,

Museums top the world of art;

Its Jewels are the world’s envy

And theatres are a class apart.

 

Being so diverse and mighty–

A whole world within a city–

London puts boredom to the knife:

Bored of London, is bored of life!

 

But my London’s greatest asset

Lies in sheltering every culture;

And in this way, it has met

All demands, of Scripture:

 

Treating all in equal light,

Regardless of their race or creed,

It ascends in moral height,

A beacon for the world to heed.

London By Night
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As I strolled from the Strand

On to Waterloo Bridge at night,

I saw a view most truly grand–

A city decked in colour and light.

 

Lights have always gripped my mind:

Fireworks, Christmas, floating lanterns;

But this show, was one of a kind,

Making up a million patterns.

 

To my left, the lights just rolled

From Saint Paul’s to the Wharf–

Buildings lit up, both new and old–

The Shard labelling them a dwarf.

 

To my right, was Festival Hall

Flashing lights and colours in bold,

The London Eye was pink and tall,

The Big Ben capped in green and gold.

And beneath me, I could see

Lights from boats, in a dancing drill,

The Thames reflecting this spree

Holding the mind, and vision still.

 

The moon above, was shining bright

And stars around, were joining in,

To outshine London by night

Despite the odds against their win.

 

So, from my left and from my right,

From below, and from the sky,

I was soaked in dazzling light.–

Whose spell, I couldn’t deny.

 

Surprise and joy at the sight

Made me think of all things nice:

Could this be an Arabian Night

Or Fairyland in Paradise?

A Visit to Windsor Castle
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London to Windsor Riverside:

A most delightful train ride,

With scenes across the window panes

Of country greens and leafy lanes.

 

At Windsor, the air is light,

Blooms abound, people polite:

Lively tourists fill the place,

Soaking history at their pace.

 

The first sight, that’s on display,

Is Windsor Bridge, of ancient day,

Across a shimmering, shining sheet,

Reflecting the sun’s dancing feet.

 

The famous swans are just below,

Snow-white, in a picture show,

Near to where the boats leave

For the scenic drive they weave:

 

The boats glide on through flowered reed,

Ducks of different colour and creed

And anglers flaunting fishing feat–

The view from Thames, a real treat!

A charming bus-ride shows landmarks,

The Long Mile and the famous parks–

Then across to Datchet village,

Eaton and its wide spillage.

 

And there is a bright funfair

Scattering mirth everywhere;

A giant wheel is also there,

Lending views across the air.

 

Then there are antiques to shop

And places where diners could drop,

With ancient houses all around

Giving Windsor’s royal background.

 

The Castle has imposing form,

An awesome build by any norm,

Looking down from higher ground,

Dwarfing houses all around.

 

The entrance hall has weapons of old,

Linking history, set in bold:

Swords in floral design,

Guns on walls, looking benign.

The interior is a piece of art–

Crafts surrounding every part:

Chandeliers, china, paintings of old,

Furniture, tapestry, mirrors in gold.

 

However, what stands out most

Is silence, which the walls do host:

How I wish the walls could speak

And fill the gap historians seek:

 

On royal romance, and heartbreak,

On the shape, envy could take,

On the plots, that kings do make,

And the fears, which make them shake.

 

On me, the trip has left a spell,

Calling the mind to turn and dwell

On the harmony of the place–

Nature and pomp in full embrace:

 

The natural beauty that surrounds,

Takes in the Castle and its bounds,

Making Windsor quite unique–

A perfect gem which poets seek!

A Woodland Sunrise in Spring in England
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The first colours of dawn are out,

A new day is about to sprout;

The stars decide it’s time to go,

Giving way to a changing glow;

A streak of pink sits high on cloud,

Nestlings become vocal and loud;

The night’s chorus hides in heathers,

The woodland sings of songs from feathers.

 

 

The sky then turns a golden mellow,

Painting the earth in lightest yellow;

The hiding sun struggles to tear

Through the mist of morning air;

Strings of ducks, fly past on high,

In a line, across the sky;

The woodland rings of flutter and hum,

Activity reigns, where things seemed numb.

 

 

The trees reveal a lightest green

With new-born leaves in brightest sheen;

And fragrant bluebells come to light

With tiny daisies dressed in white;

Dandelions raise their head

As yellow stars on a purple bed;

And tangled creepers make it clear:

Their creamy flowers are most dear.

The Sun breaks out behind the trees!

And rays fan out in scented breeze;

The beams of gold come through a mist

And give the place a sudden twist:

The dew on trees and leafy heaps

Become diamonds, as magic sweeps;

Sparkling gems light up the wood,

Defying belief as nothing could.

 

 

The woodland-freshness of Spring,

The song-birds in full swing,

New-born life in celebration,

The air of warmth and jubilation,

Coupled with the charm all around–

Leave the senses hushed and spellbound;

A poet placed in such a land

Is firmly cast in fairyland.

 

 

Nature is ever so proud to tell,

None can quell the woodland spell:

“My woodland-sunrise in Spring

Will put you on a mighty sling

And fling you into realms unseen

Where only poetry has been;

And then, it will steal your sleep,

Making you wait, for dawn to creep.”

 Spring in England
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Spring arrives to give out joy

To every creature bold or coy,

When Nature sings in open voice:

“Spring is here, and so rejoice.”

 

 

Winter’s mist is almost gone

And grass is greener in the lawn;

It is a cheering, warming sight,

And the cold– it does not bite!

 

 

Nature is princely reborn,

Lambs fun-play, and trees adorn

A gentle green of lightest hue,

Inspiring all, for journeys new.

 

 

Barest trees, blossom to colour,

Surprising all, in their valour–

Filling every part of tree

With countless flowers set in glee

The cherry and the magnolia,

Azaleas and the camellia–

Are among those, that re-light

To make Spring special and bright.

 

 

The young birds sing from morn to eve

And bees are not prepared to leave;

The cubs of fox just gaze at tree

In a daze what they could be!

 

 

Notes ring out from tuneful thrush,

Squirrels take on the tree-top rush–

And all these bounties leave imprint

Of great solace and joyful hint:

 

 

For when I am in a mood quite dark,

My mind recalls the singing lark

And all the song-birds of Spring,

Which take my heart upon their wing.

Summer in England
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Summer comes to give us cheer,

When days are long, no chill to fear;

Then it’s time for lakeside walks

And visiting woods, where Nature talks.

 

 

The fields adorn vibrant attire,

And buttercups are a golden fire;

Daisies brighten weedy herbs

And roses deck the garden kerbs.

 

 

Butterflies spread their wings,

Humming bees go round in rings;

Chirping crickets liven the night,

Croaking frogs add ballads bright.

 

 

On country lanes, the branches meet,

With birds on high in a dancing feat;

The thrush’s call, the blackbird’s cry

Spread romance across the sky:

In sheltered nooks, young lovers meet

And pairing doves each other greet

While Nature has its daintiest show

To fill the lovers’ heart with glow.

 

 

Anglers pass the day with hooks

Along the silvery bubbling brooks,

And dreaming cattle often miss

Returning home from Summer’s bliss!

 

 

To me all these and many more

Give the features I adore,

But my pen is lost for flair

In describing Summer’s air:

 

 

It sheds a charm to drift around

And fly and float above the ground–

To mount a cloud, up in the sky,

And watch at ease the world go by!

Paradise on Earth
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Within our grasp, there is a land

Where love and kindness are at hand–

Where everyone does understand

That separateness cannot stand:

A sense of unity ties the land,

Which runs across every strand.

 

The sunshine is of purest gold,

Embracing all, in a loving hold;

The sky is true to pledges old,

Sheltering all, without being told;

The air is gentle, never cold,

Blowing sweetness from its fold.

 

The moon gives out a song at night–

The song of love, beaming delight,

Covering all, in silvery light:

Cool, relaxing, dashing fright,

Proving to all, that love is right,

For it can bring joy in sight.

 

This is the land, waiting to be found

Where peace and happiness just abound,

Where humility holds the ground

And compassion tunes the sound:

The land is well within our bound

If we could simply turn around.

The Position of Women
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Women are the Soul of the Earth,

To whom humanity owes its birth;

They have the caring, motherly make–

To give up their needs, for others’ sake.

 

Yet, some communities value them less

And place them under a man’s prowess,

Assuming they can’t cope beyond home

Or beyond a simple shopping roam.

 

But any test could prove their excellence,

Creative powers and intelligence;

Numerous women have made their mark

With their natural, inner spark:

 

Versed in the language of the heart,

Women excel in music, poetry and art–

They have patience and resilience,

Attributes for innovative brilliance.

 

Women make up half the nation–

Ignoring them, removes a huge portion:

A loss of half the nation’s potential,

A heavy price for being partial.

 

Give the respect women deserve,

Treating them in equal nerve;

Then the world would happier be,

And each nation– a prosperous tree.

Poetry
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Poetry is neither taught nor learned,

It’s neither a habit nor addiction,

But just a heart outward turned,

Giving the poet’s inner conviction.

 

Poems can have lots of ceilings–

Rhymes, rhythm and such notions;

But the essence lies in feelings

From the poet’s own emotions:

 

Poems are a cry of passion–

Instinctive calls of grief and delight,

Reflecting the poet’s deep commotion,

Drawing attention to its plight.

 

A poem is wholly subjective–

An outburst from a heated vein;

Such outpourings can’t be objective,

Often painting the poet insane.

 

Poets are never in the present–

Seeing things in visionary light,

Often lifting the poem’s content

To an abstract figurative height:

 

They see sparks in mundane things,

Give its reader a pair of wings

To fly to worlds where arts unfold

And move the present to realms untold.

Testimonials

Testimonials

Very inspiring. I didn't know you were a poet!

Your poems are beautiful and easily understood. You've inspired the poet in me and also inspired me of your journey!

K Taylor

A lovely collection of heartfelt poems that seem to arise from a deep space within. Full of beautiful insights that reflect a deep appreciation for both the authors origins and “new” home that he was welcomed into and embraced. It blends Eastern and Western wisdom and philosophy so elegantly infusing it’s reader with a picture of what it feels like to seamlessly blend two very different worlds into one through deep appreciation and attention to all things good. Highly recommended

V Ravi

A heartfelt collection of some of life experiences and emotions around them. Heart touching and yet simple and easy enough to understand. Just simply beautiful!

A Smith

 

“The author’s gratitude and praise for England is underlined in his poems on England. Such remarks also stand as testimony for the integration and tolerance that exists between the communities in London, making the city so pleasant to live in.”

P Patel

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