Woman’s Hands

.by Surjeet Kalsey


Name any work, chore, skill, art
where women’s hands are not seen.
Women’s hands work non-stop
round the clock everywhere.
Women’s hands are hermits
protectors and great healers.
                                                                                                                                                        From Foot Prints of Silence


During 2011 many visitors were searching poems on non-violence or violence against women. My book Aaurat Shabad & Shakti presents many poems about women their virtues and their uniqueness. Poems reflect woman as a symbol of capacity, capability and calm when respected and loved.

.Non-Violence is the way of life, says Buddha:










Beyond Masks

Year 2011 made me wiser!
I discovered real faces
hidden under masks
The masked faces were
showing wrinkle free smile
sugar-coated words
pretending humbleness.
True self of a person
is tested only in crisis
the way it is handled.
Some brood and wait
evaluate the situation
reflect on the words
some lash out their
inner hidden garbage
and spread out filth.
The moment it happens
their faces become naked
their masks crack down and
people see them who they really are!
This is how friendship cracks down
this is how intimate people become enemies
Watch  for a mask of kindness!
Nothing is free, look for its price tag.
Sometimes we have to pay too much price
for someone’s tiny kindness.
Meanings underneath humbleness
could be a fire-ball underneath snow.




by surjeet kalsey

In a reoccurring dream

my feet walk on the same road

which goes on and on winding

and rapping around the buff mountains

and sinks into that velvety valley.

My foot steps end right there.

My dream never ends keeps walking

on the unending realm of the hidden path.

Poetry walks towards my inner core

it listens to my heart beat

and my unspoken words.

When poetry opens its eyes

the sun shines everywhere

and dew-drops become pearls.

Poetry travels from the moonless night

to a spectrum of seven colours.

Words are sacred and tell me:

don’t lament on what is lost.

Crave for what you want and

live every moment in full

Breathe in the essence of

every moment and each moment

that embraces you would become poetry.

Poetry stands by me like my true self.

Look up in the mirror of the sky

it holds all the colours of the rainbow.

Therefore, nothing is lost.

Memories go long way that

make us to pick those pieces

left somewhere in the pages of history.

Memory knits words in my dreams.

Poetry walks with me on that

never ending path every night.



Surj nikalta rahega har rooz aur ishq ki dhoop bikharti rahegi
pighaltey rahenge ye jismo-jaan teri arzoo zindgi bhar rahegi