Welcome to Kirti’s Signature
A place that I call my own. A place that houses my thoughts and my words. You will feel at home here. So just enter and enjoy.
Kirti
Self proclaimed bibliophile, poet, coffee-lover and a lifelong learner. Books, coffee and music is my definition of a retreat.
About
STORIES
MINI BYTES
POETRY
BOOKS
poetry Styles
Accolades
REVIEWS
My Recent Book
Poetic Pearls – a collection of 75 poems will take you on a wondrous journey of words. The poems written in various poetic styles speak about inspiration, sorrow, love, grief and patriotism. The poet’s observation and inspiration from what she sees around her is reflected in the poems listed. The poems here are a testimony to Edgar Allan Poe ‘s quote – “Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.”
Recent Posts
Breathing Poetry
We inhale goodness, Positivity and reassurance, When we read a nice poem Which fills us with freshness and warmth. We exhale our feelings, troubles And our experiences, As a process of venting out, When we write a poem, Which calms our mind, As though a...
Jugaad Saves the Day
Just as I thought I was done for the day, My phone rang, scaring me away. Guests were on their way, Unannounced, but in gay. All I had were some chapatis and onions, And I got my companion. Sliced them up quickly into noodles, Tossed up with masalas and...
Guess!! Who Am I ????
Your slender and sleek body, Oh! My hands yearn to hold you. The black attire, sometimes green, With a golden crown, Makes you stand out in the crowd. You come fully fed at times, But I love when I feed you the magic potion myself. Your golden tooth, so sharp...
Beauty – An Acrostic
Black or white, elegant or rags, Eyes speak in volumes of the Ageless beauty, and confidence, Untold feelings that reflect Through them : the eyes, that Yearn for and give away affection. Photo by Drew Dizzy Graham on Unsplash
Me, the Pusthakapuzhu
I was called a pusthakapuzhu, As I slept and woke up with books. Books were my lifelines And my best friends too. As days passed, I joined the rat race And the pusthakapuzhu in me went into hibernation. The lockdown had to come, For me to wake...
The Bond
There she lay, all torn and battered, And lost in the woods Sweeping the floor in agony and anguish. The air carried the waft, That was known to her and That made her weary eyes open. She sensed the presence, Of her companion, As his smell piqued...