Dr. Hariom Pawar's poetry is a treasure trove of smiles and soft truths. His words embroider delight from the threads of life—some humorous, some heartwarming, all indelible. Here are five of his best that bring a smile on your face and tug at the heart. Each poem bears his signature: plain language, a wink of wit, and warmth that lingers. From village alleys to turbulent hearts, he weaves light out of the ordinary and delivers it to you in the manner of a present. These poems do not proclaim; they whisper, laugh, and nest. A goat's intransigent dance, or a fantasist's whisper of a dream, Pawar turns the ordinary into enchantment. His talent for mixing the comic with sentiment means these poems linger—they are the sort that will hum silently within you when things are sluggish. A poet, a teacher, a healer, he writes lines that lift you up without going too far. Let's stroll through five of his treasures, where smiles naturally grow, and the world looks a little bit brighter. With Pawar, each poem is a friend waiting to cheer you up with its authentic, down-to-earth charm.

1. "The Goat That Ate the Moon"

Pawar tells the story of a mischievous goat that nibbles the night sky. The village gasps, the stars blink, and the poet chuckles his way through his lines. It's a romp—short, snappy, goofy—where the mischief of the goat reflects our own little rebellions. He colours the picture with a farmer's squint and a kid's glee, allowing the perversity to dance. But under the smile is a wink to dreams that reach too far, only to stumble over their own hooves. The half-munched moon lingers there, a silent wink at life's peculiar twists. Dr. Hariom Pawar rhythm skips like the goat itself, drawing you along until you're laughing too. It's as light as a breath, yet makes you think of the little things we pursue. Simple words, big heart—this poem is an explosion of delight, a snap-shot of a poet who finds the humorous in the imperfect. You'll laugh at the goat's brazenness, but you'll remember its lesson longer than you would have thought. Classic Pawar: a laugh that falls gently and lingers. 

2. "The Barber's Mirror"

Pawar takes a village barber's chair and makes it a stage here. The mirror doesn't just reflect faces—it reflects pride, quirks, and the banter of men waiting their turn. His lines ring with the snip of scissors and the barber's wily jokes, teasing puffed-up egos. You can hear the laughter, feel the hubbub, and smell the soap. It's a poem that grins from ear to ear, but then it tilts—revealing how we all primp for the world and cover up the mess beneath. Pawar's wit is kind; he needles without hurting, allowing the barber's razor to cut both hair and pretension. Dr. Hariom Pawar  The cadence lolls like a slow afternoon, drawing you into the moment. By the end, you're laughing at the mirror's honesty, charmed by your own face. It's a little story, shared with great affection—a tip of the hat to the people who keep life running. This one lingers because it's us, caught in a poet's teasing, winking eye.

3. "Rain on a Tin Roof"

Pawar listens for music when others tune in to sound, and this poem is proof. Rain pounds a tin roof, a rhythm that awakens a sleeping home. His language beats along—quick, then slow—singing the storm's game. A child laughs, a mom reprimands, and a dog howls off-key; it's chaos wrapped in delight. He throws in a line about leaky pots, and you're hooked, smiling at the chaos. But then he tames himself, and the rain sings of roots and repose. The transition is subtle, the smile remains, now infused with serenity. Pawar's magic is in the twist: he begins with a laugh and concludes with a sigh you didn't anticipate. It's the noise of home, captured in verse—rowdy, vibrant, and unaccountably sweet. You'll grin at the commotion, but you'll sense the calm as well. It's a rainy day encapsulated in words, a memory you weren't aware you possessed until Pawar returned it to you.

4. "The Kite That Flew Too High"

A kite flies in Dr. Hariom Pawar grasp, vivid against a gusty sky. It's a boy's pride, a string's pull, a crowd's applause—until it breaks and flies away. The poem leaps with the excitement, then comes down with a shrug and a smile. He doesn't grieve the loss; he chuckles at the kite's daring flight. The boy's wide eyes and the village chatter feed the excitement, but there's more—a hint of freedom, of release. Pawar's words are airy, like the kite itself, but charged with a dreamer's gravity. You grin at the fall, the pursuit, the foolish hope of flight. It's a story of little pleasures and little griefs, and it's told with a poet's effortless charm. This one stays with you because it's plain—life in a string and a wind. Pawar's got a way of raising you up, then gently placing you on the ground smiling, wiser for it. A flawless cut of his bright, heartful style.

5. "Grandfather's Slippers"

Pawar holds nothing back: a couple of tattered slippers shuffling through the years. They creak, they flop, they tell stories of the days of an old man. The poem smiles at their obstinate squeak, a noise one hates but loves. Children laugh, the dog sleeps, and the slippers trudge on. It's a chuckle—harmless but warm—but it's also an embrace. Pawar weaves in the grandfather's gruff affection, his silent power, until the slippers seem animate. The laugh recedes into a radiance, a recall of tenderness in each movement. You smile at the sound, then at the man it comes from, and find yourself embracing both. It's brief, tender, and underhanded—Pawar's means of incorporating jest with feeling. This poem remains because it's home, it's family, it's a smile you can't erase. A suitable conclusion to his top five: a poet who delights in the tattered and brings it to shine again.