Monday, October 10, 2016

Here in the womb!

Somewhat dark, here it is!
But there’s some glow,
More than the sacrificing sun,
That dies day by day by pouring light,
There’s a glow of our mother,
Here in the womb.
Like freshly baked cakes,
Were we, without lives,
Until, the God blessed,
And our heart beat,
Here in the womb.
What were we,
And what we are,
We owe to you,
Oh! Mother,
A cozy place you gave us,
Here in the womb.

Who Else Loves Me?

One night,
Lying on the bed,
I questioned,
Who else loves me?
Else than my family & friends.
I thought,
I blinked,
Just I felt a prick,
On my skin near the heart.
An ant kissed me,
In passion.
And many were in queue,
Not to kiss me,
But to spurt in the sweet box.
Then I realized,
They loved not me,
But the sweets.
Removing the sweet box,
I tried to trace their origin.
They emerged from,
An invisible hole in the roof,
Followed one path,
Came to ate sweets,
And returned back to the hole,
Through a different path.
I concentrated on the roof,
I found a heart on the roof,
Traced by series of ants,
And it beat too.
And then I came to know,
Who else loves me?

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Fruity Memories

Those Scattered Memories,
Down the strawberry Lane,
Marinated in Ripe Guavas,
Unwrapped like banana peels,
And I walked on them,
And fell in the mango juice.
I whirled with those memories,
I drank those memories,
And now again they mesmerize me,
Flowing in my veins,
Those fruity memories,
Those flowing memories.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

The shore of my life

Alone! Alas! Aloof!
I stay forlorn,
From Shore away,
Waiting, Thinking and Waiting,
For the moment,
Once in a while,
She gives a smile,
On her red lips of rosy style,
The blue eyed girl of Nile.
The rhythm of my heart,
Gets balanced,
And so,
The waves of the sea,
And I find,
The shore of my life.

Thursday, March 24, 2011


Kajal is a hindi word which means Kohl (-an eye cosmetic) in English

In her love,
Burnt he,
Years to years,
Into ashes,
Again & again,
Ashes to ashes.
And then,
He resurrected,
Taking the form,
Of burnt ashes,
To the black kajal,
Of her eyes.
Hearing his story,
She wept,
Cried & cried,
Tears washed him,
The Kajal swept away,
With tears,
On her face,
Marking streamlines,
Of love,
Of desire,
Of waiting,
Of Burning,
And converting,
Into Kajal,
Of her Eyes

Friday, February 11, 2011

The Red Balloon

When my heart,
Completed beating,
Three Years,
Two Months,
One day;
An evening,
A red balloon landed,
On a red rose near me;
And before I could,
Catch it,
The rose thorns,
Kissed it;
And exploded,
A girl’s heart,
Which had taken,
The balloons form;
And had exactly beat,
Flying towards me,
Three Years,
Two Months,
One day.

Am I Dumb?

In front of mirror I stood,
And asked my image,
Can you speak?
He moved,
His lips & tongue,
And asked me the same question.
Either he was dumb or I was.

Sweetness of Adulthood

We adore,
We miss,
That sweetness,
Of the childhood days.
But when?
When we are adults,
Not when we were child.
This is the sweetness of adulthood,
That makes us realize,
The sweetness of childhood.

Friday, February 4, 2011


He peeps from his eyes,
Silently smiles,
Touches my feet,
With his feet,
Watches me,
Follows me,
With his legs,
Sometimes long,
Sometimes short,
He is dark in moon light,
And black in darkness,
His body has a uniform color,
Sometimes he scares me,
Like grumbling ghosts,
He cries,
But silently,
With tears of dry vapor,
I never understand,
Why he is with me?
But I know,
I can’t get rid of him,
He is my shadow,
And I am his wodahs.

Friday, January 28, 2011

I am with You

In the ocean of my mind,

With some sadness sailing,

Igniting my emotions,

Melted my frozen eyes.

I felt a warm kiss,

Of a cold tear,

On my palms.

The fallen tear smiled,

And with love,

Said, dear don’t cry,

I am with you.

Morning Moon

The morning moon,
White washed,
By the blackness of night.
Its yellowness,
Scratched by stars,
Whole night.
Whole day,
It faces the sun,
And turns yellow again,
On the arrival of night.

Love with Rain

In heated moods,
Behind the woods;
Stream of relieve flows,
An air, somewhat wet blows;

My sweat leaves me,
Says bye bye, just feel me;
Air takes it away,
Relieving me a bit, somewhat cooler to say;

I come out from the room,
Down the dark sky with cloudy noon;
Water dropping in series,
Loving me from head to knees;

Water & soil’s combination,
Gives fragrance to my nose’s hibernation;
Leaves turning immodest green,
Woods turning fat from lean;

Flickering tube lights in the sky,
Naughty clouds roaring & asking why;
Why not should we hug & collide,
Giving you tears of happiness in rainy ride;

A drop of rain touches my lips,
Kisses me with cool sips;
I widen my arms & hug the rain,
Closing my eyes I love the rain.

Monday, January 17, 2011

She Left Me....

She left me, without a prior notice that night,

She flee, without writing on paper that night,

I looked for her everywhere in house,

I called her, I screamed here n there that night,

She did not come in front of my eyes,

I lay blind on the bed that night,

My heart beat in her memories with droplets of blood,

My heart felt her in its heart that night,

I can still see her beauty,

I can feel her tenderness tonight,

I can still smell her fragrance,

I can hear her delicate sweet voice tonight,

I still remember her sleekness,

My body is locked with curves of her body tonight,

Her lips, her eyes, I miss,

I miss her long black hairs tonight,

I still remember her words,

“You never remember anything”, she said that night,

Yes, it was my fault,

I could have noted everything on paper, that night,

Thus, from that instant,

I started noting my *Ghazals that night,

I stared decorating blank papers,

With those beautiful Ghazals, that night.

(*Ghazal is a poetry that deals with subject of love,

specifically an unattainable love)

I don’t know,

If that Ghazal will return or not tonight,

But with my pen, I will wait for her,

In my diary of dreams, tonight.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

The Turn

Whenever you take a turn,

Think about me,

That how you met me,

On a turn similar.

With hands in hands,

With the same familiarity,

I chanted your name,

With a silent voice.

Sometimes with rage,

And sometimes with a smile,

Sometimes with sadness,

And sometimes with happiness,

We walked together.

But then two turns on the road came,

One left and one right,

But both met at the same road after some distance.

On left one there were mango trees,

And on the right one, the tamarind trees,

We parted to different turns,

Thinking to meet on the common road ahead,

Me with mangoes and you with tamarinds.

Seasons changed and so the nights and days,

Mangoes and Tamarind went away from trees,

But I still stand on the common road,

With some ripe mangoes and some unripe ones,

I search you with some anger

And with some eagerness.

It fades away and then clears,

The turn never turns,

It remains there.

Whenever you take a turn,

Think about me,

That how you met me,

On a turn similar.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Bowl of Happiness

One night I had a dream,
I saw a beggar child,
He walked & collected tears,
Of other persons in his bowl.
He came to me
“Please cry”, he said,
With his bowl near my eyes.
“Why do you collect tears”, I asked,
“Actually I collect happiness”, he said.
“How”, I asked,
He replied, “People cry & their sadness lessens down”,
“I want to make this whole world happy”, he continued.
“And how do you get happiness out of this”, I asked.
“If the whole world is happy, why I will be sad”, he said.
His bowl was full,
And my dream was complete.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

25 Kisses

This season,

I have something for someone;

It’s sweet, pretty and simple,

For someone lovely, cute and nimble;

When the flowers will blossom,

And the air will be awesome;

It will evolve from my lips,

And will land on someone cheeks;

I know someone’s waiting,

Day and night someone’s longing;

Watching the sunrise and the sunset,

Asking the bird’s about the fate;

Twenty five seasons have passed,

And l have twenty five kisses crisscrossed;

Sweet, pretty and simple kisses with reason,

Twenty five kisses-A kiss for every season

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Units of Love

If love would have been measured in ton,
How others would have expressed it to their loved one;
People would have said-“although love has no limits,
But definitely it has some units”;

“I know you love me, but how many ton”,
The girl would ask, making the boy stun;
The boy would answer, “I love you thousand ton”,
And the girl would say, “I love you one more ton”;

The girl would ask “Priya’s boy friend loves her 1 lakh ton,
And you love me only thousand ton”;
The boy would have replied, “They don’t know love’s value,
They weigh love as if it was a golden statue”;

The boy would propose that he loves the girl,
“How many ton”, she would ask with a swirl;
The boy would answer, “One thousand ton”,
And the girl would decline, “Oh! I don’t agree below one lakh ton”;

“Day by day you have to love me one more ton”,
The girl would demand her boyfriend, making its fun;
The boy would say, “Only this, why not”,
Next day, “Show me how love has increased” the girl fought;

So, I think and you must be thinking,
There should be no unit of love and its linking;
So, people should say-“Neither love has limits,
Nor it has any units”

Monday, May 24, 2010

Why I Have Grown?

Oh! Father,

Oh! Mother,

Why I have grown,

From small to big,

It’s so fast,

These thirty years,

Still in my eyes,

I see you,

I feel you,

Like the past days,

I want to sleep beside you,

With my small legs on your stomach,

With my small hands across your neck,

I want to laugh,

I want to giggle,

With my eyes closed,

And rolling between you both,

I was so secure,

On one side were you, Oh! Father,

And on the other side were you, Oh! Mother,

And in between was I,

Holding your fingers,

Safely walking,

Something talking and laughing,

In my own ways,

You were shade in the sun rays,

I can still bear your slaps,

Although I have become so weak,

Without them and the love after that,

Once again,

I want to be small,

Stupid and tiny,

Living with you,

And only you,

Please, Oh! Father,

Please, Oh! Mother.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Love Notes

Lure me & love me,
Oh my dear, oh my honey;
Catch me & kiss me,
Bending on the Knee;

The time is passing,
The mangoes are ripening;
Don’t let the time go,
Eat the fruits in a single go;

So many rains have passed,
I am a still dry surpassed;
Let me or wet me,
Quench my thirst, from your sea;

Day ahead, you will not regret,
I promise, without any bet;
When there will be rains, you will think,
How we loved, you will smile & wink;

Lure me & love me,
Oh my dear, oh my honey;
Catch me & kiss me,
Bending on the Knee.

Don't Leave

For you, I will sing a song,
Full of melodious filaments;
With you, I will live long,
Full of happiest moments;

But please, don’t leave me,
As I will be alone;
For you, I can stand entire life on my knee,
From you, But can’t stay forlorn;

The season changed,
So the day and night;
But I will remain unchanged,
For you, always like glorious light;

So, let’s live this life together as one,
And the life after death too;
For there too, I will sing for you and none,
Please promise, you will not leave me there too

Monday, April 5, 2010

Moon & Dove

The first night the married moon,
Had the desires to fulfil soon;
To hug, to love,
To hold her wife dove;

In the light of melodious moon,
Floating in air, dove arose above lagoon;
With a lightning smile,
As if showering in the bluish Nile;

Moon said-Oh!dovy,
Dove said-Oh!lovy;
The moon was at its full brightness,
And dove with little smiling shyness;

The air, the breath,
The fragrance, the faith;
With closed eyes-moon tried,
With closed lips-dove smiled;

Kissing, hissing,
and subtly missing;
Each other,
Lost in one another;

The night darkened,
The moon shortened;
From full to half and quarter,
The dove losing her laughter;

They departed with a promise,
When moon is full, dove would rise;
They will spend the 2nd,3rd and forthcoming nights,
Loving, Rising and smiling at heights

Saturday, March 13, 2010


Undulating they roll,
Down to stroll;
Kissing the cheeks,
Marking some streaks;

Like tiny pearls,
Emerging with swirls;
Like glittering diamonds,
Refracting color with reasons;

The reason of joyful happiness,
The reason of sorrowful sadness;
From lacrimating eye,
They just don't lie.

The smiling/crying tears,
Crossing the lips without fears;
Giving their taste-sweet/sour,
Taking your burden on a tour

Friday, February 12, 2010

Thank You

It’s not a “thank you”,
But a “thank you”;
It’s not a word,
But a harmless sword;
It’s not a voice,
But a feeling nice;
For understanding me,
An act of holding me;
For drinking my tears,
Saying it sweet without fears;
Although sour,
Slippery and added more n more;
It’s a slow moving arrow,
Neither fast nor furious fellow;
It’s an organ-ic fluid,
Flowing through the lip-py lucid;
The way,
I say;
Slips through the ears,
Caresses your heart’s and near;
Increasing your lub dubs,
Decreasing your dub lubs;
Once again,
With no loss and full gain;
I say,
In my way;
A thank you,
Oh! I love you;
But remember,
Oh! Dear;
It’s not a “thank you”,
But a “thank you”.

Friday, February 5, 2010

The Night's Charm

One moon one star,
Sometime close sometime far;
Moon- full half quarter,
Star- twinkling sparking laughter;

Moonless night,
Still some light;
Blinking plane crosses the orion,
Like on a black paper a marking crayon;

The milky way,
The galactic lay;
The hemispherical tent,
Above the earth's vent;

Some pulsars,
Some quasars;
A red giant-one star,
And white dwarf another star;

Burning meteorites,
Flashing asteroids;
Making wishes,
Converting into ashes;

Hope on,
So on,
The night's charm,
Enjoying it is no harm.

Friday, January 1, 2010

The Last Second

I saw the last second pausing,
In the blinking of her eyes,
I saw the last second stopping,
In falling of tears of small size,

It was the last second,
Time stopped due to that,
It was the end,
Tears dried, her eyes closed and mine opened after that,

Minute was incomplete without the last second,
The clock remained dull,
Hour was incomplete without the last second,
Both the clock hands remained lull,

I saw 59 seconds passing,
Trying to convert into minute,
She embraced me in those second’s crossings,
But left me in the last second’s cut;

It was sleep not death,
But so similar as 1 minute to 60 second,
It was laughter not wrath,
But the brain dies in both for the last second,

I asked the last second,
Why do you make minute and hour?
She answered in a second,
It’s you, not me, who make life happy or sour.

Monday, December 21, 2009


Soon the winters will be over,
When the snow will disappear;
Soon the spring will come,
With new leaves flowers plum;

The colored rose,
Sometimes red, pink and so’s;
Little anger, little baby blues,
In her green stem of bodily views;

Soon the springs will be over,
And the summers will appear;
The sun and the tilt of the earth,
Will lead into a heating effect worth;

The petals of the rose,
Will glow more in rows;
The sepals of the rose,
Will entangle with those;

Soon the summers will be over,
And the breezy rain will rover;
Drop by drop,
One on a lop;

The fragrance of the rose,
Mixed with wet earths, everyone knows;
Flowing delicately in nostrils,
The eye color changes to rosy thrills;

Soon the summers will be over,
And the winter will cover;
Cool to cold,
Soon too bold;

The calmness of the rose,
Whitish with snow covered she arose;
Rose- a flower for every season,
Rose- a fairy in every reason.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

The Rhyme

Last night,
In less light;
I was composing a rhyme,
In an erratic and sleepy hymn;

In heads I thought,
In dreams just bought,
A trance of silver cascade,
With a golden fa├žade;

A baby boy smiling,
And a mother clasping;
A baby doll crying,
And a father tears eyeing;

The whole earth,
Shrunk in a globe still worth;
The dome of priceless diamonds,
Surrounded by trees of almonds;

A brother and sister,
Holding hands together,
Playing, fighting, plucking hairs,
Love, Anger, sorry hearing ears;

A tree of gold,
A plant too old;
The poor, the rich,
The saint, the witch;

The death cry and the birth laughter,
Something before, many things after;
The trees, the fruits,
The stem, the roots;

A home of hundred rooms,
Doors, windows and forlorn roofs;
One person per one room,
Hundred bodies in a gloom;

Rejected, dejected, sarcastic souls,
Lurking, murky, mournful fools;
A sparrow in nest,
A humming bird flying from east to west;

Such things,
Much things,
Made a rhyme,
In an erratic and sleepy hymn.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Village December

In the blanket of black n long nights,
Far away in the lands away from sights;
The morning opens his eyes,
In foggy December days of shorter size;

The smoke from morning foods,
With the smell of burning woods;
The fog sneaking from the pond,
With altered shapes they abscond;

School kids with navy blue sweater,
Rubbing their hands with each other;
Waiting for the winter vacation,
To migrate to a warmer location;

The street children smoke smoky cigars,
With imaginary nicotine standing on altars;
They have shrunk due to cold,
The cruel winds which strike them bold;

The hiding Sun makes everything helly,
The dogs hid their head in their belly;
The cats mew as if famished of heat,
Blinking their eyes for summers retreat;

The small streams diverting into a bigger one,
The ugly cry of the railway engine;
The boats are empty and the tracks bear fewer loads,
The migrated birds still thinking to leave the boards;

The cuckoo bird has sore throat,
Her voice has fallen in crow’s moat;
She waits for a gurgle of warmness,
To sing in the original song of oneness;

In this whole, something is opposite,
To the cold’s bank balance deposit;
The hand pump making murky noises,
But pumping warm water of best choices;

The village road ends up after some meters,
You will find a way if you cross the fog in sweaters;
The washed clothes hang in wetness,
They fall asleep in the wait of dryness;

The sheep have their wools shaved,
Their wools converted to sweater paved;
They can’t pay price for their own sweater,
Hiding in a corner of farm in cold winter;

In this whole stopped system,
The Sun appears at random;
With his gleaming warming thin rays,
He smiles as a small boy in his own ways;

The system starts n starts working,
The wet n cold now lurking;
Waiting for the Sun to hide n night to come,
In the blanket of black and cold n numb.

Friday, October 23, 2009

My Beloved

One day on blue morning,
With an examiner mischief she asked-
“Admire your beloved”
With more mischief,
I started,
Oh! What to say about her,
She is like a winter’s fur,
And hotter than May’s stir,
She receded,
I proceeded,
God! She has more beauty,
Just like Januarys tweedy,
She started showing her ego’s size,
Unable to hide her foiling eyes,
I continued,
And her interest discontinued;
Oh! She is a blooming flower,
Of spring seasoning shower,
She is a cloud over the sun,
Shady, wady in the rainy season,

With more admiration,
I walked ahead with more assumption,
Oh! She is the lilies delicate scent,
An incarnation of virgin fairy, I meant,
Now it was the limit,
I being a bit timid,
I ended up the game,
When she asked her name,
I answered,
Dear, it’s your soul,
It’s humble, pure with no foul,
And that is my beloved,
My answer was a boffo with lift,
She gave me a clinching gift,
Oh! My beloved, I love you, she said,
And the examinee passed with 1st div, honors added.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Why Seed is Born?

I have seen a seed,
Lying on the road with no cast n creed;
I remember once I threw it-tiny, dry and alone,
From its fruit-its father, mother lost n gone;

The air flows over it,
But it faces the air with a wit;
At last the air throws it on the soil,
I thought the seed will now spoil;

The dust accumulated,
The seed lost its lusture and looks humiliated;
I feel sorry for the seed,
Its prettiness lost with a speed;

I have seen raining like cats and dogs,
The seed is lost with the jumping frogs;
I think the life of seed is over,
It has now become a sea rover;

Thinking I walk and my shoes are worn,
I think about why seed is born;
One week passes by-then two then three,
I think, think and search my questions key;

I have seen a small plant there,
To my surprise where the seed was lost, I swear;
I look at its tiny structure,
It is beautiful, pretty with lots of lusture;

It grows day by day to year by year,
It gains height layer by layer;
It bears hundred fruits and thousand seeds,
I unplug daily one fruit for my needs;

But now I never throw the seed anywhere,
I preserve it for future endeavor;
I can see its father- the gymnosperm,
And its mother- the angiosperm;

I thank to God-Oh! God you are great,
You can make possible everything and create;
You can keep food stored in a seed for years n millions,
A food for the entire humanity so huge in trillions.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Goddess of Gold

One day, while traveling,
Something thinking and unraveling;
I came across a goddess statue,
Embossed in gold with a virtue;

The goddess was surrounded by a crowd,
Piercing with prices of bidding loud;
From thousands, lacs and millions,
The bids went high to alarming billions;

The goddess stood still,
Holding her unimaginative will;
Hundred of fingers pointed her,
Her sanity, vanity churned with stir;

Finally the highest fingers win,
Throwing others in a shameless bin;
With a silent voice she was sold,
The person left with goddess of gold;

Later one day in the news,
I read an article with a muse;
The golden goddess has changed its place,
A theft occurred and it was lost in space;

I thought and wondered,
A lot and pondered;
Who with the goddess was?
Was he a thief or a priest of flaws?

A goddess worth billion of dollars,
Unable to save her from the eventual robbers;
Robbers of identity and robbers of belief;
Robbers of reality and robbers of relief.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

She Misses....

Standing often, beautifully she sings,
Sonic, rhythmic like flapping wings;
Sitting lonely, sometimes she sobs,
Painful, pitiful, unseen from mobs;

Zigzag lights hitting her eyes and fly,
Looting, plundering her visionary sigh;
Still she sings among the harsh noise,
Hiding, sliding her melancholy voice;

Green bangles and some are red,
Trodden, stolen from her hands of wed;
She watches them rolling her hands,
With lub-dub heart on shaking lands;

Bounded in an area-she swirls around,
Making, waking her childhood sound;
The toys are lost and the dolls are killed,
With darkness, farness the future filled;

The song itself tells her story,
Suppressed, depressed without any glory;
Telling about her that she misses her eyes,
Her mission, vision-one could see with sighs;

In the song, one could see her fate lines,
The sound, wound of the falling coins;
In the rounded and filled bowl,
Girl like pearl, in sea, without soul.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Your Eyes

Off course……Your eyes,
Really...really big in size;
Like one of a baby dear,
Running far- n- then coming near;

Sometimes hazel,
So cool- n- well;
Many times blue,
My sight sticks like glue;

The flowing air,
Vibrating your eyelids,
Up-n- down jumping like kids;

The moon-n-star,
In your eyes deep-n-far;
The planets-n-sun,
And the universal stun;

In the darkness of night,
Your eyes filling mine with light;
In my moment less sadness,
Your eyes making it moment of happiness;

Mine and…..Your eyes off course,
Will meet at a desired source;
The magical effect of your blinking eyes,
And its radiant light would have darkness sufficed.


A shattered flower,
Down the tower;
With sad petals on the road,
Criss- crossing vehicles with heavy load;

Reflecting sadness of the boy,
Considering his heart like a toy;
By a girl of short anger,
Hung her calmness on the hanger;

The flower cried,
Why it was crushed and fried;
Between the girl and the boy,
In their own battle of troy;

A small girl on the way,
Picked the flower in one say;
Brought it to her nose,
And smelled the flower with little doze;

“Aaa-choo”-she sneezed,
The good mood of the girl ceased;
“My dear you are an allergen”-she said
And at the same place the flower was laid

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Green Carpet

The green carpet,
of greenish grasses,
Due to sun’s sweat,
or cloud masses.

The greenish form of color green,
Grasses like fine velvet! Oh dear,
Holding the nature’s queen,
Fine dew crystal clear,

Small goats run,
With long ears,
Jumping randomly with fun,
Without any fears,

Wish I could be them,
Rolling with a roll,
Enjoying the color green’s gem,
With the kindred soul.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

The Love Cage

“Oh! Mother I love you”,
“Oh! Father I love you”;
The first love of early stage,
The innocent love of bird in a cage;

Hour by hour, the love ripen,
From sweet to sweetest, in a hyphen;
Still the first love of medium stage,
The maturing love of bird in open cage;

“Oh! Darling I love you”,
“Oh! Sweetheart I love you”;
The first love of grown stage,
The matured love of no cage;

Day by day, the love gets old,
Sweetly sourly that is gold;
The last love of grown stage,
The matured love of birdless open cage;

“Oh! Son I love you”,
“Oh! Daughter I love you”;
The last love of the last stage,
The oldest love of birdless cage.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Walking With Closed Eyes

One day I walked,
On a straight n long lonely road;
To myself I just talked,
With closed eyes I just rode;

A bright darkness I was engulfed in,
But not that bright to support the vision;
A short term blindness due sin,
A fear of diverting without precision;

The coolest air of that time,
Unfolded on my face;
The lavish banyan tree to climb,
On its own branches like lace;

The half moon lit mid night,
Not that half but somewhat three fourth;
The sound of surroundings in the yellow light,
The stars some far and some closer in north;

On my left there were silver birches,
And on the right the eucalyptus touching the sky;
Further I found a divine lady in my searches,
Lost in the white marble and somewhat shy;

I opened my closed eyes,
To see the extent of imaginative reality;
And existence of those truthful sighs,
Through the mind’s vitality;

I found everything same,
Except that white marbled lady;
She was no where with her flame,
I searched the whole place under shady;

Today also, when I close my eyes,
And walk on a road-straight and lonely;
I can feel, I can see that white sculptor-my prize,
And I continue to walk with closed eyes-only.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

We Are Friends

I saw him,
Running on the road;
Bare Footed,
Unbounded hairs,
Rolling a cycle’s rim,
With a wooden stick.
The rim rolled faster,
He was left behind,
On the road-lonely, distressed, waiting,
For someone to hold the moving rim,
Just like his life-rolling, moving, and roving.
I looked,
With my hidden efforts,
With a love in my eyes,
For that boy, watching,
Looking at me with hopeful eyes,
Asking to hold him, in the times,
Times of happiness and sadness,
Times of pain and relief,
I ran and stopped the rim,
With a scratch in my palms,
Quite red, but not that red,
Quite harsh, but not that harsh,
I saw a beautiful smile on his face,
Not quite beautiful, but very beautiful,
Not for some time, but for a longer one,
He came near me,
With thanks in his eyes and so on his lips,
And in the voice, he said-Thanks friend,
He saw my palms, still some red,
He felt the scratches, still some harsh,
And regretted with a white scintillating,
Flowing with reasons,
A drop of tear, just for me,
Just so fresh, like the morning dew,
He rubbed on the scratches,
And tried to remove them,
From my palms, But,
I held his hands with mine,
And shaking them,
I said, Don’t Worry dear,
We are Friends.

Friday, May 22, 2009


Oh! Baby,
I see a dream in your sleepy eyes,
Your little lips opening and closing,
The cute hands rubbing the eyes,

Oh! Sleep please come,
For my small one,
She waits, she longs,
For you, for your depth,
For the sweet little dream.

A sweet dream for my sweetie,
More sweeter than honey,
Away from sours, away from dark,
But also not bright,
Or she could open the eyes,
And lose the dream, away from sleep.

Oh! Daddy,
My eyes are closed,
But I still see you,
In my sleeps, in my dreams,
Playing with you, giggling,
Running at the butterflies,
On my small legs, still on the bed,
How, I don’t know.

Oh! Daddy,
Do you see the same dream?
Hugging, loving and smiling,
Making me jump from your arms,
In the soft bed of air,
The air in dreams,
Free from reality,
Still so fresh, still so calm.

Oh! Baby,
It’s a lovely dream,
It’s free from human actions,
On the earth, on the environment,
On the animals and on the humans,
Just see, don’t tell,
The only thing remaining,
This is pure, which is true,
Although an illusion.

Oh! Sleep,
Please don’t go,
From my baby’s eyes,
Let her sleep, let her dream,
Let her play, let her desire,
Let her wish, let it come true,
Happy in sleeps, happy in her dreams.

Oh! Baby,
You continue,
I will join you soon,
And play with you, run with you,
Sleeping on beds,
Sharing the same dream,

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Just See! Just Say! Don’t Do

Just see! Those faint eyes,
And in them the hidden sighs;
Not straight but a curved bend,
Her body-black and dark without mend;

Just ready to fall,
One more step and stall;
She tries to head,
Towards unknown destiny ahead;

Hands hanging with no motion,
Hairs with white and black notion;
Her sari unready to cover,
The broken body like tree without flower;

The belly stuck inside and concave,
Smoke mixed with heat and windy rave;
Touched her body and pushed her ahead,
On the footpath with dust fed;

Just see! Me myself and my eyes,
Covered with spectacles of undulated lies;
Sitting straight with comfort in car,
Far away from the road’s war;

Just ready to fall,
One teary drop from my eyes and stall;
My driver waits for the green signal,
I worry if that woman is rational;

My hands kept on my thighs,
Covered by Raymond pant of fitting size;
My hairs black adjusted with gel,
And my fit body and all’s well;

My belly bulged outside and convex,
In the AC car with a symbol of X;
The cool air caresses my face,
My shoes shining with tightened lace;

Just See! Don’t feel that miserable woman’s life,
The Mother, the daughter, the sister and the wife;
Just See! With tears and say something,
Don’t do; just pass with no human linking.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

My Lost Rose

My lost rose,
In the gardens of love,
I searched her in my dreams,
Her one part was inside me, my heart,
And the other lost, displaced,
From its place,
In the space.

I am a lonely boy,
With a white rose in my hands,
Searching for a pink one,
Roaming from plant to plant,
Flower to flower,
Asking the birds,
The cuckoos don’t answer,
They just sing,
The song of love,
The song of desires.

I am a sad boy,
With no option,
With only one way,
I head towards it,
The path of rosy thorns,
Which protect the rose,
From being touched.

I walk on the thorns, like needles,
They pierce in me, my heart,
The red droplets, pure red,
Very precious, like ruby,
They fall on the white rose,
Which lay in my hands.

The white rose becomes a red one,
The child in me is somewhat happy,
To loose his blood,
To give it to the rose, still not pinkish.

The red turned white rose cries,
For the child,
For child’s love for the pink rose,
The tears dilute the red color,
The red color turns to pink.

The red rose becomes a pink one,
Pink- as desired by me, the child,
Pink- the color of childish love,
Pink- the color of my lost rose.

Thursday, April 9, 2009


Some mist,
With twist;
That morning I remember,
Regular- blinking;
Eyes in November;

The sunny softy ray some yellow,
Touching my eyes frequently and mellow;
Twitter Twitter like soft arrow,
Gaming-couple of lovely sparrow;

They fed,
To beaks open spread;
With water, food n all,
In the nest,
With some zest;
The two baby sparrows-small;

The day came,
When the babies turned lame;
The fan killed both,
Mother sparrow-died,
Father sparrow-died;
Babies cried-with stopped growth;

I climbed the tree,
With some water of sea;
For the baby sparrows,
But- they drank their tear,
The only thing they ate was air;
And they died in their own sorrows;

Days passed,
December surpassed;
January came,
One more year added,
Years on years flooded;
But sparrows never changed their game;

Today also, when there is some mist,
With some twist;
I put off the fan-killing arrow,
I see their relatives-Opening-closing, regular- blinking,
I see their relatives-Hoping-Nearing, fearing-faring;
I see them gaming-couple of lovely sparrow.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Iam Dying.....

Oh! Ye people,
Of the earth;
Listen from steeple,
My crying-is it any worth?

In the corner,
I lie, with scared eyes;
Like a mourner,
Of myself- with no hidden lies;

I run, I slip,
I again rise;
I cry due whip,
Is this-my ego’s size?

I open one eye, I see left,
Followed by the other and then right;
I see myself vanishing, I see the theft,
The inside is black with covering white;

Someone has tied,
Me with emotional rope;
Please stop, please listen-I never lied,
I am dying without any hope;

Oh! Ye people,
Of the earth;
Just peep from steeple,
Inside you- find the dearth;

I am missing,
From you, and yours;
Friends and foes- left just hissing,
Like snake, ready for biting sours;

Some of you just see,
And some just say,
But yours heart is like-wee;
I don’t know where I lay;

The black dots,
Of sin;
Have covered you lots,
And I lie in a transparent bin;

I was, I am, but don’t know,
If I will or not;
In the future of fake glow,
I am dying between past and future’s knot;

Oh! Ye people,
Of the earth;
Get down from steeple,
And come on earth;

Please think,
About me, about my past;
Just see, don’t blink;
About you and yours future’s last;

The generations yet to come,
Yet to smile or cry- it’s your wish;
Shall they read the history of honesty-some,
Or they will say- was truth some stinking fish;

The manipulation of my self into changed version,
The bitter truth of sweet lies;
Like leaving the original, just following the diversion,
Just illuming wideness, but narrow in size;

Oh! Ye people-find me, where Iam lying,
Oh! Ye people-find yourself, where do you lie;
Oh! Ye people-save me, Iam dying,
Oh! Ye people-save yourself, or you will die.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Lonely Window

The lonely window,
With open door;
Left, untouched, stood there like a widow,
With some iron bars and nothing more;

The wind passes through it,
Making noises, carrying dust;
The iron bar don’t resist the hit,
It degrades, weakens with the rust;

The broken doors hit themselves with nothing good,
They repent on the past;
The past-when they were fresh piece of wood,
Covered by an untainted, painting of contrast;

There is no one,
Not a single living creature;
It’s barren, dull, left undone,
It cries, without tears on its left feature;

In the past, mother used to call her son,
By wake voice through that window;
Her only smiling son,
Who ran in the streets with his shadow;

In the past, the daughter waited for her father,
With teary moments in her eyes, hand on the bars;
Rolling her palms, gazing at street end farther,
Thinking, trying, to achieve her favorite stars;

In the past, the wife stood there for her companion,
With blushed cheeks, blossom lips, hazel eyes;
Searching for her friend with white stallion,
Coming, riding, for her, with an ear ring of small size;

The past was past-it went away,
The present is surviving;
The window is puffy- night and day,
Thinking, weeping, a lot starving;

But, the future is yet to come,
For which many are worried;
And so the window –mum,
It hopes, the past will come back hurried;

The streets will again be busy,
Full with ecstasies;
Full of sweet smelling daisy,
With giggling, smiling, tender fancies;

The bars of the window will again be a colorful toy,
Like a rainbow, like a seven colored chain;
Each color having different taste of happiness and joy,
The new window would not be lonely again.

Monday, March 30, 2009

A Fallen Leaf

A fallen Leaf,
On my palms;
Due to earth’s heave,
Before spring, when winter calms;

I am under the tree,
A lonely boy;
Soiled hands in earth’s sea,
Planting the leafy toy;

Where is the water?
For the tender leaf;
I cry, and shatter,
The tears fall with relief;

I see the sun rise,
Tears flowing in the xylem;
From the lacrimation of eyes,
Salt replaces Sucrose in phloem;

I leave the place,
I leave the tiny leaf lonely;
In such a big space,
The tree and the leaf only;

Time passes-it appears,
How I don’t know;
Days, months to years,
I forgot the fallen leaf a time ago;

I am old,
The glasses don’t support my eye;
I go to the same place to unfold,
The reality, the existence of leaf, with sigh;

There’s no more leaf there,
I think it has become tree now days;
But confusion still prevails in air,
About the truth of leafy tree which lays,

A fruit hits my head and ran,
Rolled on the ground and stopped,
For me- the hungry old man,
I eat the fruit which the tree dropped;

I see, I feel the taste,
Of million tears dropped, and its essence;
From my eyes, his eyes, her eyes- not a waste,
Its sour, its salty, its not ripe-the fruit of adolescence;

I get the proof,
I get the price of my tears;
A fallen leaf - converting in tree like roof,
A fallen leaf- providing shelter for olden dears.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

What Makes a Man

On the road, in confusion,
Walking with me in some delusion;
My son asked, “What makes a man”,
And he hit the can lying in the lane;

The can moved,
The question roved;
I further walked thinking,
Searching any hint or some linking;

“Dad, is it the care which he give,
To his offspring and support him to live;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it his love and affection,
Towards other without any rejection;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it his sacrifice,
For all to rejoice;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it his hands for helping,
For the sufferers who are yelping;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it his offerings to God,
And bowing his head to almighty Lord;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it his kindness and generosity,
And stopping the inhuman atrocity;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

The moving can collided to the front wall,
It changed direction & reverted back to us all;
My son continued to ask with changed question,
And I still thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it the powerful muscles,
Which he uses them to wrestle;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it the ugly fights,
Which he does in the nights;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it the fast racing of cars,
Which he hits on the others with a scar;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it the kill,
Which he makes with his will;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it the abusing,
Which he uses without anything losing;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

“Dad, is it the damn violence,
With which he breaks the calm silence;
Please answer my question”,
He asked & I thought about a man’s profession;

It was not the question of man or woman,
But the basics of the thematic human;
How could I answer them to my child?
About the question which turned me wild.

I thought about a man’s longing power,
Which he is in search for years, days and hour;
I thought about a man’s longing glory,
Which we have studied in the past history;

I thought about a man’s jealousy and hatred,
Which he cultivates for others without regret;
I thought about a man’s love for others,
Which he nurtures for his human brothers;

The can was still vibrating between two walls,
The questions were changing their stalls;
I walked, just thought about the question,
I sighed, and just thought about a man’s profession.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Don't Break....Just Listen The Silence

I am hazy,
And crazy,
I seldom bite;
I staunch,
In ranch,
Like dozy stride;
I pulsate,
And reverberate,
In windy moist;
I rumble,
With grumble,
At tritely height;
I am narrow,
Like an arrow,
With dashing strike;
I kill,
With will,
Like bloody fight;
I howl,
Like an owl,
In scary night;
I travel,
And unravel,
With illusive might;
I am before birth,
And after death,
With continuing life;
I am silent,
Sometime violent,
In the noisy sight;
Don’t dare,
To break the layer,
Just listen the silence tonight.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Festival of Colours

The yellow green and red,
And many others spread;
The water mixed with colors,
As that of natural flowers;

Pichkaris of different shapes,
In hands of kids and face like apes;
Running behind each other,
Shouting, screaming and nothing to bother;

See the faces-multi colored,
In our country- multi cultured;
A festival of- multi name,
Different colors but all mean the same.

Monday, February 23, 2009


(..... Jaise aankhon ki debiya mein neendiya,
Aur neendiya mein meetha sa sapna;
Aur sapne mein mil jaye farishta sa koi........)
It was a junction of noon and evening,
And I was with my friends busy in playing;
The noise of the crowd was at its peak,
And we were happy as it was the end of the week;

Far from us, I saw a man,
Sitting on the rock of big span;
He just watched the playing kids,
Shaking his legs in a rhythmic rids;

Gradually the time started drifting,
The night and evening started rifting;
One by one my friends left for home,
I was left alone with the man of shining chrome;

I also thought to leave the place,
But the snow fall covered everything in space;
I fell down due to wind and cold,
I lost control and my senses rolled;

I don’t remember how much I lay,
I opened my eyes with hope in a ray;
He sat beside me on the same rock,
I could see the snow around me in flock;

There was no snow on the rock around a diameter,
It was all warm and I was in a sweater;
I smiled at him and asked if he was an angel in disguise,
He said yes, shaking his head with turban of turquoise;

“In any problem just pray God to send me to you,
And then you just call-Come Angel Come from sky blue”;
He said, and lost in the shimmering sky,
It all seemed to me as an intricate staggering lie;

But it was true and I was full of joy,
Whenever I called him, he helped the troubled boy;
With this help from God, my life became smooth,
Full of happiness and too much soothe;

One day when I was flying my kite,
It was trapped in the electric wires at site;
I called my angel again and again,
I searched for him in the lonely lane;

I was not able to see him for hours,
I was in thirst of benevolent showers;
Finally in the evening he came to me,
"I was completing an important work of God, you see";

Said he, and rescued my flying plane,
I walked with him on the road main;
“My dear, in your dreams you can see me,
But in real life I am an invisible tree;

It’s all the matter of hard work and devotion,
Your angel lies within your mind’s ocean”;
Said he, and flew across the gigantic mountains,
Erasing my heart’s darkest stains;

I woke up and still it was snowing,
Around me everything was glowing;
I stood upright and headed for my home,
With, words of an angel of shining chrome.

Monday, February 9, 2009


Yes, it’s the ink,
How dark is it, let me think;
Its color is red blue black or green,
Flowing with serenity, the marking queen;
The students fill it in the pen,
They write with it here n then;
The impression is true with splendid writing,
The letters form words with a special linking;
It flows smoothly on paper with passion,
It’s pure, humble and gentle in fashion;
Its utmost beautiful in the color pink,
Yes, it’s the ink, it’s the ink.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

The Purple Paper

(Before reading the poetry I would like the readers to make note of some things.When you read the poetry try to compare the contrast in the beginning and in the end of the poetry, specifically 1st & 10th stanza and 4th & 11th stanza. Also just imagine the situation intensely in your mind so that you can carve the real picture out of it)
(After reading the poetry do answer one question that- what was written inside the purple paper?)

Many years back, when the day was fine,
I saw an old man walking in line;
His face reflected the setting sun,
The glory traveled and made me stun;

The dry leaves turned green as he walked,
The cool breeze touched him and sparked;
His silent voice touched my ears,
And the moving moment stopped till years;

He handed over me a purple paper,
Folded in layers with a flowery taper;
The paper reflected his splendid face,
Full of light in the transparent space;

“Unfold the paper when you are in trouble,
But it should be extreme and cost you rouble”;
He said, and smiled with a grace,
The sun set and he walked ahead without a trace;

I kept the paper gently in a book,
Without having a bit of its inside look;
Who was the man, I thought at first,
But I forgot him in the time’s lust;

Later one night, I found myself in worries,
Troubles surrounded me like branch of trees;
I ran to open the purple paper,
To withdraw the troubles like a vapor;

But then I was reminded of the troubles intensity,
Was it the least or of the highest density;
I kept back the paper at its place,
I preserved it for a denser menace;

Like this I surpassed many troubles,
Considering it less than the upcoming doubles;
Layer by layer the present became past,
And I grew older when the time moved fast;

And then, when I was left with my life’s last days,
I unfolded the paper to read what it says;
After reading it I decided what to do,
I realized the script written in it was true;

In my last year of age, when one day was fine,
I saw a young boy walking in spline;
His face reflected the rising sun,
The joy rolled with a higher spun;

I handed over him the purple paper,
And repeated the words of the olden wrapper;
He accepted the paper with the grace,
He stood there on his shoes with the open lace;

These people will die but their purple-ness will prevail,
This paper will perish but its poetry will still sail;
So, let’s not unfold so early, the purple paper,
It’s nothing in it but –“The Purple Paper”

I or Me?

When I view it from one angle,
It seems so simple;
But confusions in me just mingle,
When there’s a change in the angle.

Is it the body or the soul?
Or both mixed all alone;
I think during the stroll,
I am the body or the soul.

The answer gives rise to the questions,
Blank pages full all again;
Me waiting for suggestions,
To give answers, to the rising questions.

The heart beats in me faster,
The loneliness haunts me quietly;
Could be there any disaster,
Oh! God, the time could pass faster;

Sometimes it pains for micro seconds,
And Iam alive for some more time;
It is me who just pretends;
Was it I or me, lets think for some more seconds.

Friday, December 12, 2008


There lies a conflicted silence,
This screams in the preceding violence;
I lie in the dark away from light,
Unseen untouched from the savage fight;

The earthen man has turned to stone,
Who barks and breaks innocent’s bone;
I remain hidden behind the highest cliff,
Far from the cries but lonely and just too stiff;

The water reflects the reddish color,
This sends a smell intolerable ever;
I sleep safely in the house boat,
Unnoticed from the sunken eyes afloat;

The earth has stopped absorbing water,
As it is filled with bloody disaster;
I just fly in the crafty vehicle,
Leaving down the things in the vicious cycle;

Every thing has been damaged over,
Is there anyone to resolve it ever?
No one else but I have to come in front,
Peeping from the window would not confront;

Whosoever stands at the back?
Let’s come in front and leave the rack;
Without our efforts the branch will remain lean,
Without the sunlight the leaves will not turn green.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

The Night Before Dawn

Lo! The night hath come,
The darkness thou can’t overcome;
The Sun is far from us,
With the moon lit in fuss;

Stars smile at ye infinity,
Placed in the sky with dignity;
Alas! Ye can’t cross the heavenly border,
Its human limit, even thou try harder;

The silent silence grows there,
Thou can’t hear is it where?
It crouches over you and dangling over,
The sparking thunder sends a quiver;

The tone of air is nay fair,
It flows over you layer by layer;
Cometh with it the damp flavor,
Rosen over the shady plant of clover;

The tiptop sound hummed with rider,
Ye get feared with sudden snider;
Hath he come with several purposes?
And he rode when time surpasses;

The cosmos lay at the previous spot,
What ye have done with a time a lot;
Just watching the blazing asteroids in lawn,
Waiting for nothing but the dusky dawn.

Thursday, November 6, 2008


With a flower in her hand, she walked aside,
Whistling a tune, I walked beside;
With a glance at me she rolled her eyes,
I saw here n there and in the skies;

Caught my attention the blue eyes,
Deep as ocean and big in size;
Struck I was at the place,
She smiled at me with a solace;

I gave my hands in her hands,
I landed in the smooth and crazy lands;
With the same rhyme we went ahead,
Her fragrance sent me to paradise instead;

Speechless I was with a little shy,
How could I, offer her to fly;
With a four letter word in my eye,
Could I take her so much high?

I was just dipped in my tension,
Hazel hairs n her velvet voice caught my attention;
“I want to say that I love you”, said she,
Hearing that first I thought to flee;

Nothing I replied but cuddled more her hands,
I embraced her firmly just like strands;
Then, we went across the oceans where the love prevailed,
And with firmness n calmness our ship just sailed.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Even If......

Even if the tears come to an end,
And the life is all whole spend;
I will wait for you till the winter falls,
And again try to catch your glimpse with my calls;

Even if the road has taken a turn,
Towards a never ending way of fire with burn;
I will wait for showers of cool water,
Flowing before me with a spatter;

Even if the leaves of the tree has dried away,
And the branches cry night and day;
I will wait for the tree to be green again,
And the barren fields to be filled with grain;

Even if the wind is at its best,
With the possibility of survival the smallest;
I will wait for the air to be calm,
Blowing in the pink evening’s palm;

Even if there are thousand of nights in series,
And there are kept aside me, many worries;
I will wait for that one sunrise,
Which will glorify the coming night’s skies;

Yes I know there is nothing beyond even if,
So as you also know it’s the highest cliff;
"I will wait", is the best pledge,
As, "Even if", is its limiting edge.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

The Man on the Sand

Daily, in afternoon when I go for prayer,
I see a man lying on the sand bare;
He seems a clear victim of tiredness,
With his loose body lost in sleepiness;

He has a green color shirt on his body,
And a white turban like a head with eddy;
With an unshaven beard loosen to grow,
Covering his face like a black color of crow;

The dust and smoke of the vehicles touch him,
They add to the sand and reach its brim;
The noise as usual howls around,
With a crazy tone and bitter sound;

When I return from the prayer he still sleeps,
In the bed of sand with long leaps;
I never see him awake on the sand,
He always rests in his own dream land.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Girl down the Hill

Down the hill there plays a girl,
Outside a little cottage with her hairs curl;
Her skin color is chocolate brown,
Suits her white frock from up to down;

Her teeth spark behind her lips,
Through which her sweet voice slips;
The nose is just small and round,
Which she pinches with a nosy sound;

She rolls her eyes between the closed eyelids,
And jumps on her little feet like tiny kids;
Clapping her hands on each other,
Lost in her girlhood with nothing to bother;

Her cheeks are soft and very chubby,
Which others press with some scrubby;
She tries to beat others with her little hands,
When they tease her outside the cottage lands;

When she tires and gives her guts,
From the outsiders which behave as nuts;
She screams and calls her only father,
And I run from my cottage to behold my daughter.