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.