Wednesday, December 21, 2011

The Curse

It sank in the haunted loneliness

In merciless gloom of the divorce

It shrank into the limitless void 

Wondering at unforgiving wrongs

Weeping in dead burning tears

Lies crept under into its warmth

And dug the sacred scar

It bled till it could love no more

Silence revolted

The cottage was burnt down

The witch escaped

Placed upon the Waking Tomb

The curse of slumber

It slept through the plague

And answered no prayers.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Written in Early December.

Hands that pray for warmth
Come together to whisper
A silent wish of her being

The moon becomes the master
And she the willing slave
On nights of his silver glory
She hides in a trembling cave

The ghosts recite their tales
The lovers long to smile
She drowns in the weeping waters 
of an inconsolable Nile.

Ahead she never moves
Before she never loves
Draws the curtains of smiles
And listens to lonely doves

In blue she breathes her days
In grey she sings the nights
Away from herself in truth
Away from laughing lights

  From different worlds she rises
And sinks in the eager sands
All that remains behind
Are her prayers in a pair of hands.

Sunday, December 04, 2011

What shall

The silent stare of the the night
Winds waltzing around with dust
Spirits singing to earthly mates
Burning in haunted lust

A fire breathing its last
In the midst of mocking ashes
A song from the womb of whiskey
Into his numbness crashes

A frown upon a forehead
The scent of evening prayers
Driving away an evil
That often pulls the chairs

The lamps that light for nobody
But for the whistling man
His family sleeps in his quarters
All of them who can

The bareness of a page
I clad with weeping ink
What will become of it
After the darkness shall sink?

A tragedy to be alive?
Or some comedy to pass away
In the middle of loving and laughing
One maddening November or May.

Thursday, December 01, 2011

With Myself

Unwritten words are the best I write
Unsaid words are the truest I speak
Unseen sunsets are the loveliest of all
Unsung melodies are my masterpieces
An old wound decides to bleed once more
A spirit wants to sing along
A cloud longs to turn into grey
A wind whims into a storm
Then her prayers touch my skin
Through a bracelet of sacred threads
Her sleep she wishes off
Into my slumber less eyes
And from a place far off
I get a message that I am
And will always be dearly loved
And she who was given her breath
In the same womb as I
Holds my hand, or plants a kiss
On my mosquito devoured cheeks.
Or gives a hug  that warms my soul.
He doesn’t often say it
But I come to know
When he gifts me a book
And quotes lines from a page
And wipes off a tear
The lines that say
“Our daughter. Meanwhile was fast
asleep herself, one little hand showing
Above the bedclothes. Clenched in it
was my heart”
And this, what mortals call Love
Brims my being
And I smile and laugh into tears
Tonight when I met the mirror.
It smiled back at me
and said “You’re beautiful”.

Monday, November 21, 2011


"In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is freedom, in water there is bacteria!! wots ur pick?"
My heartfelt thanks to Dr. Gaurav Sharma for thus updating his facebook status, for it was these lines and his love and my hatred of spirit that led to one of the awesomest poetry battles of my life and thus getting a 

 chance to know one of the coolest knights ever!! The name is Kunal Mathur.

It was totally a decision of random fate that we met each other and I consider myself extremely fortunate. The 
first time I came across his "ninja awesome" blog, I was intoxicated with a heavy dose of the lethal combination of envy and pure appreciation. Here was my blog stuffed with poorly attempted metaphysical poetry and here is this guy, importing his ideas from God knows which incredible heaven and packaging them in sentences akin to the symphonies of Beethoven. I was mesmerized.

It is difficult to recommend any one entry from his blog, as it is difficult to recommend a shade of the rainbow to musing grey clouds.. each one in its own right is beautifully unique. Contemporary, classic, abstract, absurd, random, historical, modern, mythology, philosophy, art... you'll find a delightful read on everything. And not to forget the amazing illustrations!! Like crisp walnuts in a gooey sinful brownie. Couldn't be better! :)

And the man! Decidedly the most well read and accomplished man of his age that I have met. Somebody who fearlessly dives in the whimsical oceans of thoughts, collects all the priceless pearls from all the stubborn shells and walks backs to the shore in humble triumph. And with them he saves the souls dying in the stagnation in the catastrophe of life.

Of wearing many hats. Yes HE has got heads more than the great Ravana.. and hence the hats fit in perfectly. what i am talking about is a Knight on a Royal Enfield whose sword fights battles in ink, who has knowledge equivalent to perhaps twenty nine and a half Rohinis, who composes music so original and pleasing that if he was in the music industry, the likes of Reshamiya and Malik would have been starving on the streets. Whose reading interests range from Kafka to Camus to Aghodis and who is a Chemical Engineer by education! Imagine good people. 

And yet today this gem of a human being about whom I can write another hundred pages has generously decided to bestow on my humble works the gift of Sunshine. Am I grateful? much more than that. Only I know how apprehensive I was when I began writing. Never thought a living soul would read them and then the ever merciful Almighty sends in people of his likes who encourage you in such a profound way that you feel that the only way to chose is ahead.

Thank you Kunal for being such a genuine friend and for making me believe in myself. This is a priceless gift and will be cherished always. :)
Stay awesome always....!!!

Wednesday, November 09, 2011


The temple bells announce the morn
I lie awake through the night
Out of darkness the light is born
I behold the blessed sight

Orange and red, yellow and white
After the grey, blue and black
The presence and the absence of light
An open door, a seething crack

Unread people unread books
Scattered in chaos
In sleepy mirror the stranger looks
Empty worlds across

Peep into the darkness
But take a candle along
Bring a prayer to bless me
Sing a little song

Love with all my white
Hate with all my green
Dancing with wrong and right
Flirting with selfless and mean

I told her I have tied me up
She pulled out the same card
Sipping  bitterness from a cup
Wondering if I was scarred

Closing my eyes to numbness mauve
I questioned my musing shades
We agreed we both love Anton Chekhov
A curious content invades

We thought and spoke and cried
In Californication and Hodo
Like two tramps in the middle of happy nowhere
Smiling while waiting for Godot.

Friday, November 04, 2011

Never know

What should I write
That pleases your wit
My weak words anaemic
Sink in my humble existence
A moment you thought of a masterpiece
It did not inspire me enough
But I would remain silent
For i cannot face your hurt
Opting to be shallow or deep
You taught me thats the world
I wondered what I really was
A dying root or a withering leaf
You once laid a flower in that young book
It is now forever yours to be
And i in painful envy stand
To be decided upon another day
On quiet nights you wish for rains
And hum old dear love songs
And then I fall in love again
And pray to mocking Gods
I'll never know where we really belong
Perhaps i should not try
For where you say your peace shall be
Is where I shall call it home.

Thursday, November 03, 2011


What did leave and what did not
What is left behind is lost
Why to weep these waters hot
Why to think you loved it most

Of that bloom that withered young
Of that star that fell tonight
Of that song that died unsung
In the shades of whispering light

In despair lies the broken glass
In numbness lies the wine
A time that doth refuse to pass
In pain two world entwine

And slumber shall not visit thy bed
For on silken sheets is agony spread

Saturday, October 08, 2011

About you...

As the sun sketched her golden silhouette
Admiring himself in her eyes
Still she stood in the sleepy halls
Like a sage a thousand year wise
She walked in firm yet gentle steps
And spoke in the happy lark's voice
Tall and fair in the lights of thought
In tales of old pens rejoice
A warmer shade air she breathed
A quieter shade of life
A happier state of bliss she felt
In the realms of her conquered strife
They said she stood apart
They said she stood alone
He came and took her hand
And chasing demons were gone
She walked a path unread
She beheld a hue unseen
She held a hope untouched
She was what had never been
Her smile leapt from her heart to her lips
She dissolved her fears in iron of her blood
Her words could balm all unforgiving hurts
She stands unwavering in the mightiest flood
In solitude she sits amidst an uncaring crowd
Answering the questions of her pondering soul
Wipes from her eye a speck of dust
And a willing tear carries it away
If you sit with her for a while
She will talk to your heart and not to your mind
And when you walk with her for a mile
Your once better self she will gently rewind
In men's young language I may call her my friend
But my silent spirit will find a song
One that no words can begin or end
And let you how close you belong.
Very happily and lovingly dedicated to Aishwarya...
I don't think I am capable of telling the world what i really feel
my capacities in words are limited, but i hope you will like it...:) love you..

Tuesday, October 04, 2011

What a Wonderful World

As Time Goes By- Frank Sinatra

You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.
And when two lovers woo
They still say, "I love you."
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by.
Moonlight and love songs
Never out of date.
Hearts full of passion
Jealousy and hate.
Woman needs man
And man must have his mate
That no one can deny.
It's still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.
Oh yes, the world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by......

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

The Dream

Let there be a day
When the world forgets
My existence humble
When i will not be known
By those who love me so well
And by those 
Who hate me to swell
When i will need no name
to be remembered or scorned
When memories will not haunt
The near empty mansions of life
When my tear would cease to matter
And my laugh cease to delight
When my words would not be cared for
And my pain would not be bright
I would sit in the company of wise blue deodars
And breathe the coolness of calm
Listen to the whispers of eager winds
And complains  of weeping waters
The moon would beseech me to not sleep
And keep him company in his quarters
Tell me how well he loved the sun 
And would keep her sheen in crystal jars
The ivory lover spoke all night
Swore his love was true
I asked him if she loved him too
He shook his head in silence
I am a rock, she is a star
I worship my Goddess from afar
She gives you warmth and rain
She is the source of your life beloved
While I play with salty waters 
And shine embracing her kindly light
You will not see my face when she is in sight
She is the center of ten worlds proclaimed
Who am i then, a piteous orb
But no regrets he gallantly claimed
Of my feelings i shall never boast
For the earth you sit on dear creature
Is what she and I love the most. 
I guard the daughter by the night
In the morning she lovingly rises
Mother of the beautiful child
Holding hands in cloudy guises.
And then i shall come again to play 
And sing the cherub to sleep
I think the kid loves me well
She resembles her mother in deep
And so till he spoke I listened with love
And then he beheld his glorious queen
Smiled at me and waved goodbye
Mother wrapped the child in a happy green.
I go back to sleep again
Until ma wakes me up.
The world comes back to me 
With the touch of the coffee cup...

Friday, September 16, 2011

"Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.
Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God,
And tasted the eternal joys of heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells
In being deprived of everlasting bliss?"

Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe

Nothing at all

Time slipped through her sweaty palms
And she slipped through her existence
Pleasing and laughing
Her demented self
Dragged itself in the motionless calms
She feared the fire, as it chased her
Every candle she lit, burnt her down
Sometimes slowly, sometimes at once
Her charred remains fell on the tired earth
And she rose again to walk
She lifted her hands and touched the humid air
It touched her back
And ran down her neck as a curious drop
To disappear in the melancholy of her skin
She laughed again
The wind tried to plait the whims of her hair
And the grass wept below her naked feet
She felt nothing and spoke much
Of care and promises
She sifted her heart through the sieves of hope
To find a morsel of feeling to feed upon
Hungrily she looked, starved and white
But alas! Everything she had devoured
To bring her back after she lay dead every time
Her ghost smiled and shrieked
She fell down on indifferent sands
the Sun in conversation with musing clouds
About a woman who is so dead yet not
The sands took pity at last
And hid her under their whispering prisms
Come they said, come back to where you belonged.
The candles melted away.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

dough work.. :D by Rohu...

in Euphooooria

PiNg Cobra

to BEE or not to BEE

Krishna in colours

The blue eyed BUOY

He LOST his legs, because i had lost the patience...

Because she is green with envy..

Wrigley s

Its a biiiiiigggg world...

ho ja Rangeela re... :D


Mum named her ROBILI ;)

Crazy FrOg... :P

For making me, me

If I were a butterfly, an entomologist would probably pin me up
If I were a robin in a tree, they'll chop it down and export to Europe
If I were a fish in the sea,they'll swallow me whole with a warm cup o tea
So I just thank you Father for making me, me
For I gave me a dart and I gave me the style
I gave me Satan and I made me hostile
And I just thank you Father for making me, me
If I were an elephant,they'll make ivory idols my precious tusk
If I were a kangaroo, you know i'll only end up in a zoo
If I were an octopus, they'll cook me up without any fuss
So I just thank you Father for making me, me
For i made me so smart and i made me so guile
I gave me hatred and they call themselves vile
And I just thank you Father for making me, me
If I were a wiggly worm,i'll be broken into 2 and thrown in the farm
If I were a fuzzy wuzzy bear, i'll be skinned in no time to bleeding despair
If I were a crocodile, I'll be found on designer bags, forget my Nile
So I just thank you Father for making me, me
For i gave me the art  i have you to beguile
I gave me Envy and i made hope futile
And I just thank you Father for making me, me....

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

The Sparrow

And so the wounded sparrow
Came to me and wept
Said Satan and Moloch were men
Hope away from the planet swept
Bleeding through dying whispers
She spoke of her loving nest
Her son and daughter lonely
Waiting for the warmth of her chest
She smiled to remember there was happiness once
In the realms of her little world and beyond
When brothers and sisters in chorus sang
And beings and birds shared a loving bond
But now fires were raging
Their were shrieks, and pain and grief
But now men thirsted blood alone
And lived in souls of a terrible belief
She had seen them lying in blent red heaps
She had seen them hunt and laugh
She told me what one sows, he reaps
And prayed i write it on her epitaph
I questioned her why then little thing
Are you dying with the deeds of mindless men
She laughed and stared at her bleeding wing
Because i had prayed for a happy heaven
In this world answer me if wise you are
Can i be happy to breathe and sing
In this world black, bitter and dour
Will my loved children ever want to swing
I will go now to a happier place
And they shall come to me soon i know
If you see them, please remember to say
That their mother sleeps on a blissful bow
My tear dropped in her eye and ran down
But it neither moved nor blinked
On wet earth i lay her, in a quiet grieving brown
And what she had asked, on a paper I inked
The rain washed away her forgotten words
She embraced her loving earth
In the grey skies sighed the lonely birds
and I never saw her children.

Thursday, September 01, 2011

Letter to the Tumor.. PART 1

Okay, so i am not sure whether you are hiding in my spine or sitting at the top of my touchy adrenals or smoking in some other quiet muscle. And for all the mess that i have been going through for the past two months you refuse to take any blame. That damned hollow abominable machine kept torturing me and the mother  for a good two hours and a half while you were out there somewhere sniggering at my plight. I was only half the the human i am when i came out but you had no pity. Whether they did a thin slice or a thick slice, you just made a sandwich out of it and gobbled it up. Then the poor doc looks at my bp of a 220/170 and smiles helplessly. MORON
and of all the names that could exist in the world, you had to be called something  like PHEOCHROMOCYTOMA. :
What does this mean dude? for all your impressive uselessness that you have proudly exhibited in the past few weeks. if you had been a person, i swear, i would locked you up in a room and played non stop Reshamiya songs, full volume. You would then know what it feels to be in an MRI machine for three hours, bladder full... :/
And to top it all, you refuse to be malignant,so i cant even feel melodramatic and give good speeches which people would listen to and praise me. You don't even guarantee me substantial attention. Only minutes of insanely high blood pressure, this vahiyat backache and and sulking relatives. You know you are as faltu as Left Ventricular Concentric Hypertrophy. :P
dude ya... I've not had a morsel of good adventure in life. and you are certainly not my idea of adventure. I know you love my adrenals or my spinal cord or whatever, but attachment of this sort is not worth it..Google laproscopy if you feel like knowing what my funny little surgeon feels like doing to you. and certainly, do Google yourself, yeah that's what you look like. :P

Yours Unfaithfully

Sunday, August 28, 2011

My Fair Lady

On a delightful evening I was sitting with a bunch of people in whose company you could do things as futile as noticing what a TV advertisement has to say. It was then that I realized that I was practically supposed to be an outcast. Reason, I don’t have a skin color that can double up as an emergency light.
Well, I will agree that the bias for fair skin is something that does very often try to lay its hands on my throat. It hasn’t really bothered me much, but yes, honestly it can get on your nerves sometimes. And if you share the shade of my skin but not my indifference, you could be in trouble.

Not surprisingly, some of the most desirable young women in the industry are dusky. I will not take up the gargantuan task of listing their names but yes I would certainly like to appreciate these women, their confidence and their good sense in not wasting time and money on being fair and whatever. Today they are where they are and it speaks loud enough for itself. In fact what does surprise me is the matrimonial. Almost EVERY man is a “good looking boy “with a “handsome salary” and wants “fair”, “slim” and “beautiful” girl. In that case, the mirror cracking material that I am, my chances of getting married are ‘fairly’ ‘slim’. Not that it is matter of concern. But for a lot of women who are melanin rich, life can be hard. 
It does not take a genius to realize that the color of one’s skin or the highness of one’s cheekbone is not one’s sin or virtue. It is not something that one can be blamed of credited for. Beauty is a such a miraculously relative and subjective term that in the world we live, Aishwarya Rai is considered stunning and so is Naomi Campbell.
Frankly I never found my complexion to be a hindrance in my way, and I am sure that no woman does until she faces those well meaning souls that judge her by set standards of beauty that God knows who sets. Who in order to make her life better burry her in a grave of besan, uptan, and the umpteen number of  white and pink tubes. What finally comes out is a woman who will never be confident to walk out in the sun no matter how enchanting her eyes, or how mesmerizing her smile.  And no matter how loved or appreciated she is for the person that is her, that cream will continue to haunt her, as would its manufacturers.
We are a set of people who have fought racial discrimination since a long time. Even now we complain about it when we venture out in The White Man’s Land. But even that guy who has been beaten up by a bunch of white men when studying abroad wants a fair and lovely white, sorry, I meant wife. Does that not demean our entire set of upright principles we keep boasting about?
It is beautiful to be fair, but it is as beautiful to be dark, and what really needs to be beautiful is the person that we are in our hearts. Today you hate the fair Bin Laden (Justin Beiber for a few of us), as much as you love the dark A.R. Rehman /Nelson Mandela/ Desmond Tutu /Nat King Cole / Stevie Wonder....
 I take an example with men, because now they haven’t been spared either. (refer to the hideous "HI HANDSOME" PEHELWAN WITH NAIL POLISH,  AND LIPISHTIK ADD )
As for the fairness cream people, guys you really need to go through a reality check.  Seriously, your towering claims that a girl has the right to live only when she is vampire white are stuff of stand up comedy. You need to work harder with your creative team. And for fairness’ sake, grow up.
As for me, I am pretty comfortable to be me. My mother thinks I am pretty and so do my best friends. My mirror really does not crack at my sight and my dog loves me like hell. Other than that, nothing else seems to bother much. And it shouldn’t bother you too. You are beautiful the way you are and it’s in your own skin that you will grow best. For in all honesty, you really are a woman/man phenomenally.

Wednesday, August 03, 2011


I wish I did not belong to you.
I would sit on the shores that you dreamt of.
Let the waves embrace my longing feet
And kiss these hands…
Walk across leaving footprints behind
Only to be washed by eager waters
But your memories will never be washed away…

In an unfinished poem, in a book unread
I have found love in your promise unkept.

I would lie on the sands in the morning sun’s warmth
And breathe the happiness of solitude
I would meet that part of me that still
Does not answer the call to my name
For they would bring me closer to the soul
The soul to which you now belong
For I once belonged to you

In an unfinished poem, in a book unread
I have felt your touch, in your promise unkept

I would walk in these woods
Filled with emptiness
Sit under the care of our elderly oak
Listen to the song of a parted lark
And remember you singing to me
For your voice sings no more
And I still belong to you
You breathe in my air, you rush through my veins
You smile in my soul

In an unfinished poem, in a book unread
I have found myself in the promise you kept…

Thursday, July 28, 2011

The Rise

The night damp and stale
burns slowly through my sighs
Its wetness squeezes through
unmoving sightless eyes
Empty breaths echo
through the emptiness of insides
The walls are painted black
with wrath, hurt and lies
With the mirror's broken pieces
the image i try to make
With stinging quiet needles
i draw the blood to lake
Buried in the darkness
of airless howling caves
the soul chained to reasons
that red so often paves
is this the way i live 
is this the purpose of weeping hearts
to be broken by dark whims
to be brought down by poison darts
laugh at my painful screams
drag me through the corridors of hell
but then do not you wonder 
where this fire came to dwell
burn me down to ashes
i will rise on the stairs of smoke
drown me down to depths
i will rise with the ocean's cloak
cut me into pieces
i will rise on the sword's red edge
melt me into drops
i will rise on the mighty cloud's pledge
halt me with all your might
and curse me with all your will
its my sunshine that's your night
and my life to your death until..

{nothing personal} ;)

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

We and India

Winston Churchill had famously remarked “INDIA is a geographical term. It is no more a united nation than the equator.” But Mr. Churchill could have scarcely imagined that this “geographical term” led by a ‘half naked fakir’ could emerge to become one of the fastest growing economies in the world.  Today, a powerful and recognized nation, we see India come and take a stand on the global power front, shedding its image of the pariah. Of course, Indians have a reason to be proud.
But the bitter reality is that today we ought to be more ashamed than we can ever be proud. On the national front, the disappointment has been overwhelming. Yes, the common man is disillusioned and frustrated with the amount of fiascos, scams and corruption related issues that have monopolized the headlines of his newspaper in the recent months. But he also well realizes the fact that he is as much a part of it as the entity he chooses to blame. Yet, there is hardly anything he can do about it. He cannot choose to shun his liabilities in order to be honest and upright. He does not intend to ruin his nation or bring it to shame, but only to live a comfortable life which doesn’t come at a small price. His needs and expenditures often overtake his earnings. Family pressures and ambitious plans often make him take a turn which the book of ethics and morals shuns. He wants to provide the best to his family and why should he not opt for the obvious means when everybody else is opting for it. He wouldn’t have time to spare to think about the long term implications of his trivial act and on a trillion dollar economy.
The root cause of the problem lies in the fact that India and her people have become two separate identities. An aam admi can hardly ever bother about the troubled state of affairs of the government beyond drawing room discussions. The best he can do is blame and criticize. His daily struggle stuffs him up to leave little space for food for thought. When his loans give him sleepless nights, when compromises become his only choice, when he is not able to send his child abroad for higher education, then Hasan Ali becomes a subject of envy instead of spite. In the process India merely becomes his nationality to fill up forms.
Consequently, the disaster  seems to be  a result of a cascade of events which stem from the basic human want of being secure. The lament is that he can never be secure enough. That is where the government is to accept its responsibility in the state of affairs. It hasn’t been able to provide social and financial security to its people, which is one of its fundamental objectives. It hasn’t been able to convince a nation that it is a nation. Till disparity will exist, greed will exist, hate and communalism will exist. And disparity exists because it is allowed and encouraged to exist. And no amount of fasts and mass gatherings and anti corruption bills will solve the problem. It is that tree whose roots have penetrated much deeper than we can comprehend. What is disturbing is that we are not too far from the point of no return.
We need to realize is that we are not Indians only when India wins the World Cup or when A certain US president praises us for having already emerged, but also when Commonwealth Games threaten to be a shameful debacle, and when the country tops the list of black money holders in foreign banks or when a poverty index indicates that there are more poor people in eight states of India then the twenty six poorest African countries. It is high time we stop blaming and criticizing and take up our responsibility to clean our share of mess. This is surely not what we want to gift our children as legacy. For long we have been a part of the problem. It is high time we become a part of the solution.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Prisoners of life

Prisoners of life
slaves of shallow breath
thy precious life is but
a dice in the hands of death
you think of the months and years to come
while your present silently embraces your past
you think of what you will one day become
and cease to be what today you are
your heart beats in the cage of your ribs
and prays to your soul for the freedom of blood
while you strangle it with the rope of fibs
and drown it in the ruthless flood
you always have tomorrow at hand
tomorrow you will be that one good man
while oceans wash your golden sand
and out of the gulfs of today they ran
into your haven, your safe happy land
with them they carried away your hopes
as u lie aghast on the shores of despair
prisoners of life
slaves of shallow breath
your veins contain the pain to bear
and now the grey clouds overhead cry
lament your dead future
remember your breathing past
and write your tales on winds that last.

Saturday, July 09, 2011

Capture... enrapture

The ray of hope, of a better day... a promise..

 And i smile to sunshine and embrace it with open arms... the one who loves you will always make you grow...
 After the night, deep dark, behold the dawn, sings the lark..

Pick up the broken pieces and start again... whatever is truly yours is your will

 Sometimes, there are scenes which seem to be trying to convey to you the secret... though this scene overwhelms my soul... its still time before i decode.. :)
 Yes, they say the greatest saints are made in solitude.. mind, body, soul...

 no darkness is complete, so is no light...
if men could be at such peace with one another... one wouldn't have to look for salvation...

Friday, July 08, 2011

And it rained

I heard a laughter today
Loud, clear, ringing
Cutting through the air i breathe
It did not mock me as i thought it would
For my unearthly insides are marred with guilt
My dark side may be more of grey
If it pours for a while, the sky would be clear
What a shame, i love this grey so often
But only because it rains
Sitting by the side of a half blind sparrow
sheltering himself from the pour
It sat in quiet solitude
At envious peace with himself
Allowing me a little space
For which i was grateful
I tried to hold the string of water
And ended up with empty wet fist
The sparrow didn't move
Pensive and content
The earth was laughing loud
Washed from brown to a happy green
And its spirit seemed to be telling me
Be patient... wait
If there is a burning sun, there will always be rains
You cant do without either
That feeling, i am sure you feel it often too
When you are away from all that is near you
When you ponder about who you are
and why are you here
Were you born to somebody's child, sibling, friend, spouse
employee, relative, enemy
or were you born for yourself
or for this tiny microscopic world
Can you listen to the voice that calls you
from afar
Drowned in the clatter of love, hate and war
I can when it rains
When at some blessed moments
I become a nobody's nobody
And then seeps in a foreign sun
And my grey turns a shade light
Live my friend, even if its for a day
To make an existence possible.

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Qne day in a life...

Today my ear met music that charmed it
Today my eyes met waters that becalmed it
Today my spirit met a soul that balmed it
Today my tongue met words that armed it
Today the rains that did not happen
Washed away some long lived fears
Today i smiled for a friend and said cheers
Today i left the book unread
Today i saw the sunrays spread
Today i lied, today i truthed
Today i died, today i lived.
Today life took me in its embrace with love
Today randomness delighted the dove...
Today i hold the dawns cool hands
and talk to dreams in rainbow sands...

Tuesday, July 05, 2011


The purpose i cannot see
why my fingers long to weep
the unsaid tales
when i think, there is nothing to feel
when i think, there is nothin to grieve
but when words touch my paper
they fall in love
i cannot write like you do
or like they did
as long as my pen writes
i know there is something i feel inside
and something wakes up the moment
i decide to embrace sweet slumber
it makes a promise
that i will still have the same heart i have tonight
and i will keep on loving
as i do...

Thursday, June 23, 2011

"She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on... far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day." .... Mrs Dalloway... Virginia Woolf

Friday, June 17, 2011

I Smile

I smile
With a secret that shall embrace me in my pyre
I smile
With a mystery that feeds my souls raging fire        
I smile
With love that breathes life into my existence
I smile
With the hate that resides in black oceans deep dense
I smile
With a passion to paint the world white
I smile
With the will to touch the unconquered height
I smile
With the strength to lay invincible giants
I smile
With the shrewdness to tackle impossible clients
I smile
With the wit to bite off your insult
I smile
With the wisdom of an ancient occult
I smile
In face of grief to bring it to shame
I smile
To myself and take my own blame
I smile
To tell you that when needed I am there
I smile
To tell you that the world wont always be fair
I smile
to touch the heavens blue hue
I smile
To realize that some part of me is true

Friday, June 03, 2011

The Smile Of Austerity

The smile of austerity.
looking through hollow eyes
into the darkness of your soul
and asking your humanity
the question it cannot answer
the stillness of its misery
surging through your veins
reaching your grieving heart
tainted and poisoned
asking the meaning of hope and love
asking why God made men
to be born crying, to live sighing and lie dying
why you were born to a rich father
and she to a starving widow
why you could sleep in comforts of the quilt
while winter slaps her numb naked feet
you glanced one glance and strolled ahead
to meet happy friends and celebrate the day
she slept that night in the lap of death
oblivion gently swept her away.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Advice to a Son.. Hemingway

Never trust a white man,
Never kill a Jew,
Never sign a contract,
Never rent a pew.
Don't enlist in armies;
Nor marry many wives;
Never write for magazines;
Never scratch your hives.
Always put paper on the seat,
Don't believe in wars,
Keep yourself both clean and neat,
Never marry whores.
Never pay a blackmailer,
Never go to law,
Never trust a publisher,
Or you'll sleep on straw.
All your friends will leave you
All your friends will die
So lead a clean and wholesome life
And join them in the sky


What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.


In joyous rays of the morning sun
a life is kindled in green
And in ruthless roars of a brutal gun
The red makes it all unseen
My Friend, my brother, my loving child
Thou art my soul's smile
But now your forms in mute have piled
The beats of my heart sound vile
There would be one day when men would laugh
And cheer their friendship aloud
Our futile hate, their love will dwarf
Their children happy and proud.
When you can hold your neighbour's hand
When lines will not be drawn in sand...

Sunday, May 22, 2011


The wet knock on my window pane
Of a lofty grey cloud
With happy wind comes in the rain
The earth shines aloud.
A musing dove in shelter sits
And longs for her beaming sun
From seven hues the heaven knits
The arc is lovingly done.

Friday, May 20, 2011

La Belle Dame Sans Merci - John Keats


O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
  Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
  And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
  So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
  And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow
  With anguish moist and fever dew,        10
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
  Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
  Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,        15
  And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
  And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
  And made sweet moan.        20

I set her on my pacing steed,
  And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
  A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
  And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
  “I love thee true.”

She took me to her elfin grot,
  And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,        30
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
  With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
  And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d        35
  On the cold hill’s side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
  Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
  Hath thee in thrall!”        40

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
  With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
  On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
  Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
  And no birds sing.