Sunday, May 31, 2009


It begun like a mornings dream,
hazy,murky,could catch
just a seconds view
a momentary gleam.
But oh!! stranger,on the strange route
unknown pedestrian,unnamed course
thy beauty was what stupefied me ,
held my breath,had me flutter with rapture,turned me thy pursuit.
Beaut,like my best ode,yet to be written,to be play.
like looking at a sky with two moons,your eyes,
like the unspent Sunday,
you were as beauteous,one may say,
like the magic held in the unknown joy of
an unsauntered path.
The strangers path & its unknown way.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Her Beauty

There are days when you can look into her face,
the way beauty it radiates.
Sparkling as if the most dazzling of gems,so powerful are thy eye,
in them possessing abilities to make you in a moment cry,laugh & sigh.

& when her lips quiver & she laughs
a hundred daffodils bloom.
you can feel your heart shrinking,
can make you weak or a kiddish chaff get you feel murking.

But stories other days ,does not follow the same path,
As she isn't then like me & you,
no matter how beautiful, how elegant,how true.
You may not realize what strikes so odd,
she is one of those child,children of lesser GOD.

You'll catch her bumbling,a little stumbling,
queerly inimical,drabbingly skeptic.
but someday's she laughs , laughs her heart out & may be,
just may be you won't notice how she is autistic.

Friday, May 29, 2009


Remember those rains,remember them when we met for the first time,
tiny droplets of rain fell into your face
then they seeped in to my hand,
hands which were on your cheeks.
Those drops have become oceans now.

That half bloomed rose,
which I had stolen to gift you,
a thorn of it had pricked you ,had suckled it into my lips
& said to you " tastes sweet",
even today I can taste it at the corners of my lips.

Those two-dime Ice creams,
which we had together.
Oh! how you loved them,
I always could have just a bite,
it was for you after all.
Those ice creams they don't taste good any more,
they've turned bitter with time.

Remember me smiling,singing.
& how you always said "grow up."
have grown up.
perhaps a little late .
though I am not anymore in the habit of getting wet in rains,
the gardener next door he still gives me a rose everyday,
although I cannot have the ice cream any more,
can't have it,never was much into it was I?
Yes,I do keep it beneath your framed picture everyday
besides that half-bloomed rose.

Some Day

Some day not far from this day,
do get yourself out of the hum drum of life today,
peek a look into the life of those days passed
days passed a few days away.
Steal them out of your memory lanes,
those lazy moments,there idyllic way.

When sun beams never used to stung
& sweat made you fired
rather than making you tired.
when daisies grew & winds sung.

To get wet,
in the rains & being afraid of falling ill
was the prerogative of just Ma.
For us it was
always to make our paper boat go
as far away.
That paper boat
& its right & left sways
so close they seem to our nowadays ,
so like our life's ways

To look through that wavy paper boat ,
How unwavering was life then,
Tears for nothing & little white lies
how innocently true were they.

May be we'll live those lazy moments once more
when we are lazy enough to be worthy of them
lets face life again,lets make those lazy ways our way,
lets make our liven once more a gem.

Thursday, May 28, 2009


To look at the morning sun
in the distant horizon.
thinking for how Long
it has appeared
to lighten Up our lives,
letting us hear its morning song.
things It has Witnessed,while it shone
Perhaps The Only witness to every human ever born.
Knower of all the passed smiles,
every tear that ever fell,every human guile's
Sun...Oh!! Sun how glowing are thee,
will continue To do so,
even after Me.
& I wouldn't be here to see.
To see,each while I am down.
then It'll not Brighten up for me,
as I won't be around.
A day when death Would engulf me.
then what is the sense in vying
to be successful?
What is life anyways,If not dying.
Centuries ago a man found fire,
We still use it.But is he still here
to see us use that everyday,
to watch the fulfillment of his desire
to smile at his Achievement.
to laugh make merriment
Still how many of us Think of Him.
Everyday We Drive by
but do we ever think of that man Who created The Wheels?
years pass like days,
men come & go,
leaving solitary suns rays
with no Trace of themselves,to show.
is it of any Worth,then.
I Think then Why am I Doing All of this?
& Then my eyes fall on the roadside
A father teaching his son,how to walk
he smiles At him,the kid reciprocates
I Again Look back
at that Sun,
Now with a smile.
I know Why,
I fight, I work,I aspire,I run.

Blessed be thou,my holy teacher.Oh! Sun.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Being I

The silence
churns inside,
pushes me aside,
still exploring
to walk that tight rope ,
still reciting solitude,
learning recluse,
banishing hope.
To die
& live at alternate moments,
being patient with things
in torments
even if I never find my deliverance.
to walk the thin rope of keeping my identity
& yet thriving for that
holy grail of success
as in world it is called,
pursuing liven over stillness,
no matter how much they are stalled.
where success or failure
are still equally nigh,
Learning the lessons
in being I.


After a while the pain allays,
& what remains is bitterness.
After a while the failure
is not so glaringly visible ,
neither does it snips so much
nor it malaise.
It just remains a bruise ,
which time would heal
in times due course.

After a while
its just the process that is left
of trying in desperation,
fighting in wane.
The outcomes just do not excite enough,
no feelings out pores.
The world then does not revolve for you anymore
things do not transpire,
they stay in their place
no change ,no wants ,no wishes ,no desire.

But never stop trying
even after many whiles pass,
still run for still dream
of that one moment that one chance
when things will turn your way,
when the sun will shine again
& may be your heart would leap with joy
perhaps all those whiles
of pain of angst of wounds
will seem after all worth the while,
not mountains,they would look just mounds.

Thursday, May 14, 2009


The dreams he weaves
are echoes of my dreams,
loves his life, as me
Mourns the grief of his kins,
the same way I do
& grins watching his kids laugh,it is he.

The lines of a grin,a smile on our faces are in such a contrast
from the lines,lines demarcating us,
borders turning us's into they's.
lines letting us forget that we dream,
we live ,we laugh,we cry
the same way for the same things,for the same nights & days.

I've heard that some ammo's were fired this way of the line
to make some dreams sleep here
& the line this way responded Oh! so bravely
slaying many hopes of liven there.
when boundaries fill with life
& lives circumscribe themselves in boundary lines
Dreams then become crimes,
aspiring for a life,just despairing sighs.

Friday, May 8, 2009

My Night My Day

..& the night would sleep again when my eyes quench even for drops of it.
soon morning would break & I'll burn myself along with the sun.
...& again a few aspirations would have to pass the fire of truth.
few dreams would just have to settle held into my eyes.

would have to cleanse hopes out of the fogs of fears
...& set courage as its apparel.
would have to walk on glass or melt like a candle.
...& would have to live again or may be to die again.

...& the night would sleep again when my eyes quench even for drops of it.
soon morning would break & I would burn myself along with the sun.