Tuesday, 28 February 2017

36 Seconds at 36 Lights

Sky, brightened
of the pitiless sun
scorching, so distressing.
I stop at the 36's red light
and I see
Little Jhonny tied up
in the school dress and hefty bag
on the future shoulders of nation,
tender yet, looks for his mom.
While the dark man with
wrinkles crossing the face
and eyes tired enough
to narrate the agonies of his life,
arrests the motion of his rickshaw.
Jhonny when already taken away by his mom.
The blue dressed cop
stands at the round top
controls the city traffic
trying to make it little pacific,
yet fails to catch
the chauffeur driven Range Rover
that jumps the light at an eye blink
disturbing the coal
burned by the lady selling corn
who sits right there
with hopes so fair
handles a baby in her lap
keeping her little business at a gap.
It hits me so bad, that
It's all a race,
of money, black
and white.
Not among each other,
but with oneself.
It's about little johnny's school dreams
of becoming a big man someday.
The rickshawman's impulse
to get someone to give ride to.
The traffic cop getting paid,
for taking stress of city's traffic.
The rich Rover man still craving,
less for life but for money
stuck somewhere he's heading to.
The corn lady's hopes
for better economic tomorrow.
and it's about me too,
getting back from some business tutions
where we learn to earn big someday.
Before that deep needed thought,
The light goes green,
the race continues.

Monday, 13 February 2017

The tiny boats of time
along with slow autumn
will trail around with me
fleeing to fetch
an early summer.
You know how I feel
about unkind winters.
I will wait for you,
on the road to my askew ways.
In the affair of me
loving you to not knowing love
at all,
Promise me that you'll know
how I am out, roaming around
the trees and rocks and water
brimming myself with love I lack
to give it to you.
But I will never not need you
to guide me back, my love.
So just know,
thy fingerprints etched on my feet
shall usher you
to where I leave my incisions
for them to lead you
to me.
You see the downpours
on the way to where you look for me,
tell them that I have found
myself shores.
The sand on the beach will feel wet
with the tears that might be mine.
That's where I'll see you,
Because you will not find
any place further me.
But promise me,
you will look for me, twice
where I had left you.
Tell me,
Will you find me?
find me, where I wait for you.

Monday, 7 November 2016

Mountains over oceans.
For heights don't scare me, 
it's the depth I'm worried about.

Thursday, 25 August 2016

It's not the alliteration, metaphor or even rhyme. It's the honesty, divinity and beauty that trounces to be a poem.

Wednesday, 3 August 2016

After me

Do not keep my things 
close or closed
in your safe
for I've never wanted to be kept.
Give away
to the orphan kids down the road,
the ambience of my purple room
all colors of my walls,
my diaries, as if someone'll write
on the pages of me,
my chronicles, undone though
for I'd still want to be partially read,
that little girl with no power of speech
will probably sew up my stories 
with never-told hers.
and the untouched fictions on my shelf
lying since forever,
maybe someone would read 
those characters for me, to me.
Do not scruple while thee
accord my favorites,
the blue shirt,
the peach bag, so many bags, all the bags,
my un-tuned guitar, for
I'll play through some fine fingers.
Do not possess me
inside the walls of memories.
and give away 
my dreams and hopes,
my stories and jokes,
my zeal and oddness,
my grin and happiness.
Do not hang me 
on one of the walls
when I'll still be everywhere,
in all the places I have ever been
in embraces of so many arms
in the always-proud-of-me eyes 
in each tick of every clock
and in the shrill echoes 
of my silence.
Do not keep me in your heart
for I'd still want to live out.
Do not bury me in a casket
and mourn when I die,
just burn me up.
Take my ashes 
and eat some, 
spread some,
smoke some.

Wednesday, 13 July 2016

In times too bitter
or too smooth,
From people and cities,
We'll run bare feet
to fetch the clouds
and drown the waters,
to find peace in plights
and chaos in calm,
You surrender
your hand to mine
and I'll hide
my heart in your soul.
You tell me
what galaxy does
to keep the sun there,
and I'll show you
how ocean holds the sky.
You halt time for me
and I'll keep an eye on age.
We'll dematerialize
in the intangibility
of heavenly landscapes
and in the beauty
of vast emptiness.
In the spell of
unraveling the less traveled roads
obsessing over hills and oceans,
breathing the uncivilized air,
or maybe, just
collecting shells on the shores,
We'll find life,
where no one lives. 

Monday, 13 June 2016

In the shadows of thick leaves
under the split rays,
amongst the free wind
and white clouds,
I'll be breathing the freshness 
of lilies and lavenders.
You'll never not know
where to seek for me,
for I'll be on the shore
beside an ocean,
my love and fear of waters.
On a random picturesque,
I, for most be smiling
at the beauty of hills
and laughing
at the wilderness of civilization,
You'll never not feel 
me, in the lonely hours
on dark winter nights
for I'll be in an empty corner,
unveiling the meaning of 
love, life and peace.
You shall never lose me,
since always, I'll be 
free as wind in the forests
handy as shells on the shores
nigh as clouds on the ridges
and deep as darkness of dusk
If you lose me still,
look for me in the poetry
and you shall always find me.

Sunday, 29 May 2016

Sunday, 1 May 2016

The right decision is not a good decision, if you end up sad.

Sunday, 10 April 2016

The most suffocating relationship doesn't involve another person, for there's always an exit. 
It's the one you have with yourself, where a break could do, but you just can't.

Saturday, 27 February 2016

There is a very fine line between inspiration and plagiarism. As a writer, my biggest sin would be crossing that line.

Thursday, 25 February 2016

The enlightening nights

Maybe, if it was 18th again
or the inches of my body
be in right lengths and widths,
I don't want to grow
as old and as untimely
as I have been, or if
I was just capable of writing
all that never gets written,
why can't this stupid clock stop ticking!
An endless record of things gone wrong
surrounds me, as I keep tossing
in my unmade bed.
I wish I were in different country
since everything's wrong with mine,
in fact in a parallel universe,
is there any?
Maybe I'm here, in this one
to mend it, to give it more
than I can take.
I'm on to it tomorrow.
The things that can't be rightened,
followed by a zillion purposes
of life, for life.
Only if I survive the fan above me
in case it decides to plunge,
Would she cry if I die?
I told her,"We aren't friends anymore."
But nights were meant to sleep
this ain't anything like that,
also, mom promised, night sleep
could get my skin glowing
maybe that's something,
one thing that can be rightened.
And I'm back to sqaure one now.
This could go on and on
the umbras and penumbras
in the light of the night.
How much I wish though
it to go impossibly long
for night's still been kinder to me
like a noiseless friend
in the emptiness of hours
a hope
in the enormity of chaos,
flickering in the rays of darkness
black and deep,
like a brighter morning.

Saturday, 6 February 2016


A few lot of eyes
speak for the people
who have lost you
in the process of finding you.
The only thing that can find you
on this dark winter night, is
the unmentionable,
an obscure feeling that
hasn't yet made it to any diction
but has made an immutable dwelling
inside you instead.
How it blankets you
with the immensity
of chills that can not be told
for no words would cooperate ,
so all you have is jumbled words
and no one to understand,
but you see
there's whole another world
they avow life on foreign planets,
would it be free
of love and war
and of everything on this one.
can't know, maybe
you'll never know, though
you've enclaved yourself,
whereabouts of which are alien
to the defined geographies and
to all who are out to love you
but you have come a little too far,
too far to be found.

Wednesday, 20 January 2016

That's what being has been

Only when you search
till you find self
in two hundred something
of fragility and mortality.
Some light years away
must have you done something
horribly beautiful
to be here,
here in existence.
For nothing conceals
the glum eyes on happy face,
a shallow heart,
and empty soul.
For you couldn't be kept
from distortion
of bruised knees
cracked heels,
pimpled cheeks
cramped feels,
kindly so
not a thing irreparable,
that's what living has been
a mortal bod
of impairment and beaut
an expeditious age
of being to not being
a vicious lifetime
of warmth and hurt,
an endless trail
of hoping and healing.

Monday, 18 January 2016

I don't care about money or fame. I just want to be immortal. 

Saturday, 5 December 2015

An independent, uninspired, self opinionated ability to think and make decisions is the most magnificent trait a human can possess.

Saturday, 21 November 2015

But, they said that Love was meant to heal. 
Maybe Love was meant to heal.

Thursday, 9 July 2015

Monday, 25 May 2015

If you are always expecting in return for the good you do to others, you aren't really doing any good at all.