He lay asleep, a contemplative air, On the window ledge, in the warm morning sun. Seeming so beyond the reach of a care, And I believed all his worldly duties done. The world courtesies as it passes him by, As it bustles along doing daily chores. He raises an eyebrow and opens an eye, An
Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.
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When I depart the realm of the terrestrial for the splendour of the celestial, do not bury my remains in the valley of the Kings, for robbers would move my bones in search of gold rings. I detest sharing the glory of the blue-bloods with them in death, but I would like my moulded clay
In the silence of my void I hear a voice When, The world has slept The human babble is quiet What is that I wonder? A sudden mystic thunder Keeps me awake Day or night I sit back with my soul One in all but still forlorn But, I could not find The source of
Vague log cabins speckle the yawning valley against the rapture of majestic mountains. Narrow pathway snakes up the range, gooseberry shrubs colour the sides of the stony trail that leaves me cold. Squinting against the dead sun chilly winds dampen my spirits and leave my hair cold and white. My Spine aches, am indecisive to
What was that dream A colour so strange Never felt before Which neither keeps me awake Nor let me sleep Compelling me out of myself Each moment And I stand perplexed With a fractioned heart Restless, Entrapped, Behind those walls Looking for you But, The walls are so huge I cannot see you Only a
The coffee shops spill over with uninspired espressos, The jukebox shudders over in ebbs and flows, The conversation is just a din that adds up and grows, The footfalls are stampeding all over the floors. There is a voice singing the tick tock song. It’s so hard not to sing along. The vehicles are revving
Glad tidings to thee my lady Divine. Thy beauty, thine elegance thy civilised demeanor and graceful charm would each add priceless value to thy dowry. A thousand Princes would contend for thine heart, a thousand more for thine hand in marriage, and at the command of thy tender, loving and mellifluous voice, Venus and Mars
This is not a poem but a misunderstood flower, Lost on a platform where the trains only go into autumn. This is not a poem but a dilapidated city, Where no one will ever again remember to hum. This is not a poem but a toy on a voyage to a land, Where there are
Slipped from the tree fell into the beautiful bushes Tickling the hell out of me Cold Cold water touch my feet to comfort Wasteful thoughts sieved out Let’s call upon the sunlight and complete this Portrait that consists of me , the tree & all the Beaut . Fly , I Fly this ain’t no
‘GANDHISM’ – an eternal truth of divinity, Found in all human individuality ! Struggle is to ‘Experiment’ & find in yourselves, It is not hiding anywhere else ! Empathy for the last one, Is the ‘talisman’ for the ‘Sarva-jan’ ! Many ‘Isms’ come and go, But ‘Gandhism’ is in our hearts, will never go!!
A miserable hospital scene, with shouts and painful sobs, With fractures, wounds and injuries of various calamities, And my friend, one among them, cancerous, with no hope, Not weeping, but talking and laughing, as he was, years back, In our classroom, enjoying the full life, on luxuries and lust, A spent-thrift, on tours and hotels,
they always engross to bury you and you are digging that your true face rise up with no any word of complain until something miraculous happen with you so you kept mum and like Sisyphus you may grow up or die to look after you every moment you must die before that Almighty’s eyes that
My life is like broken glass in my hands What was once a beautiful ornament, now is shattered pieces of glass The terror that came in the night Has become the terror of the day It’s like I’m in a desert of mess both caused by self and involuntary occurrences Like poison in the water
Do I dare? As the earth revolves And the sun is Obfuscated from my vision The stars begin their dance While the planets Continue their waltz. And in the island of their movement Is the ocean of the Milky Way Itself a cosmic island In the ocean of creation. I live in the smallest island
Heavens descended Agni, Varuna, Indra & Yama¹ lined up To witness a Swayamvar² Of a heart with a soul, A reunion on earth & a Meghdutam³ With a cloud as pen The universe as canvas Was asked to describe The girl in red Sari⁴ The scent of Chandan⁵ And splashes of Haldi⁶ A mix of