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.

Paul Engle

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Crimson Warmth

walking monks

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?

Girl dazed

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

Tick Tock Song

girl laughing

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

A word To Monalisa

Monalisa painting

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

Love And Lust


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,

Say Yes

silver sun rays

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

Glitters of glass

broken glass

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


man below sky

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