Tuesday, 7 August 2018

Rain, sun and I...

I poured down from the Raintree leaves
quite a few times and smiled through them,
quite a few times; does rain know
 how to catch on the broken ends of thoughts
and carry on connecting you from dot to dot?
Some stories read and seen lingers,
snatches you out of your sight
and leaves you up somewhere
 between clouds and emptiness;
somewhere you get lost between the bliss
of knowing greater things, indecipherable,
and things that pushes you back to flesh and bones
and there in between those blissful commotions,
yes I mean blissful commotion, you get to know
love is being yourself and in you dwells the universe,
throbbing with songs and stories; or love is universe
and you, the very grain of its existence…
So let me, again and again, drip from those leaves
and let me smile through them until only bliss remain
and no commotion…    

Wednesday, 1 August 2018


the blue window portrayed an evenly blank, blue sky
 blank, as blank as the walls that never reflected her

her hand reclined on the sofa’s headrest cullying a mind
that rested not much, not at all, even the red sofa failed

its occupant’s avid spirit buried within the layers of sanity
normalcy is perceived as to the ways prevalent in and around

and her mind dangled between commonness and the impulses
as the sky reflected an ocean blue, contemplating ocean secrets

the loud red sofa contained itself under the resting fingers
remained blank as the walls, the sky and blank about her mind

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Tuesday, 31 July 2018


summer bullied,
tugging hard;
stinking humidity.
Night shuddered…

July washed the stinky air ardently 
pushing the summer beyond the hills.
Summer retreated with vengeance
and July, with its romantic stories poured, flowed through the city
washing down dark poisonous fog; unclogging the veins of the city;
bathing trees and plants; satiating the thirsty earth...

Monsoon danced,
hugging tight;
selling dreams,
she drenched all in her desire...

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Thursday, 28 June 2018


flimsy legs     straight road

rainy evenings atop the hills
                          flimsy legs    dream wings

rainy evenings atop the hills
enigmatic shades and lights
                     wet ground    dark grooves
teeming atmosphere

flimsy legs   dream flying
flimsy legs    dream hills

a heard of sheep, together they graze meekly
somewhere they hide a dragon, dreaming stars
flimsy legs    hesitating    love the dragon  
                                        love wings
love transitions

Tuesday, 15 May 2018

feathers of compassion

It’s not easy to write about compassion, a most talked about thing and the least understood. Quote after quote, Facebook posts and Whatsapp, but compassion is rarely there in actual life. That you see mostly is the very selfish love out of reasons and needs.
A few days back a small bird came in our living room through the front door. It went straight to the balcony closed with bird net. It tried from every hole and a little later, another of its clan came and sat on the bird net on the other side---the free outside world. They both tried for some time and the free bird came near a comparatively bigger hole in the corner, and lo, the trapped one immediately flew through the big hole in the corner. I don’t know what they communicated and how…but yes, a friend in need is a friend indeed!

feathers so petite,
for us time rolls, paramount---
life glides on wings

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Monday, 14 May 2018


i am,  sweet medley
of dreams and realities; of undenied and denied past;
 winged present moments that i owned
 when time stopped between breaths,
the living moments, sense of life heaving up and down---
down and up, heaving life, of sense,
moments living the breaths between stopped time;
when owned, I, that moments present winged past
denied and undenied, of realities and dreams,
of medley; sweet, am i…

Thursday, 10 May 2018

I am the elixir

where your thoughts can go with consciousness that’s the extend of my presence
and when you wither away as dry fibres and bones, know that i have withdrawn

i am your green and blossomed dreams that you walk on grass-grown aisles
and when you walk and crawl on dried cracked mud, know that i am gone

i am the presence between your skin and the ether, that’s how you feel harmonious
and when you writhe in hot air burning in your own sin, know that i have forsaken

i am your greatest epic on which you built your believes, songs, joys and hopes
and when you find yourself with no meaning, song and tale, know that i am worn

     whine not afterwards
     for even your tears are my sparks

Wednesday, 9 May 2018

hanging thoughts

empty pots in the balcony are tiny deserts of neglect ;
barren soil holding no drops and clinging to neglect;
lines of memory intact on each particle of dry shingle;
 dead soil of pain knows nothing of waiting for roots
to run all through each grit  making ripples of life,
so are empty hearts…

#     #       #          #           # 

some poems doesn’t flow,
they stop dead at points of contemplation
leaving hanging thoughts and words
of empty hearts…

let the spirit of phoenix enrich
barrenness of lands and hearts…

Thursday, 3 May 2018

an oasis of wildness...

Google Image

there is a stir,
a flapping
and a slight murmuring---
this happens somewhere inside
near a rippling pond of flesh-red memories
when outside commotion pricks
at all your beliefs;
one after the other, people are milking the cow
leaving the calves hungry to bellow to death;
your voice chokes between the swelled tonsils,
they are infected…pollution?
so with the pricks it stirs and takes you to the wildness,
the very remains of your ancient forest spirit
and there you live in spite of all odds
reviving from every blow
crooning wild dialects
of being true selves…

Wednesday, 28 March 2018

tongue, tastes and afterthoughts/smiles

ever tasted thoughts
to know them---copiously,
to dress them into words,
garnish and present for others

it’s  paraphrasing…
taste mitigates

the waves, depths, flow,
stillness and the void spaces;
tongue rolls in emptiness
to catch the nuances…

it’s like painting…
but it comes out abstract


‘dumbfound’… is that what you feel exactly,
when somebody talks overwhelmingly;
especially when half lies protrude shamelessly;
well, to rodomontade stylishly
is an art to be praised  profoundly
and you must giggle merrily…


 in between your dumb-ness and dumbfounded-ness
comes many monsoons and summers…
and you slowly wash prejudices and judgements
to carry springs within…

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