Thursday, August 1, 2013


The pain of rejection
Is the greatest pain of all.

It hurts so much inside
To be shunned by the one
Whom you blindly adore.

No matter how long
You wait for him,
Right on your face
He slams the door.

He doesn’t want to chat
With a plain doormat
He’d rather wipe his shoes on;
Having no special charm
From the day he bought;
He spares no time
In sentimental talk;
Yet why is it that
He discards me not?
Is it that I’m firm
And not worn out?
But alas! he sadly
Considers it not.

It’s a good thing
I’ve forgotten my voice
Coughing up the mud
Under his feet;
He needn’t bother to
Silence me down anymore.
And tears are wasted
In the pouring rain,
That drenches me whole
Once again.

Friday, March 29, 2013


My love for him is tendentious.
No doubt ; he is a great teacher
Or orator rather;
As ascertained by the millions
Who trail like ants
Or swarm around him
To listen to his words.
For a prophetic voice
And puissant grace
Are a combination that adds
A plethora of charm
To a particular demeanour.

Is he my hero?
Should I quickly
Make up my mind ?

Society has carved a niche,
Wherein lies inscribed           
Golden norms for believers.
For any mortal who trespass
The waters of divine faith;
Oh! The Heavens forbid.


When my eyes met yours
You did belong to me.
Did I hear your voice
Or was it an echo from my heart?
When I clashed,
Was ego my sword and shield?
Now that the fury of the storm has drowned,
I really want to sing once more;
But the melody I seek is gone,
And so the harmony and concord
Lost to the wind and forgot
Just like a mirage.

Saturday, October 15, 2011


Our friendship, my friend,
Is a faithful relationshi.
The sceptics may ponder
To their hearts content
On how long it would last
For they for certain know
Their own breathing span
And meanwhile an only
A sift in a string;
A string of cordiality,
Knitted in mutual trust;
For one stitched can loosen
To spoil the gross.
But the string
Wrought on rock
Is tiny, yet firm
Which no vile can winnow.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

A name is a name

There must be something in a name!
Even after wedlock by the altar,
I chose not to alter my nomenclature
Lest I metamorphose into something
I'd rather not want to be.
If you call me by a different name
It might end me confused;
It is not exactly the 'identity crisis'
Sort of thing that I dread,
But I guess I'd miss being 'me'

Each name carries with it a story
Enacting subtle shades of
Meaning, feeling and colour
Which flower bird or beast
Will like to be called a name
Varied from the original?
Won't it be ridiculous
To call the lion, a sheep
Or the mosquito, an ant?

No jasmine will smell that sweet
If it be called another name
Call the rose, a hemlock,
And witness it wilt its fragrance
And hue to simulate poisonous.
The moth might treat more make-up
To face lift into a butterfly.
The nightingale might cease its melody
Oranges would start tasting like grapes.
Feathers and petals in anarchy;
Lets call for a truce!
Don't we secretly love our nuances?
So does a name reveal a world
Unique to suit the owner's niche.
So why put a pseudonym
To reflect my style
If I'd rather be myself
Than anyone else!


It feels so good to write again.
After a dirge of an year or so
I seek my lost treasure;
Riding on the reins of  fancy,
My soft fingures
Grip my golden weapon;
Like a horse harnessed
I assume the sovereign
To reign my kingdom
Or does it lead me
A cart at the horse's mercy?
I guess any amateur
Would have felt similiar
When his eyes feasted on
Some creative stone
Found by chance
Along the way.
It feels queer to strongly bond
With some trivial again
And it dawned on me
That the urge to write
Was an unfading flower
Of charm and grace
Lending me breath,
Resurrecting my thoughts,
Painting my world,
Polisihing my new found stone
To a gem of my choice

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Broken pieces of glass

When thoughts pour hot
Stir them well
Before they hurt
Your lips.
Jot down the familiar
Wrapped in doubt,
Or conceal a smile
To go straight to it.
The laughter of the unknown
May deliriously haunt
And the only rule is
To mask what you are,
To let no one know;
And you’d end up
With something like
Broken pieces of glass.