Moccasins

will, singing
the christmas carols,
bring down snow
warmer and softer,
there are my little feet,
too much hurt
by the sharp edges
of the snowflakes.
My freezing breathes
fly upto the clouds,
where I can hardly see upto.
May be there is
someone hidden in those clouds
collecting the snow in its fists
and throwing down at us.
So, its evening,
and the warm hand
of the sunlight
has been dug in the pocket of the mountains,
where a million trees fill my eyes
with white silvery creamy layer.
It was just yesterday
when I became moan
out of the despair
that suddenly rose when I thought
I ll dance and hop
in those moccasins
which I saw wide eyed at
the big glass windowed shop.
I would never be able to buy them.
Walking on the ice
wouldn't have been so itchy
if my feet could adorn
those high heeled moccasins.
The big boy at the school says
theres no such old man
who'll get you , your desired gifts.
Better tuck your pillow nicely
cause no one's coming
to wake you up and kiss your head
and say Merry Christmas.
Preoccupied already by the thought
I felt dizzy as mommy tucked
me nicely in the bed,
but my feet she I guess forgot to dress.
I enquired with a gentle rise of head,
I washed with a warm smile
as I laid wearing those moccasins,
thankyou, old man.

Coffee Dream

In a moan room,
and a dark ambience,
slowly, I sipped coffee,
while absent from reality
I kept my gaze fixed at
the brim of the cup,
where these cream puffs
were like my thoughts,
messy but calm,
sugary but chaotic.

A day that hardly stopped,
A day that had so much to do,
went away so fast,
that even memory falls back.
Broken sentences,
blurry visuals occupied
the empty space of the room,
as I tried to trash them out
of my mind.
They emerge, float in mid air,
and dissapear,
in a fashion that the fumes over the cup followed.

The coffee tasted better,
after every sip now.
I knew I was empty.
Of thoughts, of tiredness, of frustration.
There were little monsters,
made of coffee foam,
that sat at the bottom of the cup.
Squeezed and bursted,
the bottom seemed soothed
with a little blow of air,
that I had intentionally supplied.
haha, I guess that was the end,
to demons inside me as well.
May be this soothe feeling,
was all the magic of the lil blow,
that the day gave me, may be.
We all need a blow sometimes,
to dream a coffe dream where,
we live a few moments of peace,
while we search for them being awake,
drinking coffee.

Penny

Piercing through the crowd,
a streak struck me magically,
resting on one, then another
a butterfly flew magically,
my all gaze was collected by the
jitter of that girl,
oriented in heavens space and
tearing apart hearts, here on earth.

The Familiar Street

Sit and observe sometime,
the mini fair at a busy street,
the black roads and white lines,
and the awesome Gol Gappa treat.

You' ll start to walk this way,
even if it's a longer walk,
the vegies and fruits trays,
will slowly invite your eyes for a talk.
There will be heat,
there will be dust,
but you'll still enjoy the Kulcha feast,
there will be noises,
with some hidden voices,
calling your name for once at least.
Then a soothing breeze will tickle your knees,
when you circle around the tea stall,
with a stretch of arms with an ease.

Over years this street will flourish,
from a lad to a man,
the daily visitor will be nourished,
with an essence of the people,
and mini memories to cherish.

This thing about beauty

So engrossed and so busy,
that I slip into daydreams,
often, while contemplating,
at the beauty of this world.

Beauty can blind,
catches eye and then binds,
that you step first on moon,
while your feet on clouds, you wont be able to mind.

Like stray kites,
the mind waves,
when someone's beauty,
this polite path paves.

Take these girls as an example,
who take my imagination so far,
with their crafted flauntable bodies,
poise of a lioness,
delicacy of a flower.

What's this magic charm,
that overshadows logic often,
be it enemy to sanity,
hard rocks of lust, it softens.

Vida

Ammi ji, main tan udd jana paraye desh,
ki sochoge, vida karde hoye,
bapu ji, akhan ton door ho jana,
do ku pal gilla chadd dena,
mehnetan tuhadian da main dena hai  sitta,
sab kuj sood samet lauta dena,
tusi jo v mere layi kita,
kal chaleyan main kuch mahineya layi,
kuch saal v shayad lagg jaan,
kamaiyan aukhe saukhe ho javangian,
rehna par mera thode ch hi rujhaan...

Rabb tan mera tusi hi hoye,
ki mandar ki gurudware sees jhukavan,
sabb kuch tan thoda hi ditta ji,
kehde hor rabb da shukar manavan,
bhul chuk merian muaaf kar dena ji,
main v dukh bade tuhanu ditte,
nadan samj bhaven thapad maar dena ji,
jehde kam main tuhade kehen magro na kitte..

Kal main chaleyan fer,
boohe te baste rakhe ne,
ki sochoge fer, vida karde nu,
bastean ch haje kapde bade saste rakhe ne...

Old Home

A little piece of land,
supporting bricks and gravel,
painted and decorated,
we call home.

Years squeezed in a whistle,
passed in a quick melody,
as I revisited the voices
that echoed in my old home.
Laughs, screams, hushes,
all fill the air with familiarity,
of people, of their love, of a warm feeling of safety.
I walk through the hall,
I stall everywhere, in and out,
re-living the life lost to these walls,
preserved in these closets,
scratch and see the colours of the paint,
a childhood is layered,
birth to death.

I live in city now,
far from the rough roads,
that made my feet ready
to take a higher feat.
Higher, yes, happier? no.
And after altering the lifestyle,
the child never wants to go back,
to his beginning,
as he never grew living there,
because, he was burried there.
The grown up searches him everywhere,
in the bedroom, in the lobby, in the kitchen,
then moves back from his old home.

Morning Song

I begged happiness from the dawn,
rising sun may make me rise with it,
I blew off candle flames,
and let the day light my life up.

I sailed on expectations,
of happy surprises,
not big but little delights,
that I can gulp in without guilt,
as I slip out of my quilt,
in a hurry matching the rush of streets,
that busy people bring about.
A few moments to catch breathe,
act carefree and boundless,
like catching the speeding bus,
in a positive spirited jitter,
and the little good feeling that would accompany it.

I ran down thoughts,
in a worry sprinkled
on my checklist of pending things,
I wish to remove one today,
without forcing to be alive,
and live in the flow
of drugged dancer's footsteps,
random but natural,
simple but beautiful.

To the will of my destiny,
I again start afresh the same way,
a cold bath, a teacup, biscuits and fried eggs.
I beg a relaxed day,
time to smile, moments of laughter,
glimpses of smiles, and silence after.
A quick sleep through the night,
this much only,
would have made life so livable.

Suchi Sardari

Bohot sunea eh shabd,
aap vadde hondea doran,
"Sardari" , Sikhan da adb,
Punjabian da mudhva rujhaan.

Jihde vi moohon sunea,
kehnda, Sardari da taur avvali,
aen, tyar shar hoke rehna,
sirre laa ke rakhni cheez kali kali.
Shahi tarike vali pagg sja,
muchan nu vatt chdha,
baahli parvah ni kise di,
yaaran naal raunka la.

Bda sohna te joshila lagda si sunn ke,
pehenava te roab sardaran da,
par waqt nal baha ke leh ja reha,
sacha swaroop dildaran da.

Syanean ne akhea,
halimi naal pesh aao,
Gabru panjabio,
punjabiat nu na hanera lao,
bahri dikhave ne ni kujh khatna,
mann nu paripakv bnao,
je paggan naal nal sardari aundi,
tan tusi sardar na kahaunde,
sachai, adb, jigra te jaan paake hi,
sardar naam muhre singh ne launde

Defeat

Death will be the greatest reward, life was a small defeat,
all will end with a win,
after loosing each day to live.
Strong shall be able to loose,
every thing to life,
only they shall survive,
to win in the last.

But I saw in my dreams

Had'nt the clock, yet struck 12,
before your thoughts were already ringing,
but as a cute gesture at the time of the bell,
your exclusive birthday wish was already singing.

Had'nt the clock, yet struck 12,
and dont ask me, how much was I excited,
I surely would have, If I could tell,
how this time was being delighted.
At 11, the cold wind was shaking me over,
like tickles of your fingers on my skin,
so that sleep came slower,
but I tell you, night and my dreams were already kin.

I saw you there,
standing on the pedestal of my imagery,
and riding on the back of my metaphors,
as in simile compared you to treasury,
I was already occupied in your gaze,
dreams in dreams and deeper I slept,
that I never returned from the maze.

Just on that 1 second difference on which the crystals stood,
I waited and waited like ages inside that one moment,
that anytime now, you would,
spring the jasmine flowers in the air,
and release the words coated with honey.

Just on that 1 second difference on which the crystals stood,
I foolishly dragged cloth from beneath them,
I wanted and had to wish you for first,
But I saw you in my dream which kept me aside from realm.

The Late Nighters

its late, says the clock, but this conversation, i dont wanna block,
see the time runs tick tock tick tock tick tock,
i feel very sleepy while i talk,
but u wont let me stop,
i see the stars watching us from up there, somewhere
i feel they too might wonder,
what makes us up so late wen the world is in deep slumber,
we talk about things that fascinate us,
we talk about moments that anticipate us,
when we think we have talked it all,
one thing or other comes out of the sprawl,
i have lived my life for many reasons of which one is u,
this dark night knows everything,
it is aware of the fact that my words are true,
my eyelids are heavy with the growing night,
but what i hear from u makes me feel light,
what are the things that are left,
is it about the thief or is it about the theft,
the thief has played smart,
kept on talking and didnt let me say,
the theif quitely entered and took my heart back on its way.

The Use of Being Kind

What is the use of being kind?
I used to ask to my mind.
are these busy people worthy enough?
they dont even notice you.
I am not a hollow man,
that everyone just hurries through!

That they have self motive towering over their humanity, values,
how are they living with such an insensitivity?
that being a human, a human's plea doesn't affect them,
I ask my mind repeatedly.
Cruel have they become,
these bodies driven by greed,
with blurred eyes they see,
the cost awaiting to be paid heed.

The hurry to save time,
pushing along the queue,
jumping over the spine,
chaos in my view,
upto where my gaze lasts,
I see no sign, no clue,
gone are the days of past,
of saner people, now very few.

"Situations!"
I hear from within.
A deep observation reveals an even deeper fact,
that by fate and fellowmen, these people lead here,
where simple humane values, most of us lack.
That this insanity is not natural,
but borrowed from devil,
cause when it became hard to eat wood,
It was easy to cut it.
That dont mistake my rue as my basic instinct,
that I too falter to see people die,
but my faith has been darkened by griefs,
but to live, to survive, I have adopted weepless cry.

Then I try to drink my anger and wait until its all drank,
to think with all my heart about them, who have sank,
below their levels of tollerance and rationalism,
while fighting and loosing their morals to devil,
they dont react much, they are blank.

To these who deserve some love, some care,
thirsty at the brink of mercy,
I try to be kind and to be fair,
by being kind to the ill fated and showing some courtesy.
That its not a question of use anymore,
kindness at hand is sanity for a man,
that I choose to fight the devils at the door.

Misery and Merry

How miserable,
people go to sleep,
longing for simple things,
only their dreams can afford.
how miserably,
they compromise,
their broken dreams for bread and butter.
Why are they drowning,
inside this pool of self pitty,
that when they see merry,
they cant hold back the frowning.

Misery lives strong in my people,
shadowing their lives,
they curse their luck,
and surrender before this curse,
that no good can do away their worse.
They are not loosers,
though they cannot win,
they limit themselves to subsistence,
most necessary now, for existence.

Then when I ask them,
what causes you misery,
they show me from curtains,
the merry of insane people,
who parasite on them for sanity,
who taste the brightest light,
who rule here now,
who laugh at their plight.
They the majority of this world,
dawn heavy on my people,
who still struggle to live,
as sane humans.

Sail or Dive

An ocean is our mind,
of indefinite depth,
rough, erotic and random at the surface,
whereas calm and organised in the deep.

You can choose where to be,
either in the hands of waves,
splashing, active and free,
or take a deep dive into its calmness,
moan, still, behome darkness.

But, you always taste the tides to your will,
whereas, going deep down there is a no-return voyage.

But do choose to be keep alive,
either sail freely or once-forever dive.

A little lamp lit

deep down there
a little lamp lit,
a dim light,
a faint existence
but still it killed
the big dark night
clouded with silence.
No wonder I saw it
before loosing every spark,
to this gloom, so stark.
Deep down there
a little lamp lit,
the final signal before defeat,
and the last of hope,
but not the least,
though.
And the little lamp kept
its light alive until dawn,
when the little lamp slept,
the Sun slowly began to yawn.

Thanks little lamp,
for that much light,
that before you perished,
I was able to live through the gloomy night.

Three of them

Once before sleeping, herself,
she never forgot to check the rest of my mind,
that even after harsh words to her,
the boy has relaxed or not, his tongue so unkind.
what shall I conclude as,
of her unbiased service to me,
is it her very mighty love,
or a very mighty will to live most dutifully.
She has given everything ever expected from her,
and has never the glitch of my wrongdoings,
subdue her faith, love and blessing to go unprospered,
in my life.
Such is my mother.

Even if one has numerous friends,
one may lack in fulfilling one's heart,
with utter tenderness and warmth,
that a little girl of ten embarks.
None the less irritable a company,
she holds her world to her will,
but would pat your shoulder and inquire,
if your eyes, a tear would ever spill.
She has her wise approach not only to her doll house,
where she drafts her plans of her teens,
but to provide resolute, to the biggest issues,
she becomes inherently keen,
and its her confidence that confides sanity in me,
that what she suggested, the greatest truth has been.
Such is my sister.

Then people who only not are called family,
but have equal saying and equal rights,
one such was she, who closed childhood with me,
who accepted me even after several fights.
She like never exited my head,
had a home in there,
she occupied my heart as well as she occupied my mind,
a thought touched by her was hard to spare.
She had a found an easy fit into my life,
had booked the rarest of the rare a seat,
one half of myself I show everyone,
other half she bestows, to call it complete.
Such was my friend.

Poetry and a Diamond

The arrangement of Carbon atoms in a peculiar way leads to formation of a diamond which is shiny, beautiful and tempting. So is the case with words and poetry.

Arrows

I tried hard to hide in cover,
when the lady opened arrows,
it was her insensitivity that,
killed my innocent sparrows.

Never twist your tongue,
to pull back the bow string,
never place an arrow in your words,
many wounds unnoticed it may bring.

Dont hurt some one,
dont prick their heart,
archery by words,
is not a commendable art.

Its hard to feel their pain,
you may not see the wounded skin,
its even harder to heal that pain,
that hurts from within.

Resonant Frequency

The way she moved,
her steps and taps,
the way the wind grooved,
resonating the frequency of her claps.

She is not any girl with a voice,
she is the music to my dancing heartbeats,
I am bound to be out of choice,
to slip in my shoes and join in her rythm that she keeps.

Tip tap toe, she patted her heels on the floor,
when the dusty wood vibrated to the core,
It didn't seem as if she was actually there,
but beforehand, her essence had allready reached here,
airy hands held strong her melodious enchant,
rendering harmony to its chaos,
in a bucket full of rough yarns,
she knitted a harmonical cloth bearing her grandiose.

Just like a tuning fork,
I quivered with a wild vigor,
when she thumped the drum with a rock,
and I resonated, flew, inside my quiver.
She was no one but an old cassete player rolling,
which had accidently struck a guitar string inside me,
and all the things that I began recalling,
just like resonating to my resonant frequency.

Daughter of the stars

A twinkle in darkness,
is one thing so intriguing.
That it made me fall for the sky,
being particular, the person up there,
in stars, who lives by.
it lives no more than a second,
all in one, just one second,
of defining existence and of defining death,
lives and empties dark out of this world,
a moment long solitude,
before it blows off and,
you are caught in its persistent light,
so much bright that you are blinded,
by white colour in your eyes,
in this black starry night.

She came the same way,
moon hid it selflessly in clouds,
and let all those stars take the show.
They formed that silver lined outline
of her face,  her arms, her gown,
and the staircase from which she stepped down.
It amazed me, shook me over,
I felt loved by the stars,
kissed by the earth,
when she hugged me,
and I clenched tighter,
so tight that I could feel my body burn,
with the same intensity with which the stars shine.
Then she became one with me,
I grasped her and let her coalesce into me,
I too shone white at this moment,
when I looked myself in this dark,
I wandered somewhere far,
I too had become a star,
I had became that star,
whose twinkle had caught me staring at it,
I lay on earth, loved.
While all this,
I learnt what love is.

Art to an artist is . . .

Art to an artist is a reason for life,
life to an artist is a growing tree,
tree to an artist is a thing of beauty,
beauty to an artist is a fulfilled aspiration,
aspiration to an artist is a long wait,
wait to an artist is his test of patience,
patience of an artist is evident from his work,
work to an artist is a solemn worship,
worship to an artist is his art,
Art to an artist is the reason for life.

The park school of street children

At the park,
they learnt better lessons,
for no fee but attention,
sound mind and open senses,
to take notes while with no inkpot,
they took bruises,
to the skin for memorising purpose.
A school for brave,
alike minded and same dressed,
for the park boundaries kept creeds outside,
and let in raw learners,
who played harsh games,
kicked ball, swinged chains,
and dirt dipped went home,
unwillingly and educated.
They learnt by falling,
practiced by crawling,
perfected by spirits,
tested by taunts,
as they thrived for respect.
They did not crib for expensive clothes,
or for shoes,
they disregarded torn and holes,
barefooted, they felt lessons,
than just hearing them.
They learnt fun, punctuality,
respect, pack playing, friendship,
hope, patience and freedom.
They felt no shoulder weight of school bag,
but urge to be alive,
they took imprints on their minds,
as they studied life closely,
their strong minds, their notebooks,
not slim fragile paper,
their skin bore marks,
as corrections to shortcomings.
The park school,
taught them life,
life taught them lessons,
ruggedly they grew,
not engineers but masons,
who today live in unshakable homes.

A wild dream

those times, roses sparkling their red,
greeny grass with dew drop diamonds on their head,
bright light peeping through the leaves,
falling on your half closed eyes,
when you blink them click and click,
and round your head goes,
whirl go your hair shining golden brown and over your nose,
then when you put them aside, eyes now open,
what u see is me walking upto you,
holding a stick half broken,
i greet you politely with a smile,
and put the stick in your hair, meanwhile,
then we both start a walk on the furry mat,
the trees wide open and closing up their hat,
if you can see down there,
the birds by the river, busy with their prayer,
and if you see with your head up,
clouds resemble the cream over a coffee cup,
and among all the charm,
that the world admires,
the most beautiful, is the one resting in my arm,
the girl of my desires.

Consolidations

We only greet by eyes,
we dont even pretend,
we shake hands in mind,
we feel reluctant to touch,
earlier we stood at the same station,
took the same subs,
we never gave up talking,
confessing, commenting, teasing,
but all voices are shy now,
silence is too loud.

I now just catch you by chance,
sparing a glance at me,
and what I read from your face is,
subtle, ignorant and despaired expression,
very discouraging.
all freshness, all soothe,
found and lost in the motion,
like winter night calmness,
not interested in talking, moan.

Today is the fourth week in series,
practising keeping distances,
cant tell when shall I give up,
holding more,
and break the silence with a scream,
I tell you,
it will be bad than the baddest dream,
I tell myself.
Then I would slowly ask for a word,
and put apology, words in words,
fake a smile deliberately enough,
that you can't make out,
and concieve things settling back,
to normal, to routine, as always,
but normal shall not mean happy here,
atleast for me,
As I am the one more needy,
of this fragile relationship.

People who make us

people who make us,
to whom we owe so much,
from little things like gel pen,
to bigger things like trust,

who stand with us, given the feet hurt,
who share our pains, when situations get worse,
those rich people who can afford to buy us smiles,
those big at heart, who have a place for our delights,
those shelters in the rain of tears,
those, who can absorb our fears

they the people, who share our childhood,
especially the better part,
consisting of times spent with them, good or bad for the last,
while with them we have become,
who we are,
while with us, they realised,
who we were.

life when sought through the lens of their love,
is such a lovely paranorma,
like the serenity of a calm lake,
and its aroma.
We should, if we could, somehow, thank these people,
for being there for us,
but how on earth, only with words, would we be able to,
deal with such a huge debt?

world gives them many names,
of god fathers, angels, fairies and more,
we never know from whom have they been sent,
but in my knowledge of this world,
I name them friends

Scarce Warmth

leaves have moved a bit,
so has the breeze,
theres a tickle in the nest,
with a cold sneeze,
the sun has lazily risen,
in the foggy sky,
resting on its arm is a sleepy kitten,
it sees around with half an open eye,
that girls have wore mittens,
snow is whirling round and round before it falls,
most things are white,
what kitten feels is very small,
the world is very large inspite,

The cat just jumped upon the parapet,
bothering the kitten, not that much,
the cat has brought some milk,
the kitten began to sip and felt with it, a soothing touch.

the kitten then lets out a scream,
just as its whiskers were wet with cream,
because cat ran away in a haste,
its breathes have slowed down with the same pace,
cause the bullet freed the blood,
and the kitten became one with the snow flood,
what wrong did the kitten do is not known to him,
he had drank the stolen milk lying near the mink,
the theft of the milk helped the man's cruelty over the brim.

this cold has brought scarcity with it,
scarce food, scarce warmth, scarce sun very unfit,
this cold is beautiful though,
the snow has dressed everything white like a bridal gown,
though in this pitch silence,
theres no one to hear the kittens frown,
theres no one to hear the kittens frown.

As I Walk

I just wonder,
and out of wondering,
I reach nowhere near certain.
I walk with dreamy eyes,
I see but loose everything,
in the backdrop of thoughts,
tangled intertwined,
world of mine.
I move in uniformity,
in chaos of roads,
leading to my destination,
in every direction,
I make way through ways,
jumping, sliding , running or crawling,
I somehow find myself there,
though mostly unaware,
from where and how have I come.
I make obstructions for myself,
paths choose me,
I walk less and wander more,
As I walk,
here in my mind.

I sing along,
sometimes whistle,
a random song,
that is going on here in my mind.
I dont know the lyrics,
I only recognise the rythm,
and that seems enough,
to not to be lost.
not to be strayed,
from here in my mind,
As I walk.

I tame a world in me,
I cage many birds, many beasts,
when I cross the dreary streets,
I look at everything looking back at me,
trying to know, or use,
the whirlpool in my eyes,
but i shut them close,
and wake up in reality,
to let the demons sleep,
there as it is,
and not disturb or disrupt,
the outer world as it is,
I am at an unsure unrest,
here in my mind,
As I walk.

Earth with her Moon

it watches from a fair height,
the blue oceans it sweeps,
the tallest lamppost in the night,
and the secrets it keeps.

my lifted neck and cornered eyes,
as they catch the glimpse of this heavenly light,
wonder how far my fairies dwell,
chanting spells from their heavenly pedestal,
that I, bound here to earth,
watch the night take birth,
with six thousands stars unravelling themselves,
and adding glory to the show,
as they continue to twinkle like pearls in an oyester shell,
I quietly ask the time to elapse a little slow.

Mother gravity,
the soul force of this relation,
ties the knot and holds it strong,
to keep both of you at station,
someday fateful enough,
in four billion years of your creation,
you collided with each other,
not sure if in wanton or in desperation,
that you ballet danced rubbing each others skin,
when the moon tilted the earth's inclination,
I say that out of belief that it happened,
but the theory still seeks some more citiation.

Since then, and now it seems like forever,
the moon plays ringa rose,
it shows one side of it,
but the other side it shall never disclose,
though in mother gravity's embrace,
further apart you grow,
with the ticking clock,
yeah that raises an eyebrow,
that this heavenly ballet,
keeps on stretching its arms as commences the show.

yet an amazement knocks at my mind,
that such a strict discipline,
where shall one find?
Moon as it does,
the good and kind,
to earths oceans,
as tides unwind,
and regulate the earthly processes,
over and over in a pauseless rewind,
that life flourishes in this certainity,
that every night makes me remind,
what a boon to us is the moon,
a blessing to both visionaries and blind.

Elements of Me

theres an ocean to pour out of my head,
a legacy of unexpressed drops,
its vastness stretching upto the last end of my imagination,
a bit uncertain though if its the last stoppage of my thoughts.

theres a strom in my heart,
emergent from reminant blows,
this heart has ever suffered,
from the daggers of friends and foes.

theres a rainbow in my soul,
the one imparting colour to the waters and the wind,
through my body i dug out a hole,
so that colurs could spill,
and the bow, these winds and waters, togethor shall hold still.

at last i have the sparkle of the stardust,
the sparkle i didnt let die,
like the pulsars shining from deep within space,
the sparkle can be seen as the twinkle in my eyes.

Letting things go

like the autumn leaves,
quitely wither off,
there are things waiting
on the old branches of this ageing tree,
who have waited untill this moment,
so that their weight can be eased,
after all, this rotten pain can be ceased.

things seemed to come,
just at the right time,
when there was an unspoken demand,
when there was an instinctive expectation,
they came and slipped in nicely,
and compared to then,
now they make me feel,
a childish greed triggered dilemma,
in doing the act,
in weakening the grip,
and letting them go.

this embracing sorrow,
in seeing the river,
take my ducks away,
in hearing the cranky cage open,
and there go my pigeons,
with no promises, no pacts,
of ever coming back,
slowly damns the heart,
politely with mercy.

then i would wait untill they are out of sight,
lost beyond the horizon,
hold my breath and,
turn around to never ever look back,
where they disappeared.
to never put my steps in the same direction,
and wholely solely,
disregarding wants,
closing the chapters,
bid them farewell.

Locked in the eye lids

A slot machine at the casino,
someone pulled the handle years ago,
the wheel has been spining since then,
before the dreamy, waitful and greedily anticipating eyes.

The first stumble caused by this overwhelming lust of alcohol.
double displaying everything,
warm and good.
not right or wrong.
just like handle pulled inside the brain,
thousand flashes spun before eyes.

the excited and happy painted faces of the circus crew,
when i got a front row seat,
inbetween claps, i saw them feeling so joyful,
which was the reason i clapped,
for them it was what i did,
everything they put up the show for,
my claps, their earning,
no it was not ticket's money,
unlike at the casino.

the group of us cousins,
had me the youngest,
silliest, dumbest, funniest,
and the very brave to take on every joke cracked,
without caring much,
cause couldnt have retorted,
the tounge was still very little,
but no it wasnt their conventional fun,
couldnt have realised 11 years back,
but i get it now,
their grin hid love for me,
the same way the casino staff doesnot.

All these things bubbled up,
a the wet surface of the eyeball,
and made me shed tears.
sadness, the damn feeling,
that arised when i recalled such a happiness,
just like spinning slots of the machine,
evrything was running in a sequence,
i felt drunk alcohol, but,
i suspect i just got a hangover,
after drinking too much hate tonight locked in the eyelids.

Welcoming Sadness

As happier as it gets,
the quicker it melts,
this ice cream of life.
the longer the smiles last,
the quicker they are passed,
in this mortal dream of life.

not always will the things be right,
some times the roads will be open wide,
other some they will be very tight.
wide roads are dept traps,
where as narrow ones are credits,
but while walking down,
such thoughts remain out of sight.
I am not a sadist,
niether I sing pessimism,
I just try to withdraw curtains from this dawning madness,
we thank god for happiness,
we should also welcome sadness.

from the doorway of our open mind,
we shall accept life as it is,
cause its destined, it shall find,
the sighing person,
didnt only know before,
that sadness is not darkness,
that the so wide smile actually makes you blind.

That misery has its own way,
in making of a forever mark,
that Mr Tyndall could only see the lightray,
when the room was dark.

that how do you know what is blue,
if there was only the same colour,
because we know how it felt to us,
while going through,
before understanding the pain of others.
The same way is happiness learnt,
the light is only visible,
when something is burnt,
sadness occurs to us naturally,
when we are longing for happiness in return. happiness in return.

Rememberence

swirling snow flakes had caught my attention,
the white painted and still scene,
had just these snowflakes,
wandering everywhere, carefree.

Then when one of them landed on a brown cap,
I recognised who was it,
she was going somwhere,
the same way she was making her ways,
different from mine,
the same way she was making her ways,
outta my life.

The nest on a tree,
whom I had not forgotten,
since the hatched creatures,
had seen the light for the first,
was now abondaned.
Those birds may never have known me,
but their departure was saddening.
Here are people who share nests with each other,
how tough it is for them to part,
and these birds were still strangers.
So was she making preparations,
a nest in my heart was soon going to be empty.

Then she had seen me seeing her,
she looked, with a peculiar discomfort,
waved a hand slowly lazily,
winked an eye and turned inside,
heartbeat fluttered once in the whole motion,
and then dropped low,
as if, may be,
it was the last greet,
last smile,
last wave,
and a bond which wont last,
any more.

its not her absence,
its memories that would bite,
they would knock at the door,
in peace at night.
One may learn how to do them away,
one may stop caring,
but one dies a little inside,
while daring.

Then these chilling winds would come,
take me in their cold embrace,
then my heart will ask my mind,
where is the sun?