She lives nowhere

She lives nowhere
 neither in her own cage
 nor in open air
 homeless, shelterless she moves…
 seeking solace
 would the tranquil blue provide
 her some rest
 will the traveling clouds quench her thirst ageless,
 in the crowd, she gets lost
 her voice diminishing to nothingness
 where ‘s she now
 where is her abode 
 in the limitless sky
 she searches for her unique dwell.

The last lullaby

It was a rendezvous

a tryst with lost hidden moments

fancied through dreams and imaginations

become alive

as fingers on an vintage collection turn the pages

Few drops shed, innumerable smiles captured

the nostalgia of dusty coherence

reminded of old wiped tragedies

a cluster of flowers once bloomed


It’s autumn time now ,

dear friend

The florets sing the

last lullaby.

The pragmatic spirit

the pragmatic spirit
which failed to live as a free bird
pinioned to the ancillary pedestal with bondage,
a pit of darkened sphere
where like a dragon is a holocaust

in the feeble body,
a sunken heart,
fears swing of life
forgoing and abstract
stares at the time pendulum

under the lampshade orange ,
dawned a ray of wisdom
a veneration;
an assimilation of glitches
burns the scared pyre
illuminating the inner luminescence

the flame

flickers the lamp of trust on deserted path of life
the gigantic trees ,old and widespread appear ghost alike
their shadows apparently engulfing the existence in dark embrace
whilst the wind echoes and shrills to fear and death …
Amidst such storm of turbulence and devastation,
enwrap your tiny fingers of innocence and faith around
the quivering flame
Tis’ endurance and devotion, that makes one cross and trail
the lonesome obscurity and murkiness.

“The Silent Warriors”

Her eyes had become lifeless,
like a stone ,she stood unmoved, the life of iris had
turned into pebbles,
yet flowed from the depths of heart and soul
infinite incessant tears…
She was a mother, a wife or a daughter,
her voice deafened in screams of the martyr,
Tis the unmovable body of maybe her son, husband or brother,
nothing actually mattered …
He gave up his days of affection, lost nights amorous in the deep jungles infested
with insects and animals
deprived himself of sleep and rest to give us a realm
of freedom to live without fear…
he was hungry for days or sometimes raw food he ate
half cooked in deserts or on terrains
while we sumptuously enjoyed the delicacies ,yet grumbled on the pinch of salt
that was less in dinner…
do we realize while the handsome packet of salary in our pockets
we earned
an only risk of attrition & no apprehension of seeing the last summer…
why then like heartless beings we are ungrateful and forget the martyrs?
Those who lived and died for us, to fortify our existence and secure us a future
Don’t we owe a moment of grief,
a sense of gratitude or a moral responsibility
to support their loved ones ,
who laid their lives for cavalry
the silent 
great Indian warriors …

Random rumination of a scribbling poet

Can I ever express?

Can I ever say?

murmurs the inner voice

The random ruminations

struggling details

endless musings

thoughts ceaseless

turbulent apprehensions

intense emotions

words falling way apart

when the ink of life flows like the Ganges….


the arteries suffocate

what hath the social environ done

strangling wishes in the cage

flutters the bird a last time

before she forgets her own desire

how then would the heart speak

after being buried in soil nine feet deep

why then the soul screams

in silence when neither the world hears nor


Is it the solitude that echoes

and relishes the scathing pain

the lump in choked throat

or the blood of a slit vein…

the smile of the sad heart

or a laugh lame

how would the heart start

singing its own tale?

nay, it doesn’t glorify

nor intend to sermon

Tis the lonesome want of a

scribbling poet

Ya! listen comrade

lend a moment ,close your eyes

hear my soul’s tale

as drenches the parched heart

in desirous rain!

Thy sobriquet

plucked I from the garden of epithets
a wondrous appellation
Sapphire! Thy sobriquet,
I sway gently in thy ecstatic kingdom
leaning against the sweet whisperings of thine creations
In moments together sitting parallel across the seven oceans
yet under the same vast expanse,
Thee soaking in the golden sun,
while I drench myself in monsoon showers
prompting minutes
of our pristine meet,
like an expected ephemeral juncture