The arrow knoweth not,

where  to hit

when to dart ,

with what speed,

the string is the one which pulls it strong,

giving the force to dash across

oblivious of the focus along…

The aim creates illusion of multitude,

confusing the arrow and the bow

in longitude…

What shall then make the target hit,

a steady hand or a focused mind to read,

the right moment

or the accurate pull or the perfect resile?

Configuring the three in a stream,

converging the aim to a point of dream,

surrendering himself to the invisible hands,

the archer

forgets the  chaotic unrest

Reassured and guaranteed,

that the aim will be  hit,

in the perfect moment

to enjoy the bliss.




Quiet ,silent moments,

staring at the moon I suppress,

infinite emotions perturbed,

those got buried

within the deep bosom…

for the breeze flowed

and brushed

the feelings that I nurture

that are never realized at par.


When the night gracefully moves

the waves within do suffer a deluge,

how long before  final moment to come,

how far I wander

with the bruised soul,

comforting the pain ,

soothing the wounds,

when shall the

air of false hope

finally burst!


Nox is the witness

for the solitude,

reigning the time

when thoughts are in multitude.

The dawn breaks

the darkened image.

A ray of hope again reflects,

for the change

that is unseen,

with many promises

yet to be fulfilled…