Category: blogging

O’ Raga !

O! Raga

the ancient rhythm of my soul, how cautiously you move

infinite waves rise and fall, dancing on

heartfelt tunes

crashing against the world

tis old traditions .. while weeps the soul in a nook

where art thou!

the blissful Raga

can I compose a melody just for you?

in monsoons

wet you with my verse

or soothe you with a lucid song

in summers?

the serene music of nature

what makes the fall smiling

when deciduous trees wither

the serene music of nature

Tis the rhythm of my soul

O Raga!

that beats on a celestial composition.DSCF4636

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 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 …

“Ego & Love “


“fidgety fretful , always had been his heart
he threw tantrums whilst, love wept and scattered like shards
stamping arrogance he displayed
in a corner few tears she shed…
a silver bowl that bedecked
overflowed with pearls

what a paradox
epiphany in delusion
he flaunts false pride
of translucent treasures
in possession
while she drinks with her palm
an incessant intoxicating ale
from the open wounds of
her chafed heart ,
with a smile gentle…”

the random conversation
misty eyes
choked voice
in midst of inner chaotic silence
affirmative or prerogative
one word replies
emotions suffocated
strangled in a knot
the lily beside, pleaded
few more moments sought
hesitatingly I nodded
lone will be the journey
lone will be the path
under the blue
as two souls walk apart.