That frame in the corner mocks

a layer of dust adorns

the past

who hath time to wipe

the cobwebs from corner

to cleanse the muck

lying since ages ov’r the stretched bond…

Lost I’m

how far, how long

how do I carry forth

none tried  hitherto…

then how do I ?

How far, how long?

nothingness ahead…

nothingness behind..

Grace me,

O! my heart.


“My colour”



Allow me to paint  thou

thus in my  colour

Every stroke a gentle one

With a dab of aureate emblazoned

Where then  left thee in the dusk of life

towards an unknown goal

Its endless,

the walk of this journey

retread and


We  flames of divine

born as two souls

burn together

though far

at distant miles

in the lone fire of love.



The Rainy Season


The Rainy season- A random musing



Like the beautiful  flowers of palash, popularly known as fire of the forest, I was burning . The inner turbulence  like the  upheaval of tides made me rise and fall against the heavy rocks of life.

Had the shore been sandy ,I wished to have laid myself on the shore surrendering to  the splashing waves of a sea,but nonetheless,it was n’t such.It was rocky.

Life isn’t what we dream and wish for! We have to create a path to realize this dream  and then walk on it ,many a times getting pierced by innumberable thorns .

The fragrance which disseminates in the atmosphere is usually of the wild flowers growing on open meadows and hillsides, those which bring freshness in life and also in the monotonous mundaneness. Pruned, I loved watching birds flying in the sky, they seemed to be so happy, free and delighted ,marching towards their goal . Their wings unfettered and whistling to their favourite tunes they sang whenever they wished .

A sense of freedom filled the heart and I wished I could fly thus like the wading birds.

The riot of colours in the evening sky brought more nostalgia  as I walked towards the mound on the top of the mountain. This rainy season, nothing had changed.



Sneak I through the silence

shearing the quiet  fear ,

As I shred

filaments of pain in pieces and bury deep

in gravels of past .

The new saplings of hope grow and flourish

blooming cluster of flowers

few sprinkling drops rejuvenate when they are about to die

Tis law of nature , I , mere the gardener

Come ,lets drown the precarious apprehensions

And live freely to create murals as

hieroglyphical scripture


I can’t let it die

I can’t let it die

The solitary poetic sigh

Which breathes in minute pauses

Betwixt the gaps of worldly duties and entangled chores

Neither let it suffocate in the fumes of  intoxicating insecurities

Nor allow the pangs of survival and existence wipe the ethereal pastels

Those vernacular treasures fastened securely in caskets of thoughts

Transform as they rise and glow as embers in the sky to twinkle till ages eternal.



Dried , my ink with the dryness of my heart

bloodless have been my veins

thus the pen moves empty

scribbling lifeless words

meaningless thoughts

swiping away desires ,

eroding emotions

the heart stranded bruised and over bruised

with thousand wounds..

No, blood can’t be infused back

I run incessantly with blemishes

Life screams

soul weeps..


The Invisible Dagger

Tis the invisible dagger that slits and pierces
an indifferent song again dances
on the thumping beats of my heart
yet again, the wound stings
letting the searing tears reign the start
blisters, how many,
how doth they vanish … by any magic balm?
I swallow the flood of extremeness
in a moment I hide behind my stretched smile
how far, how long
the deep bruise prolongs
let me know O! my lord
…under this dark
with thy drops of twinkle
I hope and hope till the last
of an infinitesimal moment
whence the flower will be caressed and
not slit with the invisible dagger
of a morning , of a dawn
of an era,
while I live on.