Sunday, 10 December 2017


For years they have been there--stoically oblivious
To the world slipping out of time--caged in the dungeon of
Down-shelves in my library; perchance I met an old diary there--
Tucked into a torn coat staring deep down at my heart.
Whispered, "Remember me?"
"No" was hesitantly unstripped between my lips.
"Old you are! Ugly and broken!"
"You are old too--forsaken and deadened"
"No, look at me, I am your youth;
I am your love, inspiration, aspiration and dream"
My thought travelled through forests and meadows
Of years, months, hours and moments;
Slowly it took me inside--burrying me
Between the pages that still bears my own odour--
Kissed upon my temple and whispered again,
Through the mellowing dirge, I closed my eyes,
I felt dying, then died, then opened my eyes again,
Before closing it finally and whispered,

Friday, 13 October 2017

The journey to nativity

Darkness….lovely darkness…the smoke around..

Swirling up…sketching elf in white cloak…fading somewhere;

Alone…the silence…mind drowning thoughts endlessly…

Lay me there….sink me deep…to the native land

Where once I floated for a while…

Before laughter came out of loud cries…

Where it all started before it all about to end so soon…

Destiny has already scripted the epilogue….in absolute darkness.

Tuesday, 12 September 2017

Being a stranger...

Am I just a name? Or just me what they see?

Or a stranger to the way they know?

Am I just what seemingly I am—in life and beyond?

Or just a few footprints on my walk

On a path lost forever in a meadow unknown?

Am I a soul, far away from life’s roll—

Stuck onto a changeless boll—

Like an unnamed flower in an unknown knoll?

Or a path never walked before, yet awaiting,

Or a dream forsaken in dreamer’s eyes, yet shining,

Or a trampled hope in a frozen cell, yet undying?

Maybe there is a beauty—a beauty forever—

In being a stranger to the way they know

Or to me or to what seemingly I am.

Am I just a few senses that paint me as I am,

Of unchained thoughts of defeats and scars,

Of motion stalled and stymied wars,

Of glorious triumphs and crowned stars?

Or are they just what I lose, one by one,

In becoming a stranger to what they see in me—

To me or what seemingly I am.

Perhaps, there is a beauty—a beauty forever—

Of knowing the way I become a stranger to me

Of becoming a stranger to the way I know myself

Of refining an image of being a stranger within—

To myself indeed—or the way they see,

Or what seemingly I am—in life and beyond.

Thursday, 16 February 2017

Mirroring life !

There is always a bend on the path where one pauses to look back and feels that much of the life has been spent up in dreaming nonsense, doing nonsense and talking nonsense. It starts the day with a frustrating tone as dampened as a lonely umbrella left outside under a raining sky and fills the heart with a sense of utter dejection. Time is ruthless, so is life until we learn to obey its rule. One is extended with choices of either loving it living through or abhorring it dying through. But, one cannot deny of having opportunity of numerous turns and twists through the walking way. And, at certain point, maybe, at certain moment, one more turn reveals a different horizon and raises altogether a different feeling. It may not be a wise piece of thought, may not even be a sense of philosophic upliftment….and it may also be so; but irrespective of what it brings along it sets a different tune to the ears so accustomed to listen to a scheduled playlist….it may be worse or better, but something significantly unlike than the experiences of the past. It widens up the thoughts that it arouses as if evaporating somewhere never known, yet there is not much of passion left to hold them back or knit them in any defined texture. It may induce with a sense of losing identity or getting closure to it; it may be a song that sounds like a hymn or may also appear like a dirge; and, it may also infuse the core inside with an utter dilemma to discern about which is what. This turning point is just an inescapable certainty of life. The life flows like a river with vigour and vibrancy of youth through its initial exposure to the company of the time, with the rebellion  in defying the obstinacy of pebbles and stones and with the laughter in meandering through vales and hills; and farther it runs, it seeks to be kissed by gentle banks,  caressed by leisurely touches of fatigued oars and obsessed by the beauty of the setting sun upon its placid face. And, flowing on it once reaches somewhere, which it has never even dreamt of….the banks fading far into vacuity, islands surfacing like upturned boats, the horizon doesn’t anymore define the margin between possession and submission. It sea-saws between a complex state of attaining revelation and sacrificing wisdom, of having pleasure in losing identity and slipping into the agony of retaining it so long for not much of purpose. There is always such a phase in life when river sees its face upon its mirror and the life finds all peace to be blessed by the wishes of river finally.

Monday, 8 August 2016

Destiny !!

Destiny reigns; silent and ageless in the

Mortuary of passions and thoughts;

An indisputable certainty in the vacuity  

Of an eternal flow of senses—within and without,

For a deadened soul to reprieve and reproach.


Life denies life and death derides death;

Delight and sorrow walk away—hand in hand;

The proximity of the present erases the face

Of the past—the moments, hours and years;

Shrivelled eyes fail to mirror a path unbroken.


Time smudges the image of a decent moon

Painted upon a dark face of young night;

Jacob and Esau battles within her womb

With promises of two distinct futures;

Never knowing which will shine the dawn.


From the vacuity it rises and dies within;

The margin between the fortune and misfortune

Is wiped up in the hollowness of events;

Enduring a greater fall to attain a loftier ascent—

Oblivious of the certainty scripted for the End.


Destiny defines; the present is of sheer suspense

Secreted within the bankruptcy of a dead past,

And the prospects of an unborn future;

As night is stifled between the legacy of a day spent

And the certainty of a fresh dawn.

Saturday, 2 April 2016

Mera kuch saman tumhare paas pada hai

"Mera kuch saman tumhare paas pada hai ..." is one of my favourite poems written by Gulzar....I tried  my best to let it carry the deep emotions and wonderfully woven words while translating it into English....never mind my shortcomings in getting near to the original....

A part of me is still lying around you,
A few moist days of a long-parted monsoon,

And a night wrapped in a sodden veil of fuzzy scribbles;

Let all images of that night fade into vacuity,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


Heard the rustles of leaves….aren’t there?

And those gentle tunes of falling leaves that

Slipped off my ears casting a fleeting kiss once and reappeared.

Somewhere the forsaken twig in the Fall is still trembling;

Let the wailing branch be wished adieu too,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


Sharing beneath a sole dripping umbrella, you and I—

Half-drenched and a bit dry—

And the warmth in me that we shared too;

Those a few wet thoughts, perhaps, still be lying around the bed.

Let it all be set free; let all be just mine,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


The sweet memories of a string of moonlit nights,

And of the beauty spot prettifying your shoulder;

The intoxicating fragrance of soggy paste of henna

And a few freaks of silly play of blame and regret;

And a few weird promises never kept.

Let it all fill me to the deepest down in me,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


Just grant me the parting acquiescence of the self,

For my lone walk to the grave,

For me to sleep forever….beside you.

Wednesday, 19 November 2014

A journey within.....

Only roses know the best of love
And lips know the saddest lies
So do I of a weird dream
That bleeds but never dies

The temple bears the deeds and sins
And the rainbow bears the rays
So do I of an autumn morn
That shines but never stays

The faces hide the nicest soul
And wings hide a deadly flight
So do I of a fallen leaf
That severs but never loses delight

Only kids listen to unknown tales
And hearts listen to a sigh
So do I to the mourner's dirge
That surrounds but is never nigh

Trees whisper to new-born birds
And dews whisper to aging night
So do I to my own reasons
That revolt but never fight

The winter walks to season's seed
And the spring walks its green
So do I to the Holy Cross
That beckons but never lets me in


For years they have been there--stoically oblivious To the world slipping out of time--caged in the dungeon of Down-shelves in my library...