Saturday, 26 August 2017


Dedicated to my countrymen

Blue whales turn villains
on tides of ignorance.
Luxury saves fat, 
luxury kills youth. 
Those green fields I miss, 
I miss those fishing rods, 
flour balls and a few fishes
for Sunday lunch on brass plates
or banana leaves, where cuisines
are delicious, like elixir!

Inferior women, 
instigating men, 
ignorance: pride
is foolish. 
Instantaneous thoughts
in bowls of prejudice
ink decisions
in a country of progressive

Religions are proper. 
Men are blind to truth
for truths are never relative
to thoughts. 
They are absolute, 
ultimate entities. 

Modernity is biased!
Poverty on the streets
of a festive temple, 
wise personnels at
doors of foolish winners,
laptops on tables of
hungry farmers
feed gods with human

My country is not a hypothesis. 
My self is as free as soils of this. 
Death shan't be my moksha. 
Rebirth on this land shall.

Tuesday, 4 July 2017


An appealing pony tail
atop a shaven head,
and a sweetly large belly
out of health and wealth,
bring peace to sinful men,
to people with dark stains.

He walks with might
for he is the best and right,
but he often forgets his chores,
lands up in serious holes.
He had an offering
at a place nearby.
It was Thursday
and the sun shone wild.
He took the bus 
newly painted in red
but forgot his stoppage, 
he in utter distress.
He remembered the chants-
he recalled and checked,
his memory worked well
when it was pure business.
The old lady beside
murmured in pain
for his heavy movement
spoiled her embroidered dress.
She couldn't shout
to a pandit obvious-
she feared frozen curses
or next birth's sins
or hungry death 
burning hell amidst!

Meanwhile, our pandit
feared more-
doubted on his doings,
sins in store!
The conductor uttered options.
Alas! All were illusions.
He finally decided to return
to where he first boarded;
to speak to the conductor,
he tried to make some progress.
But... but he forgot that too, 
his head burnt like a stove!
God was asleep,
He didn't show some love!
The lady beside,
irritated entirely,
shouted at last, 
"O' big Pandit, why 
forget you must?"

Wednesday, 7 June 2017


The red skies turned upset
as I dropped my shield,
and the battle didn't listen
to my tiring plead-
all turned their spears
towards my ankle,
and I halted for a while.
I wasn't up,
my spear's metal weakened
like my soul
that tried to reason with virtue.
the sun seemed to wait
for one last time:
that one moment before
it prepared to set.
I grabbed my shield,
my life in my ankle,
swirled my spear,
all caught with fear.

Let the battles be planned.
With my spear shall I stand,
aged with the purest of virtues.
With life on my ankle, I shan't lose!

Thursday, 1 June 2017


"Like a shadow of your
self immersed in me,
I shall spend myself
in arms of yours;
nights shall dissolve 
in our moments,
I shall stay your admirer,
for now, then and forever."

Why a shadow shall you stay
when the same Moon we share:
She stays late to ensure romance
like a goddess of an ancient scripture.
Your desires are sculpted in me.
My wishes surround you, my queen!

Wednesday, 10 May 2017


[Written on a Buddha Purnima evening. When the gods gift a theme, one must write, isn't it?]

The night had her
romantic flair
as the leaves were
half burnt, half dark:
some shyness possessed
their veins,
half lit by the street lamps
as I peeped like a child
through the crimson curtains
I had bought
from the weekend sale,
ruining the first night
of a romantic affair.

The Breeze caught me:
She slipped in
through the unlocked window,
through my anticipations.
The Moon is her best friend.
In full, she paid her tribute.
Like vermilion on
forehead of a queen
she embellished her skies.
She acknowledged,
cleared her skies for the stars
who slept without complaints
on beds of her humble darkness.

I watched the entire affair
as I was drawn towards infinity.
Then, it was Breeze who whispered:
"O' poet of the eastern realms,
will you not write on them?
Your pen awaits some poetry,
and I have enjoyed your company!"

Wednesday, 26 April 2017


The anthems aren't strong
to infuse a patriotic hold.
Patriots are for governments,
the country rests in documents.
Arguments find progress
like donkeys on road races.
There's solace in virtual victory,
the media finds itself in futility.
Race donkeys declare their wars
for their jockeys were harsh
and the social network goes berserk
as the wars need to move forward.

You must know.
These wars are rational.
The abuses must be used
or their meanings shall lose
just like donkeys must revolt,
prove they are an intelligent lot.
All morning dung that fill their bowls
are from their egoistic diet charts.
Why mustn't they maintain?
Intelligence must have reservations too.
Who cares for dumb science?
Rocket science has no conspiracies.
Social media protects priorities.
Innovations? Huh!
Donkeys invent dung every moment.
Brilliance is dead
for inventions can be bought,
dung for sale is what you cannot.

Men! Countrymen!
Materialistic and hollow.
You know all except your country.
Borrowed apparels from the West
But thought not of free thinking.
But that can't be bought, can it?
You are impatient,
filled with logic of religions
but no spirit of science,
or the humanity
you are hypocrite about.
Your pride stinks.
You have ruined sentiments
through your bastard emotions.
You are lonely.
You are not my countrymen.
This isn't you.
This isn't us.

Friday, 3 March 2017


Mom wouldn't mind at all.
It's an apple after all.
Only a bite shall not
offend her or aunt so short.
Brother little wouldn't cry much.
Only a bite more shouldn't be a fuss.
Dad big wouldn't even ask.
Till then the apple shan't last.