Wednesday, 25 February 2015


Peace was never free!

Only the border was weak,
weaker than a hundred
hearts that simply beat
to support the theories
of bookish biology!

Lives survived on lotteries-
bullets were luckier than
his death!
They at least died
but his will
was arrested in bowls
of his brothers' blood-
no death
and many regrets!

Conscience grew cacophonous
and food was lost
amidst the attackers' steps,
blind and revolting:
some stuck to their boots,
rest buried in yellow sands!

Monstrous dreams would
jerk him often
and he would find no water
He ate his saliva one night
to quench his burns of fright!

The fences are stronger now!
Strong so is his peasant's heart!
But serene winds here bring worries
because peace is never free!
Will peace be ever free?


Tuesday, 24 February 2015


(tribute to mothers)

The street was discouraging!
Smell of burnt food cooked
in broken teapots reduced
every good emotion to zero!

Scattered waste around
only accompanied their times
and the uncovered drain
ridiculed their plight!
All that favoured them
was the sunny sky above
where they believed
gods lived
...or perhaps not.

She tried hard to cover her breasts,
her boy asking for more milk
motherhood stood helpless,
and she cried at her child!
He wept but she didn't!
Tears had dried up long ago!

I preferred sweets
over cigarettes,
challenging the worries
of my little wife!
I had a chocolate still:
a part of it bitten in temptation!
I couldn't offer more
but a few bites
for her motherhood!
She looked at me-
surprises had no moments
to live.
And she smiled!

Monday, 23 February 2015


Even a cabbage appears romantic
when I prepare a perfect dish!
She likes salads.
Life is cruel:
price hike in cabbages
brings a pinch in my heart's
deepest veins.

My pen stretches its nib
along the used pages of grocery.
She loves my poems-
they are not scholarly
but they amuse her
like daily soaps,
and I feel like winning
a municipal election!
Love is stored in coconuts even:
one soft straw and two lips
in turn can draw the world's
best warmth of lives!
The young summer boys
play rough cricket games:
I can bat a bit
but bowling is still fowl-
she, but, loves it,
laughs all around when I bowl
and that's when I allow
my ink to flow as it wishes-
to speak a mind,
only for her laughs!

But cabbages are still expensive.
I can borrow one from the Minister's wife
to prepare the best salad,
but she allows me not!


They were caressed
by a gypsy's girl outside:
eyebrows pierced with
iron fate and bloodless agonies,
and bangles heavier than
her plates of uneven steel
disturbed her not despite
her mother's stern glances
at her acts of stupid business!

I sipped the few drops of hard coffee
that had been ignored-
'ignorance has dirt often',
but the tadpoles ceased not to jump;
perhaps they enjoyed a little stay
in her palms
so warm and moist,
and her pierced eyebrows
and heavy bangles
meant no identity to them!


There were perhaps a thousand reasons why poetry aroused interest in me! 
Towards the 2005s, the society was beginning to grow insane, trying to put on an attire that never belonged to it. Expectations grew weightier than aspirations. Boys started having girlfriends only because it was cool. The Y2K brought a lot of changes: some were good and some challenging. 
The Kargil victory brought smiles to many lips as a battle of pride was won, but we did lose the best of soldiers. Somewhere deep in hearts, we realized this, but we tried to mask this fact with a veil of victory.
Life amidst this grew tougher than ever. The surrender by India in the Cricket World Cup 2003 tasted like rabdi in salty tears. Social network grew crowded; relationships started growing on chat windows. Some were memorable, some vanished like fake profiles!
Slowly, the Y2K carried germs of societies. Crimes on women increased, or perhaps, they got reported more. On one hand, we grew, but with negative forces with us!
I saw tortures on brotherhood. North-East India grew more alien to mainland India. They try quite hard to prove their love! They shed equal tears when disasters occur, they bunked their offices when Sachin Tendulkar rubbed his gloves on his bat, they love Delhi. But the distance between hearts have widened. And suddenly, one day, even someone thought the people from NE got their passports from China! I feel sad, but I love India! What is supposedly comical is that the government and the ignorant people live with the joy of conquering a portion of China! 
The Moustached Poet was there in every Indian. He was there when a saint in saffron spoke at Chicago, when three martyrs kissed the bridal knot in 1931, and when the Flying Sikh stormed like cheetah on the brown tracks. There is still a moustached poet in every one; one just needs to delve deep into oneself!