Wednesday, 21 May 2014


Beside his grave she serenaded
 An Ode to love lost
 Romeo and Juliet's tragic love
Seeking solace in the arms of death
In quest for the lost endearing charm 
A prospect easily ignored, never.

I wrote this after seeing a picture. I could post the picture here, but I believe it's copyrighted.
But here is a description of it. It depicted a young woman playing a harp in front of a grave in the dead of night. 
And the above lines, were my first thoughts...

Sunday, 18 May 2014

A thought...

Questions that plague and plunder
The minds of the untainted youth
Each resolution, a stepping stone

To a life seeking truth.

Sunday, 11 May 2014


The fever had piked up again. It always did, this time around the night. It was the characteristic of typhoid fever. The fever tended to burn a moment and go down the next around the same time for almost a week. My time was around 8 in the evening. But it had been going on for about two weeks now with no sign of subsiding.
My mother had fetched me back from my boarding school that day, and since the two hour ride back, I had been resting. Now she came with a jug of cold water in one of  her hands and strips of clothing in the other. She gently put the jug beside the bed, lifted a strip of cloth, wet it and laid it over my head.
By this time I was shivering quite visibly. It was only October, I was covered with a duvet and still shivered. The digital thermometer seemed stuck on 104* C.
Gradually, the fatigue of the journey caught up with me and I dozed off.
Two hours later, when I opened my eyes again, she was still there, one hand clutching the jug of water and the other resting on the wet cloth on my forehead.

Happy Mother's Day Ma! 
Even though chances are you'll never see this, I want you to know, I love you. 
Despite of all the childish fights and screaming sessions we have, I love you. 
Whenever I get scared or even when I am nervous, before an exam, an interview or anything inconsequential, I still call you, every single time! Because I know you are always there for me, you are this constant lighthouse in the churning seas of my perpetual light and strength.
I love you, Ma!

Wednesday, 7 May 2014


The calls of the depraved
A million miles away
A palate never tasted
Standing at the edge
Peering into the darkness yonder
To what it offered
A new life awaited
Sinful and decadent.
While the old one looked on,
The face of an old man
Writ with the wrinkles of wisdom
And eyes of sadness
And acquiescence.

Friday, 2 May 2014


They danced and they twirled
On petals that curled
Blithesome and lighthearted
Ludic souls of nature
Fluttering unaware
Their wings of flight
In another world
Brew rising storms.

When I was young, perhaps in 4th or 5th grade, I remember writing poems on butterflies and eagerly waiting to show them to my father. After those couple of years, I never wrote any poems, high school promised to be more exciting. And it was during these years that I came to learn, again through my father, that as beautiful as their wings can be, they can bring about death and destruction too. A butterflies wings fluttering in one part of the world can bring about a storm/tornado in another part of the world.
Over the years my father reminded me about the poems I used to write. And it is only now that I have finally taken up my pen to write one on Butterflies again.
So...this is for you Papa!
Pic Courtesy(Click Here!!!)

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