Category Archives: Poetry


When branches confuse

We call a tree, when clouds do,

We call it rainbow,


When men do the same,

We blame that even Gods fail

Unriddling women.

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Words are evasive

Words are evasive

‘love’ too needs superlatives

To halt time conflicts.







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A Loner

A loner’s gracious

To volatile thoughts lest they

Stop filling him back.


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The distance

The distance between

Honest and dishonest men

Is fast decreasing.

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If rose had a nose

If rose had a nose,

She would use it as an eye,

To blind her petals.

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On the first rain’s eve,

I’ll patent the feel, the smell –

Before it spreads everywhere.

Between Lines

Between Lines

Between two eyelids lies the intent of our life,
Between two receiving cheeks lies a kiss,
Between intent and kiss escapes the strife
Of breath; Beside are hands that bear the rose.
Fate must be in something else all miss,
Or if not, in our shadows.

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A Chair

A Chair

The chair where I wrote my poems is sold –
A machine and a table will fill that space,
We will admire the new chatter and the clatter,
And watch the other chairs circle around

I was too far to have known the details,
Perhaps it wasn’t necessary,
Since I wouldn’t write now anyway,
And the price of wood was in its prime.

However, instead of a chair, wished it was a pet –
They don’t size up a dead pet’s master,
And you can’t sell it’s bones to make one new,
Nor ask that price and regret having asked.

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Dutiful Love

Dutiful Love

Work after a holiday long gives déjà vu.
Memory flashes in placid nights,
Passing weather is the lone saviour
For it brings home the time traveler

Dreams of work midst full moon holidays,
On return, ease the puzzling stars,
Lightnings throw their guidance in reality,
And faster mirror the wayfarer

Even when untaught souls marry,
Dutifully love’s remembered, as they unite
Like priests in rote, rehearsing solitary
Trembling hymns each night

A Resolute Stand

A Resolute Stand

Who can control tides when moon’s near?
They keep heaving under that maiden’s gaze,
By scattering sunsets and breaking shores
They promise longer nights in many ways.

At such nights, the wind’s an adopted child,
No more homesick like the darkness,
Rather thoughtless like the intruder,
Or vagabond like the knight at chess

These fateful nights do not make promise
Of a golden dawn or a warm caressing rest,
And ‘cause they head straight from the moon,
You can’t shield yourself even at jest.

A lonely leaf began to flow in these winds,
But like curtains usually do, it kept revisiting.
Briefly to know what loss it’d incurred
Each time to the moon with it’s passing.

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