abstract · blogs · poem · Poetry

Light – III

The sun shines too bright
On my latent dreams
The day doesn’t pass
And the night doesn’t come
I wish, sometimes
I could throw stones at the Sun
And splinter it
like it worked with the streetlights.
It doesn’t work that way, does it?


(Featured Image- Night Light Street by Casoni Ibolya)

blogs · love · marriage · old age · Poetry · relationships · Uncategorized

Promise – IV

Years later, when
Time will be old and wrinkled,
When kids will have their kids
And I will lose all my teeth,
When you will need a third limb
For your daily needs,
When no one will care
About us being in love,
When the mirror
Would blatantly lie,
Don’t believe him,
Just use my glasses and not yours
And through my eyes,
You will still be beautiful
And I will still be charming
I promise.

Featured Image- Old Couple or Musician (Salvador Dali, 1930)

art · blogs · earth · poem · Poetry · Uncategorized · winter

Winter’s final assault

Outside, the Sun rests
In the laps of his mistresses,
The rays, gorgeously gravitating
Towards the earth, still nursing
Her wounds of winter,
Covering her naked self with fallen leaves
Of a dying tree, who has fought bravely,
A battle that was not meant to be won.
The window pane has a splotch of fog
Perhaps the fist mark of our nemesis,
Spring is yet to prepare and
Summer is stuck in far east
We must escape before
The moon turns pale again.
Bring out the boats,
We must skate through this icy river.
He will come back, one more time
For his final assault, the winter.

Featured Image- ‘The Winter Scene’ (Hendrick Avercamp, 1620) 

depression · journey · life · poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Collision Points

We walk around in circles,

Trying to keep up with our roads

There are no trees, no sacred fire,

no holy hymns, no vows waiting to be taken.

We have not committed to anyone, anything

Sincerely, there is no promise made,

between ourselves either.

We are happy this way,

On our different roads,

keeping an eye on one another,

finding collision points,

maybe intentionally.


art · chastity · confusion · gallery · humiliation · life · misery · pain · people · Poetry · walk


Every day I pass by

I see a gallery passing all along the roads I walk

No matter where I go and where I reach

It is there all through my custom

Countless doors sans glass sans wood

I see people always walking out of its portal and people going in

Today when I passed beside that gallery

A decision was made in instant mood to pay homage to the artifacts held up by the place

I searched for a gatekeeper or a ticket checker at least

But instead I found someone whose mere presence shocked me

I found myself framed in there as if a mirror was placed opposite to my being

My face was a moon of winters and my eyes ashen like just to say the least

The people saw that work of art and I was one of them

I was there as if I never existed

Unnoticed unheard unseen they saw what I say was a mirror again with glass nowhere nearby

There were people all around caged in their own mirrors or as I say

Drowning in the sea of sorrow screaming for more pain

Standing there we were all admiring what we saw

We all seemed confused and we all felt embarrassed at our own state

Eyes glued to our humiliation and smile glued to our lips

As if trapped in unseen cobwebs we screamed chastised by the pain

We tried to run only to find cliffs ahead

We drowned in our own salt

The wounds we had were treated with the salt we produced

Still that smile was there

It seemed unreal, unfamiliar with the way to escape this unknown adversary

I wanted to escape, my teeth bathing in the salt flowing from the ever flowing waterfalls.

The taste was bad now also grinding the recipe with my crimson blood

Seeing no other path to tread I closed my eyes with all I had

Last I remember was when I was back to my customary walk

Sans the crimson marks sans the salt dried down my cheeks sans that smile…


An Anonymous Art!

A little while ago, in the coverts of hounds

An anonymous art has been found

Scholars from over the globe are coming to claim

To put it in the books by their name

It has some ancient form making the allegers skeptic

The form is just too cryptic

The madmen are already unraveling the vault

Putting their lives at halt

The press has covered the news well

Spicing it up enough to sell

Uncovering every single veil

Someone is even going to put it on the reel

Dubbed as the greatest act of artistry

They are planning to put it in history

The moneymakers are staid to procure it and then vend

An auction table has been set up near their mighty tents

A little ape is probing for its plank,

One it sculpted feeling pity on its form, so blank

Petite tears would fall out of its bulking eyes in moments to come

Well that’s the marvel of the mysterious gem to sum!