The world is in balance at last,
For fire and ice have found their rhythm.
A home to live and love, full of memories and vision.
Oh angels! Come and bless them,
As they unload a lifetime of weight.
Guide them through life with a steady gait.
It might have been hard and heavy for a while,
It might have been lonely for each,
Together they have the spark that only few can reach.
We celebrate their union with a happy song,
Dance to a melody of a sweet song.
Thank our stars for blessing us with this opportunity,
To witness this osmosis of holy matrimony.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 6:53 PM UTC
Is it the work of karma of the day,
I tend to push people away.
Is it fear of hurt or hate?
I tend to push friends away.
Am I afraid to walk the mile,
Afraid to have my hands all tied.
Is it the work of life or fate,
I tend to push people in my life away.
I realized only a few days back,
This pressing question that has attacked.
Is it me and the people I attract?
Is it me alone at that?
Is it my aura or something I did?
Is it my past or past life instead?
I don't know the answers or the reasons behind.
If there is someone out there who can help me find.
Answers to these questions and questions they will remain.
Never to be answered, my stones of pain.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 6:13 AM UTC
Look at how fast they grow,
the last you saw them was in a pram,
and now they are as tall to walk on the ramp.
They were the ones to ask you what to do,
they looked for your guidance when they were two.
look how fast they have grown!
now they tell you what to do when you're on your own.
They look after you like you looked after them,
they are now the guardians that you were to them.
I'm talking about the little ones who used to crawl,
They would make you cry and gauge at your eye *****
Each of them a menace for all ounce of their breath,
To pull your hair like they were meant to stretch!
They are my baby brothers who I had sworn to protect,
But now they are strong enough to fly out the nest.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
I rather walk alone,
Taking one step at a time.
Cutting the shrubs that hurt,
And leaving them behind.
I dont want an anchor,
I dont want a stick,
to help me walk,
nor pull me back,
or one that I have to drag.
I want air,
To breath in easy.
Stay there
to give me cool
when the way is rough.
I want a lose braid,
To twine,
without being afraid or scared.
I see people
tangled in a mesh,
with a heavy breath.
I see them.
Climb mountains and
reach peaks
with a heavy heart, torn apart.
Then people ask me.
Why not you?
Make me ask myself,
Why me?
But how can I?
I have seen,
The glass shatter,
The body cry,
The thread die,
And yet,
They ask me to try?
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
I thought I knew myself,
I thought I understood.
This beating heart is all that stood,
screaming at me to make the jump.
But all the logic and reasoning,
Left me like a stump.
I reasoned out
I shifted around.
Trying to think
from all aspects I found.
But all the information created a mess,
As I swim-med through.
I parted and compared,
in a random logical order.
And then thought it all over some more,
And realized my heart was not in it anymore!
It was all 1's and 0's
and ideas were becoming heroes.
To rule my life without experience,
directly jumping to inference.
Why is my heart so silent?
I asked.
He said," The time has passed.
You have beaten me with logic at last.
I have no more to say to you.
Do as your logic asks you too."
"And if you ever think of me again.
It will be the time, when you have a friend.
Then I will beat loud and clear,
And logic will not dare to come near."
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
Its not easy to be an artists parent,
it needs much more than patience.
An artist is a mass of amorphous air,
that needs understanding and care.
An artists parent who knows that,
becomes a saviour and confidente.
An artists parent who knows that not,
is doomed to a relationship as bare and draught.
Its not easy to be an artists parent,
its needs quiet deliberance.
Of when to push their creative child,
and when to let them be.
Of when their child needs inspiration,
or has a burst of creativity.
An artists parent is observant,
of the ups and downs that the creative faces.
Or when its tired of fighting the world,
and needs tender embraces.
An artists parent has full faith,
even when the artist is lost.
Because that is when the artist looks for anchors,
when his gaseos state finds it not.
Is it easy being a parent to any other?
An engineer or a doctor maybe?
Why? because he follows an age old path,
that was set for him when he was three?
Did you know that an artist is wild,
and has the ability to accept?
To look at you with unjudging eyes,
and understand you to his best.
Like everyone he has two sides,
unlike others he accepts both.
This gives him power,
to create a miracles on the move.
He his sensitive to emotions,
and can feel the mood.
His own and others around.
He knows what you mean,
when you say you feel alone,
because he has known it all life long.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
Is it too bad to say that I feel empty?
There are no memories of the two weeks that passed too soon.
its like the time had stopped,
Onlu flashes of surprise, laughter, hope, pain, respect, anxiety, guilt, sorrow, worry, gratitude, love, sharing,
Listening in speachless silence.
I feel like sand.
I feel no water inside me.
But I remember water falling on me.
I remember the green glint of the reflected sun.
And then the wind of time blew,
and the footprints lose their memory.
The sand wonders why?
All the water has to dry,
or get soaked up too deep, too quick.
That a thousand ploughs can't reep.
So it holds on against the wind,
But nothing will hold on till the end.
Forgive me if it fades away,
But the soaked water will stay,
To give me cool when the sun gets too hot.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
A lovers diary
Yes I am a lover.
I have hearts pasted on my wall,
along with posters of cars and all.
I wake up in the morning to see a balloon heart hanging overhead.
And as the days progresses, hearts pop out of my mouth and my breath.
My perfume smells of soft delicious rose
and people say with my feelings I’m very verbose.
I like to talk about my heart and feelings,
and stuff every word I say with meaning.
On one meaningful occasion I was in the lawn,
when a lazing cat gave out a yawn.
I turn around right then to see,
The queen of love – Penelope.
She was the one all lovers wanted to be,
Me included. Once I told her “I worship thee!”
She stared at me like I was mad,
And said slowly, “Beauty is a fad.
Come know me, and you will see,
that I’m just another glowing bee.”
Saying this she walked on away,
With me staring broadly,
and my eyes in a sway.
Ahhh! How she looked at me!
with big brown eyes I could only see.
How she moved and she swayed in her grace as a cat,
And sat in her car like lounging on a mat.
What she said, was it true?
or was it just her words turning blue?
coz my mind was blank when she was talking to me.
didn’t seem to hear or tamper a beat.
That day and today.
it’s been a long time since then.
now she is walking towards me again.
But this time I don’t quiver or lose my breath,
as she walks up close after our eyes met.
She smiles at me “you’re a grown-up now”
I smirk back remembering how.
All those years have changed me.
I used to be the love struck teenager,
and felt like I was three.
Now I was big. black. n bold,
With biker gloves and chains made of gold.
My eyes saying I know secrets unsaid,
And if you say stuff I don’t like,
then take care of your head.
I no longer talk about my feelings,
or fill my words with meaning.
people don’t care about what I say,
Now all they do is cover their heads and pray.
No one asks me what’s that secret behind my eyes,
No one knows that I too pray when I hide.
But the one secret no one knows,
Is that I still have a red heart,
that flutters when the winds of love blow,
And how it turns warm and gives out a glow.
If someone would care to ask,
I would talk about my feelings.
Say everything out, of how I changed without meaning.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
He looks at me with question in his eyes,
His mouth moving but not saying anything,
His ears cocked towards me like a dog,
Listening attentively.
By holding my hand he encourages me,
His smile making a request.
“I’m here for you, to help you out,
so say what comes to your head.”
I begin with my monologue,
and tell him the tales of my heart.
What has me down and worried,
I share with him un-flinchingly.
He holds my hand when it gets difficult,
as if compassion flows through his veins.
His mind is void of any judgement.
Throughout the narration,
all his senses motivate me.
“Come out with it!” they say together.
To my heart it’s a life boat you see!?
Because in this age of all the blabber.
It’s hard to find a good listener.
A listener who wants to know you better,
And help you out genuinely.
As I finish my tale he hugs me tight,
Letting me know he understands.
And in the future if there comes a bumper,
then I can always hold his hand.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC