that innocent boy
got scratched,
fooling around an old rusty knife
that careless man
punctured his heart,
toying a young bud with wild thorn
and me, what a shame!
got badly wounded,
by the delicate petals
of prettiest flower in the town.
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 9:23 AM UTC
for days you trail through the depths of the forest
and as you step out on the other side,
finally off its shadow
you feel an unknown urge, to turn back, for a one last look.
and in that very moment, for the first time
you feel the whole forest, with its all might, vastness and mystery
rushing through you, filling your heart with senses never known
and it only stops, when it finds it's way, through your tear drops.
you know, after the last line
looking back at a poem, does with me the same.
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 1:18 PM UTC
my restraint, may seem like an impregnable enemy line
but when your love blooms and wind sniffs the wound of your heart,
let the fragrance sneak in and cut me like an elvish sword.
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC
after a while, the door sensed
that it's left to itself now
to figure out whether to remain open or be closed.
this sudden realization,
made it very uncomfortable.
from the moment she walked out of that door,
everyone in the house, had the same strange feeling.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 7:39 AM UTC
let’s get ready dear,
it’s your first day at school
and you don’t want to be late? do you?
this was when, I lost my childhood
as I accidentally acquired sense of time.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 10:07 AM UTC
on some benches, people never sat
on some there was always someone.
on some branches, birds never rested
on some there was always a one.
don’t worry my boy,
life is not a bench or a branch
but a park and a tree.
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 7:09 AM UTC
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 12:04 AM UTC
though he looked calm
he was worried all the way
as his sons carried him on their broad shoulders.
the dead brahmin, finally smiled
as he was laid
on the funeral pyre
made of finest sandalwood
from the forest around.
that was his last wish to his sons,
you must use chandan and nothing else.
don’t give me to some low-cast corkwood
even before sum of my deeds is calculated,
i know, on the pyre, it will burn me, to the hell.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC
a man
in the crowd
is a page in the book
one of the many
in a stack
a man
standing alone,
is a lost page, of poetry.
Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 9:26 AM UTC
if the Sun is scaled down
to a dot on the paper
.
like the one above
then the nearest star
will be a dot
four miles apart.
space is this endless poetry
by the universe,
where it writes two words
just too far apart.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 9:22 AM UTC