Soaked rice vanishes before bringing salt
What about them again!
They cried throughout their entire life
Remain with sad bowing.

Wherever they glimpse
Just looking dry
Nothing close to hand
Miserable earth.

Life is for them
A large deep forest
But somehow walking
With broken mind.

If they step in the middle of the path
Sadness filled the air
There is nothing to collect, nothing remains
The house is always empty.

No morale there, yet they
Still remain active in working
How to get rid of stomach irritation
Sitting to think.

That's how life goes on
With them somehow
There is nothing new
On the way to the existence.

The farmer in the field goes on foot
Sweating while ploughing
Harvested with much difficulties
But does not get the real price for his rice.

If he does not pay the loan installments
What will happen next?
The rice will go, the stove will go
Someone thought about it!

She finds that even backyard leaves contain
a blazing history inside their veins.
She reads the legends etched in crinkled skin,
her ardent, housebound blood boiling within.

At dusk, she likes to listen to the creek–
its reverent, animated tales of meek
young girls who grew into grand bronze statues–
and long for metal legs that’d let her choose

to dare, and burn, instead of fear, and waste.
But still, at night, her body likes to chase
the hours stargazing at ceilings. And
the myth-less, coarse white stucco slowly sands

away each spot of sprouting luster on
her atrophying frame. With nerve all gone
and adult blood inert as viscous tar,
she cannot even dream of ceiling stars.

If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

A wolf has come to eat the sun
the Gods supplied us only one
with jaws that tear and teeth that bite
he stops to drink our fading light
eclipse the world, pour out the soul
you nibble, can't you eat it whole?

Sometimes, she wish to be pretty,

She want to have a skin
as smooth as silk
and as soft as cotton,

She want to have a face
as exquisite as an angel
and as tame as princess,

She want to have a voice
as sweet as coffee and
as melodious as sea,

But I guessed, She don't have
to change herself to be
called as beautiful,

Cause' she is an art and
She is already a beautiful abstract.

Our behaviour is our honour.

Happiness
Is but a gust of wind

You cannot restrain it

Crash landed before midnight,
No clear mission was given.
Light surrounded my cradle,
Quickly collected information.
Quivered, crawled, and ran,
The challenges grew rougher.

My hands stayed pretty soft,
My heart was full of light.

Crash landed into his arms,
Not old enough to understand.
Light surrounded his mattress,
I softly stroked his cheek.
Quivered, crawled, and ran,
Home when my heart cracked.

My hands stayed pretty soft,
My heart had lost some light.

Crash landed into a new home,
Everything I'd lost was found,
Light surrounded that house,
My panic faded in lacy wisps.
Quivered, crawled, and ran,
Home when the casket closed.

My hands stayed pretty soft,
My heart was now a hole.

Crashing and careless,
Everything stayed ruined.
Light packed up and left,
Panic moved back in.
I barely moved an inch,
Adapt or die.

My hands stayed soft,
My heart found a spark.

Crash landed into reality,
Where no one had waited.
Light flicked and then stayed,
I evicted my anxiety.
Quivered, crawled, and ran,
Into the morning with a plan.

To drift
Be taken far out
Brought further into
Subconscious
Slew of symbols
Color coded
Neurons colliding

Sever
To untether
Physical form
From spiritual
Deep inhales
Counting down
Vibrations

Hey,
I'll see you
Out there
In shadows and
Swirling cosmos
With three eyes
And bright aura