For you,
I'd left my parents,
And now left me, saying
I'm not good as you had thought of.

Isn't leaving everything at home
The greatest sacrifice?

Sunny. Not a half spoon of wind.
Students are engrossed, opening
Their pages. They, unbidden guests,
Are in their rooms, built in oir field.
Chirping grows from loud to louder.
I cannot lose the sight of headlines.
We are talking about their music,
Not about our irritation. The chirping
Gets thinner. I'm sad. I am waiting.

This is urgency
Time is pushing us
It's pathos
We're resisting
Suppose you are there
When a bomb falls

Is not your life worth living?
Aren't you parents?

Raise your voice
To squash the voice of war
Before you aren't more to dare

I'm genius because
I am skillful in telling people
That I'm genius.

Shifting is a poignant process.
You cannot peel it off with ease.
You bundle clothes, crockery,
Drag articles of wood to vehicle,
Discard old tears--a needful act-

The funeral of emotions.

Our fate is similar,
But mode is different.

My hands
are wands,
not canes,
An armless robin
perches in them
It's dusk.
Spring.
Mangoes are bride.
A riddle.
A panic station.

Desires are chained.
It swings in the cradle.
Raindrops.
Breeze.

A sympathetic act
Is sweeter than honey,
Brighter than a sparkling star,
Lovable than a lovely present.

In the field of his mind
He had sown seeds
Of massive neighbourhood

Today I watch a giant oak

Sheep shelter there
When the sun is on rampage
And they wish
To take their feet off the pedestal

Bees hang their cottages

Squirrels' sliding is aplenty

Singers from Pakistan and India
Sing their songs in proximity

I'm transformed
I have a desire for this dreamland villa.

This evening.
The wooden pen
Shattered to pieces
On the page of my book

In the kitchen,
The tanned tile came off

The sparrow crawled
With its pierced pinion
In the vestibule

The dews fell on the grass

This evening.

On lips of
I-will-first-change-myself
Happiness slid
Down the cheeks of life
And then reached the fertile field

The trees of change
Grew in every corner
Bearing blooms, very juicy

As I rose
To pluck one of them
At the window
The dream shawled its face

But I felt
That I had drunk that dream

Raising
One's
Own morale
Even after the defeat

Is a miracle
To do the ordinary in a miracle way