Lynching is justice in the court of mob.......

In the rain
When I step out
I keep my umbrella open
And the parasol in my bag.....

Metaphor is the boat that floats on water but carries one into the sky...

Childhood hangs in my room:

The fawn hops,
Runs by blossoms
And takes the grapes.

Aloof, over the river,
Bigger and wider,
The deer, kneeled down,
Watches in silence.

War
Is not for peace

It is to disturb common life

To sit on the couch
And lie on the mud
Is the difference
That special day
Brings closer
Each time
Presents
Flow in
And
Relationship
Will get thinner
And I know
One day
That will tear away
And I will be left alone
To feel the weeds
On my chest
And this is
What this day
Reminds me...........

Beauty
Controls the complete man....

Let the wind blow the way it does
Change your directions and be safe

They do say
the world is hanging
on the wire like a droplet!

Scheme of things of God
Face criticism
from those foolish minds
Who can't create
Even a single particle of dust
Or a particular piece of hair
Thought they rejoice and pride
In their successful science

No water in the blank future.
What an amazing irony.

People float on water
And it carries them
off the shore
Houses capsize in the lanes
And the elephants
keep sleeping

It is superstition

In the park
The grass wears
a new dress
With embroidery
of white pearls
The sparrows play and hop
On the shoulders
of young twigs
And the lizards slide
Down the backs of trees

Each day
I watch all these paintings
When it is sparkle here
And when it is dust

Why are all these happening?
Is it too superstition?

Nobody knows
When God
will stop sending
Infants and Joeys
Down the earth

At the moment
Things are happening
In their own way

Say the world
Is the biggest Everest
Say it is unshakeable
Without His behest

Weather in the family
Changes with each deed of its members

Hate
Is not a hat

The continuum of cries
Run through the bruised walls
And the fissures
Open their jaws wide
To gulp them
And then spit them out
After chewing their skins
The windows speak in Bells
As the wind high or low
Passes by and gets in
The roof doesn't cover the head
It sieves the thickest sands
My granny had hung a lamp
In the middle of the door
That makes one cower
To the porch and then out
In the ashes of evening
The building balloons to the city
And people whisper
Sleep, the Dracula is on the move

In the death of light
Leave a poem alone

After years
Go back to see it
And don't fear
Like a mother
It will set you thinking
You had dropped it minutes back
Poem doesn't die
Like a leaf, abandoned
In the ground
Or on concretes
And does not have destiny
Like that of a crumpled papper
In a stinking dustbin
Or on heaps of scrapes
Each moment
It emits aroma
And you hug it
Throughout your life
And feel happier
And much blessed