How ironical

We happily carry the heaviest hate in our softest heart

But are ever fearful of carrying the lightest love in it

The weakest weakness of man

Is to give up

By seeing

Only a small river to cross

It's one of the wonderful day of your life
When you think
That you have to achieve

Something---Unbelievable

Beyond the holding hands on escalators,
Eating pani puri,
And putting into each other's mouth,
Letting her head on my shoulder
In the park,

I would watch your eyes
And dive into them
To reach her soul
And listen to its beating
For me.

Reading
The newspaper

Adds to mind

Reading
Poetry

Adds to soul

I couldn't cure the leaf
That crept to my

Exhausted feet

While strolling
Down the woods in autumn

Earlier
When they were spirited

I couldn't help any

For I cannot fly
Like the grasshopper

How shocking to people
I'm still sailing
Despite the storm
In my life
And their contribution
To the rising ripples
Befooled them

We have no solutions

Because

The majority has opinions

And do nothing

Though you write a single line,
It must have electricity

Every work of any kind is blunt
If it hasn't been accomplished with honesty

Asking someone
How it looks

Is the loss of its beauty

Surviving in a war-inflicted region
Is like walking on the edge of a thin wall.
You have no roof and no ground,
Still you have to walk to avoid any sudden fall.

Like photography,

Friendship needs your favour.

If you have a well developed mind

You can catch any beautiful scene

In one go.

Life is short
But not too short
That we cannot spend some time
On making it beautiful

Every wicked person has a candle of goodness.
The pathos is no one dares to light it
To remove his darkness.

The joyful plays of children
Have been stolen by mobile.

Who will dare
To file a chargesheet?

Burying is over
People make their way out
On the grave the shades of trees sleep
Outside the hustling bustling gets rhythm
The churchyard gate
Is the wall between two worlds
No one wants to get in
Burying is over
Everything is over

In the boat
Of my dreams

I wanna you sit
And steer it to its fulfilment

In this age of

Wars: wars of words,

Wars of land distribution

And wars of weapons,

Rage a new war of love
That squash all, yes, all..

Branches
Put off their clothes

A strong wish
Or abject surrender
To seething weather

Escaping is inevitable
Wearing new ones too

The rain sweeping dirt;
My hands to Heaven
To sweep our thick dirt too..

Boeing in shambles;
Nature is furious ever?
We are always wrong!

Children's tiny toys
Dispersed at the one stroke of
Wind; injustice.

If
You want to be a praiseworthy
And respected thief

Steal only hope of each person

If you have entered into a problem
There is a way to come out
Nothing has only entrance

No opportunity will ever follow you
You will have to chase it without being impatient

Imagination
Does wonders for every work

Everyone has an opinion for your problem
But
Only few have time

The moment one borns
                The chasing of one's goal begins

You will have to burn
Like the sun
If you have passion
To serve mankind

When a man
Suprresses a rising evil
Of his children

He serves society
By making his house
A happy place

They won't tell you
It's orange or guava
They don't ask you
To buy them that
Tiny toy or shiny shirt
In the showcase
For none they are
Nuances or burden
Keats's sensuousness
Doesn't chram them
Still they move on
Though silently
With rainbow
On their faces
Masking every whiff
Of sobs or grief
To our nosey eyes
How swot, how illustrious, how cool
There is a wide space
Unoccupied in their hearts
And they know anticipation
Of caving is a self deceit
A silver partner,
Like their shadows,
Walks along with them
Each of their footfalls
Is worth praising
As they dishes out
Inspiration to broken hearts
That life is not lived as it is
But it is created and then lived
When it's comfort to us

The key to solving any puzzle

Is courage

And after ages and ages

It will be only courage

Until a nation
Builds poles of love and harmony
Among its people

Its bridge of prosperity
Cannot stand long

If mother were a form of poetry
I would compose only this
In thy praise throughout my life
o my mother........

In that rainbow moment,

The precious coral,

While walking

On the leafy track,

Thy eyes,

Those brown stars,

Gazing,

Like a deer

In quest of its fawn,

Over thy shoulder,

Had arrested my soul,

And incarcerated me

Into the marriage,

A life sentence of ecstasy!

Sitting under the tree
And lying in the lawn

Can never be replaced
By any new technology

That provides delight

People will laugh at you
Be smart enough to join them
But be careful of their mind.

I don't care
If the pains flow over me
For I know
Their nature is to recede

It matters most
How you walk out
Through
The scorching heat
In quest of
A quiet bower

Seesaw is here.

The rain patters

On the heels of

The sharp pins

Falling off the

Burning globe.

Shivering goes out,

But soon gets in.

The windows and doors

Are toothless.

Sometimes the guest

Departs after digging out

Some thrilling moments.

Don't comment;
Complement.
This is the way
To feel better
By spending your time
On others.

Cheering your own sadness
Is a kind invitation to happiness

If someone says something about you
It's not the conclusion about your
Character
It's just their frustration
Because nothing has been said about them