How fascinating
To see the scarfy moon and
Its smiles shooting us

It's inspiring
When a child
Sparks a smile
To the person
Who gives it
A chocolate

The silver hair makes
The mountains old and to trees
The heap of cotton

Steaming pakode in,
Outside the snow slips; sooner
Moments are rhythmic...

The child of his mind
Is different;
Sounds, small or big,
High or low,
Don't get its favour,
For they wage wars
Across the boundaries
And are delight
And fill their bellies
Of selfishness.
That morning,
He commanded me,
Go out quickly,
The persons are shouting.
The sick was too sick,
But for him
It was a sharp sound.
We hate them
Because they don't behove
Our nature,
Still they're
The perfect performances
Of wings and instruments,
Oh, his child is different.

Animals don't drag
Their tails;
They carry them
In their palms.

When the pains patter
On my head
I don't cry in public;
I patiently wait
For the happy moments.

What God gives us
Is never useless;
Everything is the seed
For everyone.

It's the era of selfies.

                 It's the era of selfies

Conversation has collapsed.

                 Joys are under the rubble.

Time to toil and toil

                For rehabilitation.

The wise are waiting

               For the rescuers.

When
You carry the truth
Holding its finger
Everywhere

You're the bravest of all.....

Love isn't a gala
Or a much-waited weekend
To celebrate it with fanfare.

It's the merry movements
Of the zippy fish
And the flair-stitched footfalls
Of the sun and the moon
Who set out in all seasons.

Last night, she dispatched
A message on the screen :

Tomorrow we're going to Walia;
It's our first Valentine Day;
I love you.

Quickly, I retorted:

I'm different, so is my love
We'd, as asual, walk in the park
And sing our songs.

My body is frayed
Since you
Have touched
Another woman

Your regret
Will mend it
But
It would look a sack

You've eaten
Its beauty, shape

Still
Don't forget
I'm a woman
Stronger than a hill

The hands of the truth
Are sharper than the fangs

Live with him for safety

A thousand abusive words
Will never affect so much
Than a deceit........

Water within me
Is boiling upon thy fire
Pour it ere it cools

Before you say
It's over
You must realise
You're defeating to yourself
And after the defeat
There's no chance to win

Boundaries
Can stop our footfalls

But our hope has wings

I'm as soft as a flower
If you wear me on your hair
I'm as hard as a stone
If you walk on me

It's a tragedy!

He said,

On being asked

For a paltry amount

For food,

"what have you done for me?

Don't demand money;

There's no rupees-trees

In my house."

It's a greater tragedy!

I'd educated him

By toiling harder,

Eating, wearing

Very meagre.

It's a much painful tragedy!

Cutting trees is dictatorship.........

Beware of your own negativity
It's very sharp and has many edges

A
Single flower

               Is enough to tell you

How to live a brief life


BEAUTIFULLY

When you cut a tree 🎄

You create hungry persons

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

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

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

Beyond our capacity lies nothing;
It's so mesmerising for everyone.

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

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

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

Branches
Put off their clothes

A strong wish
Or abject surrender
To seething weather

Escaping is inevitable
Wearing new ones too

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

Its bridge of prosperity
Cannot stand long

Asking someone
How it looks

Is the loss of its beauty

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

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

The joyful plays of children
Have been stolen by mobile.

Who will dare
To file a chargesheet?

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

My conscience
Is my friend,
My teacher,
My spiritual peer,
And my parents
To whom I have to folle

When
There's none
To guide me

I consult Experience
In presence of Loneliness

The key to solving any puzzle

Is courage

And after ages and ages

It will be only courage

The weakest weakness of man

Is to give up

By seeing

Only a small river to cross

Sitting under the tree
And lying in the lawn

Can never be replaced
By any new technology

That provides delight

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.

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

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.

If you get something
At the cost of your goodness

You have got only dust in disguise.

Though you write a single line,
It must have electricity