though he looked calm
he was worried all the way
as his sons carried him on their broad shoulders.

the dead brahmin, finally smiled
as he was laid
on the funeral pyre
made of finest sandalwood 
from the forest around.

that was his last wish to his sons,
you must use chandan and nothing else.
don’t give me to some low-cast corkwood
even before sum of my deeds is calculated,
i know, on the pyre, it will burn me, to the hell.

a man
in the crowd
is a page in the book
one of the many
in a stack

a man
standing alone,
is a lost page, of poetry.

if the Sun is scaled down
to a dot on the paper
.
like the one above
then the nearest star
will be a dot
four miles apart.

space is this endless poetry
by the universe,
where it writes two words
just too far apart.

three two one...
at the edge of the dark alley
i stopped,
and they broke on to me.

before they could touch me
i handed them my body
and i ran off.
ran off, in such a despair
to hide myself safely
in my mother's fearless tears.

In their eyes
she, is the holy river
and I, am a doubtful sinner.

I drowned myself
deep in Ganges.

Now she, is a holier-than-thou
and I, am a confessed sinner.

A man, stood on the deck
proudly admiring a joyous crowd
gathered at the bay,
I did it!
I sailed seas, discovered lands
and conquered formidable oceans.
I did it!

The Ship, cried out loud.
hey it was me!
I am the one, who did it.
I sailed wild tides,
felt the depths of earth in my belly
flagged & wrenched in the mighty winds.
while you my friend,
never left safety of the deck.
It's me who did it.

You! you are just a ship
I created you, I made you.

My goodman, you believe that
'God created you
and everything else on the earth'
so either you can be a believer
or a creator.
not both, you decide!

oh dear,
only out of complaint
of my cheeks
& their fear
of getting drizzly  
& losing a makeup smear
I’m hiding my feelings
& holding
my sorrow & tears!