I wanted to be a musician
Compose the Punk, the Goth and the Rock
And leave you mesmerized, all the times
But the strings, the chords and the beats
Refused to befriend me.

Then I wanted to be a painter
Bring myriads of hues on an empty canvas
And leave you bewitched, all the times
But the colors, the brushes, the strokes
Refused to befriend me.

So I decided to be a writer
And express my heart out
Everything...
Agonies, ambitions and aspirations
Fears, fantasies and fallacies
To create a symphony, this time with words
That appeals your mind & sinks into your soul
To paint caricatures, this time with words
That is a treat for the creative You

My writings have not won any laurels
But that does not mean it's all in vain.
If you can listen to this music
And relish these paintings,
I made with words
My job is done
I have become a musician and a painter too.

As you pack my bags, Mom
Wrap an ounce of Faith too,
The One You have in me.
For there are times,
When you are not around.
There's dusk, twilight and
Gloom
And that innocent bud fears to
Bloom.
Darkness keenly creeps in
And sunshine witfully shys away.
Goodness faints and
Wickedness prevails.
I begin to stumble and fumble.
I (unfortunately) begin to resemble
All but myself.
Then I shall secretly open my bags
And cling on to that ounce of faith.
I tell you Mom...
I tell you, for sure
I will emerge a stronger being
That day
I will be myself
That day...

I do not ask you for a better life
Neither do I ask you to bless me with all the happiness
I do not crave for the entire wealth of the world
Neither do I have the longing to be a super power
Places I have been to many, things I have seen plenty
I adore all but wish for none…..
All I wish you to give me is the strength to tread a path unchartered
To follow an oft-travelled road is not my idea
I want to sing a song yet unsung
I want to give my soul to dancing
but the dance shall have no precedents
Music, I wish to play
But the notes shall be mine, just mine
All I do-good or bad, pretty or ugly shall be truly unique
Shall be mine……
To step into other’s footprints is not my philosophy
All I dream is to create footprints….
footprints of my own.

Poetry springs,
Sometimes
From broken wings,
Shattered dreams,
Bruised knees and
Crippled hopes

While at other times
From joyous highs,
Victorious tunes,
Long- stretched smiles and
Reaffirmed beliefs

But the finest of the poetry emerges
From the darkest of the nights,
The toughest of the terrains
When any light seems impossible
And the only light,
The only hope, one has is
A pen in the hand
And poetry in the mind.

Fallen leaves

A withered oak leaf often weeps in...
Not for separation from the tree so much
As for the change in the eyes of the master
The leaf cared, nourished & pampered, till yesterday
Subject to trample and strangle of today
Not that its beauty has faded
Nor because its elegance has receded.
"Hey the withered, trampled and strangled!!"
Mocked the majestic oak each day at the fallen leaves
"I am the Victor, the master of the day
And you the silent onlooker....."
The fallen leaves wept in silence
Till the day when wind flew them to distant land
They declared " You are mistaken dear friend...
You have no clue as to what I can be"

I can make my footprints over the clouds
I can borrow the bird's wings to touch the sky
I can steal colours from rainbow for myself
I can reach the rain drops to sip water for myself
And when I die I can help another tree grow.

And You- my friend are merely a tree, a thirsty oak
Bound by myriad inertias of life
While I am a dream, I live for a dream
And can die for one...