The worst part is that I actually never needed him

- but what took so long was to realize I needed myself more than he needed me

I was greeted by
unearthly
midnight
or stellar light

I'm hypnotized by
the evening clouds

I espy
the busy
passers-by
or the silly
vagabonds

The round
earth doesn't pause
Proxima Centauri
doesn't pause
Ursa Major
doesn't pause

Colours change
The game
continues

I close my
eyes
This is how I can perceive
the sound
of silence
This is how I meet myself
I'm neither
a nihilist
nor
a hedonist
I'm simply
a monotheist

A gust
of wind blusters
My gossamer
scarf flutters

I open my inquisitive
eyes
I discover the mysterious
scene

Kautilya or Katyayan,
They were the best examples in their own essence.

Khana or Galileo,
Couldn't be to become too dear to many.

Van Gogh or Jibanananda Das,
Society did not recognize them, all were delusions.

Sukarno or Kamal Ataturk,
Have they got the real happiness of freedom?

Asking questions back to whom today,
To answer these, who remains there!

Perimeter is perimeter-
Its diameter, radius is constant.
And for the necessities of life
Around that perimeter,
Continuously coming and going.

Alas destiny!
Do you want to return without any need?
In the twilight hours, or on a catastrophic morning.
Will I be able to see you.

What a zero perception!
Ah, what a repetitive format -
Torn pages of a fragmentary novel,
In the bitterness of summer, in the footsteps of memory
There was a murmur,
However, it is very indistinct.

Shrouded in the thick fog of thought,
That destiny-
Cannot be seen even in successive incarnations.
That is indestructibly invisible!

a feeling i once thought was lost,
is blooming in me
just as though i’m a flower in a spring.
reborn again,
loving myself again,
and again and again choosing me.
sprouting up from the seeds
and nurturing my needs.
as the grass starts growing
and there’s blooming in the trees.

Finding poetry writing materials-
It is as if the walls are surrounded by an unknown dream.

Before the end of the story of Konakchampa,
The fragrance of Yuthika, that floats in the air, leaving well.

Content seems not as comfortable as before,
Yet the heart is full with the joy of emotion.

Let's write about vivacity, passion, and radiance,
If not, something about unbroken spring-
In the midst of unhappiness, but likely to be of joy,
Let the words of the poem float, as it were everywhere.

Sitting still with emotion,
As time goes on, so does infinity.

However, it seems to be why,
To the hungry street child, white rice is more demanding.

There is a pile of wood by the side of the oven.
Today's cooking will be using them.

Chewing-*******-licking-drinking,
It is easily conceivable to be fond of eating.

They are devoted souls in burning,
This is their best salvation in the world.

This is how they burn the entire day in the oven,
Their self-sacrifice cannot fail.

Next to it is a fallen log of a tree,
He is different, so why he is so proud.

He said jokingly, "You see,
I am unharmed yet”.

The housewife's eyes fell one day on it,
Suddenly her face became gloomy.

She said, Oh! wood, of no use,
Get away from my kitchen.

She threw it in the yard and kept it there,
Seeing that, the piles of wood, were surprised!

It becomes ants nest, even eaten by termites,
He was left alone, helpless.

If you are not big at work, big at words,
One day it will come, will fall in danger.

By far
thoughts are sometime hollow,
perhaps,
they are not that easy
to swallow.

May be they could be
in the realm of extreme,
or, could they be
part of an unusual dream.

In this hazy world
nothing seems to be perfect,
or, could be real true-
Even though people
more or less
rely on their thoughts,
due, or undue.