A day will come,
When he will rise up,
From sleep of thousand days.
Will rub the sleep off his eyes,
To see beyond the haze.
But all he would see faint memories of the days.
Will try to hold on something that's already gone away.
But all he would get is an empty life, too hard for a person to live.
Will strain his ears to listen to the sweet songs of old times.
But all he would listen is the silence at the place.
Will weep for days to come,
And spend his days in cage.
A day will come,
When he will sleep for eternal rest.

Lighting strikes the sky,
Blissful liquid meets the Soil.
Clouds thunder, winds run fast,
Night darkens,
And he changes his colour.

Ruby, his eyes look like,
full with passion yet brimming with anger.
I shuddered at his looks.
He was the cyclone,
and I was the silent waters.

It was dawn,
enticing orange glitter adorned the sky.
His Ruby slowly changes to emerald.
They were calm and healing.
Like the serene sea,
and I was the ship with smooth sails.

Sand glimmered in the sunlight,
waters sparkled,
waves washed the shores,
leaving behind the trails of past.

He walked ahead,
kept changing his colour.
His aura had a yellowish tint,
He was the beautiful colours,
And I was the canvass.

He had a song,
but incomplete,
I had a wish,
To whisper it back.
We both were mum,
None wanted to speak.

The day ended,
We sitting face to face.
I asked him,
Why he was the change,
And I the constant.

He told me,
He was the World,
And I, the confined me.
Truly, he was the Alexandrite,
And I the diamond.

Hush!
A knock at the death's door.
The hags squinted eyes to look at their new companion.
They gasped,
He was so puny, not compatible.

The walls mocked at him,
His steps echoing through the deadly hushed alley.
Subdued him by constant murmurs.

This was completely different,
People with burns, people with cuts,
Many had henious marks, flesh hanging loose from body.
He wanted to *****, but his body was off the limits.

The guards of death poked him,
Urging him to move.
The hall was stuffed, horrifying voices shook it.
'Ah! One more kid. I am tired of such cases.' The voice came from the centre.

'Explain, kid?' The voice was monotonous.
'I was to go heaven. I don't belong here.' He shrieked.
'You are not to decide where to go. There's no free will here.'

He was pious, always inclined towards good,
Then why such a harsh punishment.
'Kid you were mistaken when you wasted what was most precious.' The king said.

He wasn't wrong.
God had been wrong to him, giving him miseries at every path.
Did he do anything to suffer that much. No.

Living was better than dying.
'Millions more thought the same. And you belong to the same lot.
You had fifty more years to enjoy and look, now where does it make you land.'

A thousand years weren't a short period to ponder over his crime.
It pained him every time,
Thinking of many things he could have been a part of.

If people like you,
Not for your talents,
But for the real person you are,
It is the greatest thing ever happened to you.

And this is the worst time,
Hanging on the dangling bridge,
Roaring waters calling from beneath,
Shouting to the friend standing on other side,
His body disappearing at the horizon.

O dear! pray in hearts of heart for God and loved ones,
And they will be,
On the bridge,
Helping you.

She was their World,
Her presence made their hearts run wild,
Her smile melted the iron bars,
Holding power to manipulate time.

But she slept,
For eternal rest.
Leaving behind all her memories,
Eloping to a World,
That cannot be approached, without pain.

The red rose in her garden,
Shed tears every dawn,
Wanting the touch of a hand,
That caressed its petals,
With deep love.
Every dusk it cried,
'Come back! Come back, dear.'

The old tree that stood for aeons,
Withered its leaves,
As if eager,
To reach a destination.
That would make it,
Meet her.
Acknowledging that actions were
Futile,
It said, weeping,
'Come back! Come back dear.'

The dresses in her almirah,
Stood still,
As if lifeless.
They didn't move,
Not even when winds,
Blowed,
Still shocked,
That she left them,
Not even a tear dropped down,
But they quitely prayed,
For her to come back.

The house was dull,
As if blood was,
Withdrawn from its body.
No voices,
Only eeire silence of longing.
The incessant darkness,
Inside it,
Only wanted her light.
And it wished,
For her to come back.

Then were they,
In the niche,
Crying for what they lost.
She was their blood,
Their soul,
Her smile made them smile,
Her pain made them frown,
Her worries made them worried,
Her satisfaction made them satisfied.

But she had left,
Taking all their emotions,
With her.
Only leaving them with,
Unending tears.
In their hearts of hearts,
They wished for her,
To COME BACK.

You and I were walking down a solitary path, one day.
You walked on the fallen leaves, which looked like sufferers of war.
We were at antipodes, your side had night,
While my side had a bright sunny day.
As we walked, you chose to talk of non human meetings,
Where people fed on blood.
With a prideful smile,
You spoke, " I killed two fifty zombies, as they marched towards my farm.'
And I asked you , "Why?"
They could have destroyed my boundary wall.
"Why would they?"
They are bigots.
"They told you so?"
No, but I know, they were.
"So they were a menace to your lands?"
To humanity in brief.
And, you added, to God.
"God " I smiled.
"He told you so?"
No, you said arching your brow,
But it is my duty.

You told me many more stories of how you and your allies saved the World and God.
But our thoughts were like ice and fire.
I told you,
But they are His children.
You killed your siblings.
And your instant reply was,
"Not mine."
So you think that your God didn't made this entire World.
"He did."
So he must have made all that's living.
"True."
Then who were those two fifty, whom you killed?

You were quite for the rest of the journey.
I should have told you,
I wished to learn the answer to that question in this life.
But you were lost in dark.

Drops of mist hang loosely on his overcoat,
As he waits underneath the same tree,
Gaze fixed at the window,
Waiting for the beloved,
To again arise from her sleep.

Glistening surface,
shiny twinkles,
Down the valley,
Quenching thirst.
Drops of elixir,
Blood red petals,
Warmth is gold.

Like ice and fire,
Lust and wrath shall meet,
To **** the human in me.

Like other girls,
Trying hard to get rid of the black scars.
Home remedies, costly cosmetics,  medicines,
Tried everything, but no results.
Why don't these ugly circles disappear?
I asked myself every time I stood in front of mirror.
Then, one day, I saw my face, carefully
And came to the conclusion, that dark circles don't make me look ugly.

Many people close to me,
Have left me,
But these circles never did.
When I thought that I was strong,
People made me feel weak.
But when I look at the dark circles,
They remind me of all those nights,
I was awake,
Working hard to make my dream true.
Then how can something, that makes me feel proud of myself be ugly?

Books tell me,
There is something bigger,
Bigger than the universe itself, endless and ever expanding.
But I want to tell those authors,
That I know where it ends.

Looking at the tiny twinkles across the sky,
I have dreamt of infinity.
Some cosmologist say you can never reach it,
But I have travelled to it a million times.

Looking at the rainy clouds,
I feel like dancing in infinity.
Some mathematician say you can never count it,
But my counting has finished many times.

Looking at the horizon,
It appears to be infinity millimeters far,
Some wild men say you can never travel to it,
But I have visited the place some thousand time.

Looking at the boy, across my window,
I feel an infinite emotions upsurging in my heart.
My friends say I will never be able to tell him,
But I have told him everyday.

You see this big, yet cute creature,
Is not out of your reach.
It's besides you, with you every moment.
Infinity is just a feeling.

Love holds so much exuberance,
Driving crazy the beholders.
Life changes thereafter,
And no day spend without reminiscing about their love.

'Oh! Those intoxicating black eyes,
The brightest smile.'
Makes the day.
Ears long to listen the cuckoo voice.

When finally meet,
Long hours of blissful silence,
Basking in warmth of love,
Passionately exchanging love.

But years have passed,
The passion dies.
They don't speak anymore.
The same love makes them cry,
Considering separation is destiny.

Few years after,
The same spark returns in life,
In form of another.
And they call it 'again'
True love.

But, is it really love?
There is just one heart,
And one soul,
Then how can something more than one reside in it?

I want to be the richest person in the world,
Not in terms of money
But in love.
For money can nurture lust,
But love kindles benevolence.
Money can sow seeds of hatred,
But love reaps peace.
Money can build walls,
But love unites distinct.
Money brings solitude,
But love gives company.
Being rich would buy me fake respect,
But elite heart would keep me alive within heart of every individual.

I saw him walking to the gates.
Rushing to him, I called him.
Instantly, he looked behind,
And a soft sugary smile grew.

He held my hand,
With care and love.
And we walked to the gates.

There were more things to look at,
The green trees, the lovely flower, the cotton candy clouds,
The golden sun, the chirping birds,
But nothing was above the moment I enjoyed with him.

There was something gloomy in his eyes.
Sensing it, I raised my brow.

Looking at me with tenderness,
He rubbed his finger on my palm.
And said,
"I will be your best friend."

There was someone walking besides him.
She was beautiful, with maiden pride sparkling in her eyes.
She greeted me with a scornful smile.

It didn't cared,
If he would leave me.
I wanted to enjoy his company.
We talked and talked,
And my love for him grew.

With passing time,
I wished for him,
Till eternity.
I knew he loved me and he knew I loved him.
But the lady besides him,
Had her own plans.

And one day he walked out of those gates.

After months of solitude,
The crack of shell,
Preordained,
Was an incentive,
To regain contact.

But I had made up my mind,
Talk when needed.
Tried to be invisible.

There are means,
Meetings and circumstances,
Not within our understanding.

Oblivious to everything,
I hardly recognized faces besides me.
And He was one of them.

It was so simple for him to ask me, 'What was pseudo chiral carbon?'
I scarcely looked at his face,
Provided the information.

When not in sight,
It struck me who he was?
After few days of constant search,
I found him.

There were little Sparks of wanting to know more,
And easily I forgot about him.

And one day,
My eyes fixed on him,
For moment such a brief,
But I withdrew them.

And from then and everyday,
I looked at him,
Once or twice.
And he did the same.

Wanted him to look at something in my eyes,
But we both ignored it.

There were ways I tried to gain attention,
Coming early was one option,
But fearing the disclosure of my emotions,
Never looked at him.

How silly I was,
Thinking of coincidences,
That can bring up a conversation.

He hardly cared.
Attitude is all I possess,
And confirmed to minds thinking.

Seldom have I thought of,
Coincidences,
But when they concern him,
Wish it to be true.

And Maybe one day,
He'll look into my eyes.
And find what I have been trying to hide.

I wandered through the streets of my past,
Each building telling a story of my childhood.
The shop there, with maximum customers,
I remember going there,
Standing for hours, not able to out voice others,
Just to buy a petty thing!

Beyond it was a shop,
To say it a 'shop' would be too much in its praise.
Just a raised cemented platform.
A man there, sold cold drinks, different flavors.
Don't remember if it still exists.

But there is a clear picture of the man who sat on road,
Beneath the shop.
He sold ice, and I was his regular customer,
Until we bought a fridge.
Oh! How much I used to admire looking at the ice block unloading from the mini truck.

Moving further, there is a shop,
With usual hustle bustle.
I could see the owner as young as I saw him eleven years before.
There is my father, sitting at the corner eating the gujiya, while talking to him.
My father looks at me and smiles.
I move in the shop,
He hands me a ten rupee note.

It was getting dark and I had to leave,
I walked towards my old house,
Thinking that I would go back with my brothers and sisters.
No fascination was left for the house that treasured so many memories.

My brothers and sisters were leaving for home.
I stopped them, asking to take me along.
They refused, saying, 'There is no place for another.'
I saw them receding into the dark.

I decided to walk back home.
The road was peculiarly solitary.
The weather was cold and it had started to snow.
I trudged on, but cold had numbed my senses.
Feeling dizzy, I lost my balance.
But someone caught me.
Wrapping me in his warm arms.
He held immense radiance,
Like the omnipresent.

As I passed away thinking that there wasn't any tomorrow,
I heard him say,'I will always be there for you.'

Everything that is,
Living or dead is Shiv.
Everything that was,
Or will be is Shiv.
The existing, the non existing is Shiv.

What was before universe was Shiv.
What was after universe is Shiv.
Everything beyond universes is Shiv.

Shiv has taken a form,
Yet is formless.
Shiv is the man,
Shiv is the woman.
Shiv is the Shakti,
Shiv is the destroyer.

Shiv is in every particle,
And every particle is in Shiv.
Shiv is in you.
Shiv is in me.
Shiv is the Ultimate Truth.

My very old friend

It stood in my backyard,
For what seems to be aeons.
If consistency was talked of,
Thick volumes can be filled on it.

Storm's futile efforts,
Couldn't pull it from the ground.
It stood like a giant mountain,
Amongst the tiny slopes.

My friends were rare to be found,
But it was one of them.
Each morning it waved at me,
When I left for school.

I conjecture,
Of it relinquishing flowers,
To let me know,
That it was gay.

Back when I was a juvenile,
I ensconced myself behind it,
When playing hide and seek with Sam,
Poor Sam! His drudgery went in vain.

It was fun,
When Sam and I owned our house on it,
We had our small tea party,
With only three guests.

Sam and I still reminisce the past,
Reposing underneath it's warmth.
We are tied together,
By a fine silky thread of love.

With time Sam might leave me,
So might his memories,
But what I know,
Will always be there for me,
Is my very old friend.

Those eyes are black and dull,
But shines out, when he looks at them.
Her skin is placid ,
the bulge, six months old.
I learned,
they ran away from home.
Sitting besides her,
he could feel her heart burn.
Guilt is explicit,
Oh my God, they are not married!
He soothes their future,
With gentle kisses.
None could speak,
But continued to love other,
as the night grew older.

Oh! I forgot something.
Who am I?
A trespasser? No.
I am just a dreamer,
Wandering in night dreams.

Hey friends, I am delighted to tell you that except from poetry, I am also trying to write a book, which I am currently uploading on Wattpad, titled 'THE FOREST GIRL', Genre : Romance. It would give an impetus to me if you read it, and leave your valuable comments.

Here's the link : https://www.wattpad.com/story/188764838?utmmedium=link&utmcontent=storyinfo&utmsource=android  

And if you like it then don't forget to share it with your friends.

Definitely,  I have crossed miles,
Encountering hidden crevices and trenches,
Wrapped with merry green.
Many a times, I was cautious,
But humanly instincts have failed many. Darkest caves do have light,
And sometimes I found some of them.
Time changes like fashion,
And now I am stuck in a rainforest,
Luscious and gay,
But, isn't beauty a little deceptive?
Making some of the good days not so good.

Limitations of a human are still neglected,
Claiming that everything is possible.
Someone said,
Impossible is I'm possible.
If so, why not jump off a thousand metre cliff.

The saying is a virus,
Inciting young minds to dream the unachievable.
After all as goes by the saying,
Hard work is rewarding,
But then failures strike,
Dismay creeps in.
It is easy to blame not accepting that they are to be blamed.

Keep trying is another lie,
Since there is no time.
Life is short, dreams are more.
Life won't always give the best.

But there are men who have achieved much,
Not driven by ideal pursuits.
Respecting self is rare trait.

She has seen it through all her life,
Hardships, failures, pain, everything sad.
Her magnificent work was never awarded,
Neither were her good deeds acclaimed noble.
Her thoughts were laughed at,
Her ideas always neglected,
Misunderstood as being highly ideal.
There is a whole Her world inside,
Untouched by any soul.
She felt sorry, when letting her emotions out.
There were none to listen to her,
None to lighten her pain.
She has always wore this fake smile,
Pretending everything is alright.
But her inner self knows,
she is tormented.
The good quotes irked her,
Since she has had enough of bad,
Yet, her heart always speaks of trying again and again.

I have heard him many times,
Speaking his love for me.
And when I am silent,
He say it annoys him.
But he never sees,
My silence speaks of immense love I have for him.

My friends often at social meetings,
Talk of stuffs I am not interested in.
It ranges from back biting to mocking,
I try hard to keep on my smile.
They force me to speak,
Ignoring that my silence is enough to tell them
I am annoyed at their speech.

Fights are common at my home,
For petty things that don't matter.
When situations get worse,
I am expected to speak.
But I keep silence,
Because I know my words would add fuel.

You think I am dumb,
Or I am shy.
But no,
My silence has deep reasons.

My emotions are better expressed when I am silent.
My thoughts are paid more attention to, when I am silent.
My words don't hurt anyone when I am silent.
And when I am silent, I am at peace.

But irrespective of all my efforts to be silent,
Everyone fails to consider it.

A calm place, soft music, sounds of chatter,
two tables, few cups of coffee,
and some friends, a dare and a handsome man is all you require to start a new friendship.

Coincidentally, he's a rival at college.
A few meetings at cafeteria, smiles and greetings exchanged.

An approach from either side,
A hearty talk from both sides,
A witty remark, giggles and two cups of vanilla is all you need for friendship to start.

A healthy competition, discussions on machines, an idea contradicted, a furious fight to prove other wrong, ending in laughs.

Music classes by him, a song sung for her, claps and whistles, few blushes and lots of love.

A silly typed bond, a ball pen, many terms and condition, two signatures and friendship sealed forever.

A misunderstanding, blames, fights, cries, repenting on both sides, solitude, dysphoria, friends reconciled.

Few years, jobs, busy schedules, pending work, tensed mind, a break from normal life, a phonecall, an airplane ticket, a familiar face, tears of joy and old friendship revives.

There are some easy steps to make a friend,
But the easiest is to trust someone.

Yellow leaves crunch as I trudge on the old aisle.
The rusty latch of the black gate,
Screams as I unlock it.

My hand slowly traces it way over the dusty metal plate,
Rubbing it I read,
Home sweet home.

My footsteps haunt the house,
As I walk inside.
It's complete dark,
Yet I see everything.

Rooms are empty,
But I see it filled,
Just like few years ago.

I walk to where once I heard the whistle,
I hear her say,
'Dinner is ready dear.'

I hear a few whispers and laughs at the spot,
where once was a table for ten.
Clink of vessels at the sink,
Which was now covered in spider web.

I walk to where once we used to enjoy the evening,
With potato chips and tea.
I hear the commentators speak,
'one more six.'

I hear claps and cheers,
And thumping sound on a comfy sofa,
Which was once placed,
Where I stand now.

I climb up the stairs,
Each step appearing like a milestone.
I see those frames,
Them happy and gay.

Now were only left,
The rectangle marks on the,
Blackish bluish wall.

I walk up to were was once a big feather bed,
I hear a happy scream,
As she says,
'Papa, what if I tickle you like this.'

I hear me say,
'And what if Papa does like this.'
As I carry my daughter in my arms,
And she flies like a plane.

I leave the house,
And walk to the backyard,
Where was once nice and cultivated grass,
now dead and black.

As I lock back the junked gate,
I feel the strings of my heart,
Getting tensed,
And I hear a sad tone.

from rough, tattered to freshly scented pages,
I've read words, applauded for ages.
No, they haven't touched souls,
for then graveyards would have been shrines,
of these wise, elite men,
who lived the life at deep.

Innumerable scribblings,
gaining shiny molds of clay that make good decors.
all life's struggle praised for literary skills.

Wonder is a poet's life.
The greatest poem of all times, his own life,
'cause he imagined his music meltings stone so hard,
but the truth lies far beyond.

We are devils, made of dust so rare
that rains so fragile
cannot wash it offshore.

End is the beginning of another doom,
since evils are not born from wombs.
A son he is to a mother,
and so neglected are the symptoms.
Good might be his foundation,
but fate destroys it all.
Struggle is pronounced,
life on fire.
endurance has limits,
the strongest heart dies,
an obstinate, wicked mind arises from ashes.
Then are done the follies, so noticeable,
he is criticized, is made the Villain.
Then the head is on sale,
with biddings so high.
The team that preys on him,
is awarded public acclaim.
Then is he known in history,
God of turmoil.
Stories are made with him as a villain,
and little children taught the false old rhyme,

bad times may break,
but real good stands undestroyed.

Who is the real Villain is to be judged,
As oldest rocks not always yield diamonds.

A sunshine smile, is a makeup they wear,
With loads of jokes in their book to crack,
You will always find them,
Howling, shouting, laughing,
As if the world will end that night.
You can approach them with all your problems,
they always have a solution.
You might even admire them,
And wish to be like them.

But friend you are wrong.
You don't know the person behind those masked expressions

Ever saw them in solitude?
Then you will see the TRUE them.
A sea of tears, covers their face,
With thunderstorm rising within them.
Their life is a dark cave,
with mysteries, and no light.

They can help everyone,
but not themselves.
They can speak of everything,
but not of their pain.
Why?
They don't want sympathy,
they just want care, that's a rare merit to find.
They are not wild,
But are soft like wax.
They will never hurt you,
'cause they know how it feels.

What we see, might not be true,
And what hurt people show is never true.

Human life is a precious gem,
Not in everyone's fate.
Why waste it in pursuing deception?
Running for false fame and name.
What worth is it living, if lived for self?
What worth is it dying, if died for self?

Who are we?
Among those tiny stars.
Constantly raging wars.
Are we the knaves,
Diging up other's grave.
****** minds gain
Solace in others pain.

Who are we?
Who talk of ending one
When their own existence is uncertain.
Hunger struck,
Gazing at neighbour's neck.
To strike him to death,
Would quench his thirst.

Who are we?
Those who walk in pride,
But ignores the people's cries.
Or are we the one who speaks of big,
But his deeds are too wicked.

Who are we?
A clod of clay,
Made by Him who stays away,
From filthy minds,
But resides in hearts of those who are kind.

We are the sinful beings,
Who find peace in nothing.
Others sorrow makes us gay,
But others laugh makes us fury.
For what good are we?
Always crying until we attain our intentions.

'Who are we?'
The question remains unanswered.

It's been an year,
Since I had a crush on you.
Each day my likeness for you
Has strengthened more,
Though I don't know you.
Never have spoken to you.
Just have looked at you.
I cannot change myself,
Wear what I don't like,
Act differently,
to draw your attention,
'cause that's not me.
I could have told you,
But I fear if you reciprocate it
In a way never expected,
mock at me, or dislike me.
I have liked you,
And want you to like me too.
I can never speak of it,
Nor can express it,
Just can wish for you and me.

बनती है, टूटी है।
पर्वतों से, नदियों में बहकर,
समतल जमीन पर एकत्रित हो जाती है।
फिर किसी बढ़ में बह जाती है।

किसी को जीवन देती है,
किसी के जीवन को पोषित करती है।
टूटी है, बनती है, गुणों का समावेश करती चली जाती है।

कभी समीर संग उड़ जाती है,
तो कभी रत्नाकर से मिल जाती है।
अपने अस्तित्व को ख़त्म नहीं करती है।

फिर कहीं एकत्रित होगी,
नए जीवन को रूप देगी,
पर अपने मूल आचरण को कभी  न भूलेगी।