Monday 18 August 2014


Tears unrolled,
Pain untold,
She thinks no one cares,
If she doesn't share.
But I can read minds,
Maybe she's unaware.
As I pack my stuff,
She keeps herself tough.
But I know her inner state,
I wish I could stay, but,
The time wouldn't wait.
I still have to depart,
Though with a heavy heart.
The journey is self chosen,
Her silence leaves me frozen.
To ask her, I couldn't dare.
All I can say is that,
Some fairwells aren't fair.

P.S. - Dedicated to all the strong mothers out there whose children have to leave their home for study/work.

Monday 21 July 2014

If I Were Not Me

I wonder if I were not me,
What else I could be,
A flower among the thorns,
Or a quiet summer tree.
A lonely artist's brush,
Or someone's first crush.
Maybe I could be a guitar,
Or a wish granting star.
Rain shower in summer noon,
A child's amaze, a balloon.
Roaring like an ocean's tide,
A quiet tear of a new bride.
What if I be your smile,
Resting on your lips for awhile.
Or what if I be in your heart deep?
Will you mind me to forever keep?

Sunday 13 July 2014

She is Poetry

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme.
I am not perfect,
neither you nor anyone.
She is not perfect either.
But she is poetry.
And she doesn't rhyme.
But then again,
poetry doesn't have to rhyme.

Tuesday 13 May 2014

A Heart With A Patch

So what it's broken and scattered,
in love it doesn't really matter.
For love is always in demand,
I'll not store it and preserve,
I'll stitch my heart and offer it
to someone else who deserves.
Let me see who tries for the catch,
a heart full of love despite a patch.

Sunday 4 May 2014

The Meeting Point

It's so good for two people to be like two parallel lines. Both will move to the same direction keeping the exact and perfect distance. It's like two people living a life their own way yet complimentary to each other. One's life is independent yet incomplete without the other. Maintaining the perfect amount of space and distance between the relation - not so far, no so close. But then there is a negative point - they don't meet each other. Never ever. This makes their relation incomplete though unending.

And then there are two intersecting lines. They move to their own directions at their own pace. They do not compliment each other. They are free - like wind blowing at its own will. But they meet for at least once. And that point, that intersecting point, is their mark of perfection. At this very point they are in complete harmony and in complete surrender. They lose themselves in each other. At that point, their identity is merged and there remains no one or the other.

This intersection, this meeting point doesn't last for long. But in that one moment they are in perfection. And then they move again to their predefined directions at their predefined pace - never to meet each other again.

I see both of us like those two intersecting lines. And I'm glad that for at least one moment we were in perfection.

Wednesday 23 April 2014

By The Window

Let us sit by the window and watch the rain,
it won't fix the heart nor it'll heal the pain.

But just bring us some leisure to think,
and maybe some tears to shed and drink.

To revisit the memories while raindrops pour,
to relive the forgotten moments once more.

I know you don't like the rain much, though,
it's worth waiting for the following rainbow.

Let us forget for a while our love or hate,
let us just sit by the window and wait -

for the rain to end,
for the wounds to mend,
for our paths to bend.

Sunday 20 April 2014

Opposites Attract

They thought they were opposites. She liked summers while he felt winters more comforting. She liked sunny days but to him, rains always made him dance though he was not at all good at dancing. She didn't like books but he had a personal library. Also, she wasn't a loner like him, among other things. They were quite opposites you know. And yet they felt the pull towards each other. Like they say, opposites attract, so was their story.

They met couple of times like two random flowers touch mid-air when the wind is blowing. They were like those two random flowers. But he couldn't bear the force of wind and fell on the ground while she blossomed even more.

She was the poetry and he was the poet. For some time, they both were complimentary to each other like a poem and the signature under it. She was known by him and he was by her. Then came the time when signature turned into initials and initials too lost their importance. Like it always happens, everyone remembered the poem and forgot the poet. She was still a poem but he became an anonymous poet. Gradually he lost the anonymous title too.

They thought they were opposites, so as a rule, they would attract. Of course they did, but not for long. They weren't opposites, they were quite similar. They were like same poles of two magnets. And whenever they tried to come close, they pushed each other in the opposite directions.  

Wednesday 16 April 2014


Within me are the five oceans,
And within me float the seven skies,
Within me countless suns shine,
Within me moons and stars reside,
Within me are the mountains so high,
Within me are the forests so bright,
I hold the breeze within me,
I carry the storms no one can see,
Within me is whole of the creation,
And within me is the creator Himself.

Sunday 13 April 2014

Favorites Forever

There are some of my favorite things. Like that restaurant where I have been to only once and it just became my favorite. I have a shirt which I wore only once and it is hanging in my closet since then. But it's my favorite of all the shirts I have. There is a book resting on my shelf, half read and the bookmark is still sandwiched between its pages. That book is my favorite though never completed. I have a collection of songs in my cellphone which I have listened to only once or some of them maybe twice. But that playlist I have named it 'Favorites'. It's been long since I have played it. But like other things, it's my favorite.

It may sound weird. But you know why I follow this practice? Why I don't visit my favorite restaurant often or why I never wore that shirt again? Why I haven't completely read my favorite book and among other things, why I don't play my 'Favorite' playlist more often? Because I want all these things to remain my favorites forever.

If, for instance, I listen to that song again and again, it won't sound as special as it does now. If I complete reading my favorite book it may become part of that stack of books which I once read but never touched again. Not even dusted them off. I just want my favorites to remain as such. And I always want to feel curious about them all the time.

Should I tell you one more thing? You are my favorite of favorites. But I don't come to see you often. And now you better know why?

Tuesday 8 April 2014

Random Five Liners - 5

If I was a color,
I'd choose to be white,
graciously losing itself,
yet alone
shining bright.


Setting aside my fears,
someone's hand in mine,
a long walk in the rain,
yes, I am ready,
to play love again.


You, in my arms,
with all your charms,
your breath touches
my bare chest,
I shiver in love.


Lovers depart,
with heavy heart,
carrying along
a bag full of
broken promises.


Memories knock,
each midnight,
I weave words,
another poem
gets a shape.


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