Monday, February 6, 2012

A Man

A man, when asked name
Replied- "I have roots"
When asked about land
He said, "I am not a dog"
When asked about mother
He said, "My father is dead"
When asked about friends
He said, "There is no chain"
When asked about the first love
He said, "Bangles turned black"
When asked about blood
He said, "There is no river"
When asked about mind
He replied smiling
"Dear friend you are mad".

Sunday, January 15, 2012

while they go.

The smoke strokes the heart
Leaving a scar,
A brown, unpleasant scar like life.
Each day neighbour’s eyes
left a scar on the wall…
The rain poured on a drowsy facade
Imprinting a shapeless scar like love..
Eyes closed for a while
Making a dark hole on thoughts…
A leaf falls on the street,
Leaving a scar in the wind, a curse…
Kids came running
Bringing a red seed from the heart.
A handful of sand from the graveyard
And a thistledown from the depth of innocence…
Like a scar I stood there …

Forgive me…
For I have brought nothing
but a flower of scars.

Johnny

johny had a black sky..
rivers climbed up the mountain
like the only worker in the steel factory,
he toiled with the veins
with the only string of flesh
he made music...
some times he saw a star,
neither a hope nor a sign of danger...
light was painful...
there was no season
but it was warm..
and black sky
gifted him a moon
one day he was thrown out...
he got a name...
he got a cross
he got enemies...
he got friends...
he cried...
he smiled...
yesterday he came to me
asking the way to his usurped kingdom.

Friday, October 28, 2011

untitled

wounds narrate a melancholic rain fall...
words clinging to the last letters.
gulping the lust of freedom,
our veins scribble with blood
dreaming an eternal bliss.
darling, our wounds are still breathing agony.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

in the forest

thousand trees watching the sunrise,
even the falling leaves departed
without a sigh.
sun rose to kill our dreams,
and the same left for them.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

untitled

while my hands are so open
absorbing the pleasures of those
who threw it unwanted.
dear ..life is so close.
rather than beauty,
we should sing songs of the roads ahead!

Sunday, November 14, 2010

the farthest bird
brought the rarest seed
the strolling cloud
fell on coldest mud
a lantern sprouted
on a butterfly's chest