Monthly Archives: December 2016

Things you could do if you were Fire

a poem by

You could heat the metal case placed above you
by coarse hands with hopes to prepare food
little morsels that they call a meal using your arms,
to fulfill childish hunger on a chilly night.
You could be wrathfully burning the innocent pages of a diary
that potentially held a universe of emotions,
powering the flames of anger and helplessness,
similar to those in the heart.

You could be the quivering flames of a diya
lit with immense devotion and downright credence in an invisible entity,
accompanied by murmurs, asking begging for blessings.
You could be the spectator of fervent,
blooming love at a campfire
while hands swivel around leaning bodies in search of warmth,
singing classics in unsteady voices.

You could be the blazing end of a cigarette
held to lips full of unknown despair,
clenched between someone’s fingers in poise,
while you slowly fall as redundant ash
and so does their smoky breath.

Feasting on Pain

a poem by

Feasting on Pain (to the victims of terror in recent times)
They are shedding tears, but I won’t write to wipe them.
They lost loved ones, but I won’t write to sympathize with them.
They are intimidated, but I won’t write to warm them.
They are petrified, but I won’t write to calm them.

Countless lives are washed away under bullet sheets.
They pulled triggers and terrorized us indeed.
Irrevocable wounds are buried under this smoke unknown,
While we raised our voices for ourselves alone

Outrageously the families are torn apart,
While a child questions,” Don’t you have a heart?”
The world also cries when the flag of inhumanity flies,
When the euphony and peace of the world dies.

Death parcels fall like gifts from the skies.
The rush of terror in everybody’s eyes,
Blood falls like water belittled so soon,
The smile in the morning is a marred face by noon.

This isn’t a movie which you can rewind.
An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
“We rummaged their lives!” they say with boast
But feasting on pain is what pleasures them the most.

They are shedding tears, but I won’t write to wipe them.
Let the tears be our strength and I will write to fight them.
They lost their loved ones, but I won’t write to sympathize with them.
Let the pain be always in your eyes and I will write to incise them.

And I came back to You

a poem by

And I came back to You
after so many years,
The dawns as witness,
Winds’ savaged,
Seasons’ ravaged;
Knocked so very softly,
Hoping you won’t recognize;
Those watery eyes
That unknown lump of fear,
A single refrain humming-
Should I be trespassing?

But I have always known You,
Haven’t I?
You’ve grown,
Old, haggard and
A wee bit frail; Down
but not down,
As in ‘over’.
Your smile still lights up
the crinkled corners of your eyes,
That once spoke without a word.
Laid away dreams – you bring back alive.
Those I never cared to visit
till I came back to You,
Those I never cared to think,
Existed in You, besides.

And yet ‘I am the same’
You say…
Maybe or maybe not;
You still have that habit of confusing me,
And eliciting warmth on cold wintry days.
Winds’ savaged, Seasons’ ravaged,
Am I Him?
You putter, you stutter,
As you reclaim that day
when mortal words died
Like wounds healed, the
scars afresh each time;
When the gales of turmoil
could never still
‘Those our Times’
Now forgotten far behind.

Cruel soul, why me, coward?
Why rip away my hands and
Show me my face, today,
That I have tried so well
to hide from thee?
Morphed reflections stain the hourglass of
my Life,
Like dust streams down a window pane
Lashed suddenly by a jolt of morning rain.
In my helplessness, then
Why yoke me now, friend?


a poem by

Real Remains
My heart for your real remains
My heart wins even if I lose you.
The deserts you made don’t count.
For what the selfish reasons behind,
could just be enough to get up to it.
The lights we both lightened,
have to be blown up for the acceptance.
Only the real remains could be fixed
that handles you from me up to end.

They call me The Abyss

a poem by

Deep, dark and infinite;
I may be a black hole, for I could take you in despite your might.
But I am in the space, the sea, the land and the winds that hiss;
Which is why they call me The Abyss.

A bottomless pit of silent power;
I grow in size with every hour.
I am neither good, nor evil, not a friend or a foe;
Just a hot mass of grey, engulfing you in my shadow.

Did you create me? Or have I always been there?
Am I your God? Do you take my name in your prayer?

Gaze into me, for you shall then see;
That when you gaze too hard, you turn into me.
If I am hope, you too become a desire;
And if I am the purgatory, you too will burn in my fire.