Poems by Aishwarya


a poem by Aishwarya

Mystery glazes my eyes,
After my evening siesta,
Waking up is like,
Stepping into a world I see,
But don’t know;
Illusions tramp my vision,
Reality becomes fluid,
Bathroom walls seem,
The safest refuge,
An old, dusty tubelight,
Lighting the tiles that close upon me,
Reflect in the glistening tiles,
Sometimes one wants to stay,
And see the illusions losing their voice,
See the reflections disappear,
See cold reality overpower the matrix,
And then,
Stepping out,
The world
Is a box again!
Things in their places,
Voices ringing in ears,
Fans rattling in boredom,
I become a couch in a painting,
Staying there unmoving, bland,
Till another distant afternoon siesta!


a poem by Aishwarya

When shall the coast clear?
For my loaded boats to sail along,
My sailors are waiting to sail,
Into the vast, unknown seas,
When shall this storm subside?
And give way to my sailors,
And to its comrade, the sea breeze,
To hold the sails in honour,
And lead them to the shore they seek,
When shall I see them all gone?
The boats, the sailors, the storm and the sea breeze,
And I alone, staring at the wild blue sea.


a poem by Aishwarya

Broken pieces of glass,
I see lying in front of me,
And even a drop of blood that,
Stays hinged on a point,
I wonder if the blood is mine,
Though the others can’t see,
Though the glass hasn’t hurt me,
I wonder if the glass was mine,
The others can’t see,
And the glass was me.

Tryst With Journeying

a poem by Aishwarya

Chucking away like a bustling train,
Swirling like a coiling snake,
Smoking soot and breathing dust,
This Train moving into a futile trail.

And then are there travelers,
Who stare artfully into space,
Stranded in thought, some even out of thought,
The world somehow is their craze.

Moving aimlessly to and fro,
Within the stuffed compartments,
Sensing a kind of emptiness,
That leaves a callous dent!

And then shoving the air about,
Why this restlessness, this sense of doubt?
Then retrace the steps back to the seat,
Amidst the lull, amidst the heat.

Arriving stations bring cranky vendors,
Who sail heads into crowds,
Their reason to survive becomes a deadness,
Why this ignorance like a shroud?

And then we see people alight,
Out of the train world,
Into the dizzy flavour of reality,
Perplexing minds like surds.

Journeying like tired pilgrims,
Awaiting an awakening,
Yet knowing not how it shall spring,
And gazing obliviously into the dark booming tunnel,
Where tracks echo like racing hoofs,
All sounds of the world collapse,
Only the murderous call to freedom!

Even this train has a destination,
Where it begins again,
Waving the green mast of departure,
Which is yet another beginning,
Encircling the same railed route,
Through the same dim dark tunnel,
Over the same weak bridge,
And with the same mysterious travelers!

And each moving train,
With sinking grief hails a reflection,
Of the Train we move in,
Rubbing shoulders with fellow travelers,
Our journey reducing to a noisy perception of details,
Embedded in a fictitious world,
Heading onward into a resounding tunnel,
Unmindful of its sudden appearance,
Unconcerned about the tunnel’s end…


a poem by Aishwarya

When clouds begin to beckon us,
To a mysterious, lovely unreachable place,

When dormant minds begin to touch,
The pinprick of a disturbing quest,

When skies above command us,
To just gaze on, for magic could appear,

When green fields and olive leaves,
Gently dance in the summer breeze,

When a warm gust of marine wind,
Makes us feel that we belong,

When the vermillion sun dives deep below,
Silhouetting us against its dying flames,

When the sands of a lonely shore,
Befriend us with silent oneness,

When a sudden elusive flash of thought,
Lashes, on us, Truth, like a muslin whip,

When meteors rain on a delirious night,
Allowing us a dream of the pacific paradise,

When a solitary bird twitters away,
And makes us love the way we feel,

When drops of love rain on us,
Jarring, in us, the reign of a stubborn cynic,

When temple bells manage to wrench,
Out of existence, the discord within,

When a silent crystal waterfall,
Evokes in us the lazy truant,

When the treble of an innocent child,
Makes us think, behind and beyond,

When Life drizzles her smile on us,
And plays a mysterious game of ‘hide and seek’,
Where hope and fear appear and disappear,
And waves of fortune ebb and flow,

When a sudden feeling of well being,
Electrifies our countenance in blue streaks,

It is then that we touch the stunning fragility,
Of the wonders that are stalled on our road,
It is then that the oyster of life
Begins to show us her pearl!

To write: To be…

a poem by Aishwarya

Sweet as is the intoxication,
The hand begins to weave dreams,
In phantasmal, silken strands of thin air,
Dreams of metered words,
And the hand, obstinate as it is,
Waits not to approve of your disapproval,
And words in their complete totality,
Start pouring forth,
Searching a permissible urn,
Into which the secret is blown in,
Quietly, and wonderfully,
And the mind sleeps,
When the hand moves,
The ears are deaf; the eyes are blind,
The reality is wiped out of existence,
When what pervades,
Is the rule of the soul,
As it sings its composition via,
The ink of the pen,
And the audience turns out to be,
The very frenzied writer,
And when the intoxication has died,
The soul hibernates,
In darkness, or in observation,
Know the fated few,
The eyes, ears and the mind,
Resume their frivolity,
And the hand rests, having had its day.
After the command has been executed,
The servant wonders,
When and how he was ever ordered,
And in this blank wonder,
Freezing into sleepy delight and pleasure,
The pen waits forth to be,
To be that sublime medium again.
Clouds are beautiful,
But the clear sky is no match,
Wonder why life moves on in riddles,
Whose answers lie unrevealed,
Deep inside, and untouched,
Holding my senses close together,
My mind germinating into a questionnaire,
The inner voice laughs its vitality,
“That is illusion, the beautiful, fleeting mare.”

Undoing the Knots

a poem by Aishwarya

Perhaps life is a different dimension,
Where each stride is growth,
Each stride could be decadence,
It all depends on the road one chose.

In every fork, turn or halt,
There arise questions unasked,
And one is left puzzled,
Until, answers arrive, at last.

We are, then not what we were,
Just a moment ago,
Even one discovery changes,
Our countenance and our very core.

May be we start looking at a baby’s smile,
Its laughter or its wail,
Every appearance becomes an enigma,
Everywhere do we hear life’s tale.

Told, and retold, yet every time,
Doesn’t there seem to be a difference?
As we come to its end,
We realize, maybe we’ve just commenced.

Trees begin to speak,
The sky begins to grin,
And we, like gypsies,
Continue to face the rim,
The very rim of life,
Cornered with queries,
Maintained by the will to live,
To live and defy the breeze,
The breeze of continual happenings,
And learn to walk across its current,
And see answered all that we put forth,
Upon discovering life, we’re bent.

Perhaps horizons begin to lose identity,
And mysteries aren’t left concealed,
And all we thought was insane,
Begins to come under the shield,
Of Reason and Truth,
Of Actuality and Verity,
Of the Wheel of Time,
And the way of Mortality.
When roses blossom,
Freshened up are surroundings,
And when the inner being awakes,
Does life actually begin,
Ending lull and silence of unexplored trauma,
And routine of monotony.

Feeling this wave of sudden awakening,
And attempting to read the meaning of it all,
Trying to decipher the hues of existence,
I know the answers shall come as soon as I call.

Shhh…Listen to it hum…

a poem by Aishwarya

Like a fervent spring, is born this voice,
Shaped in the deepest of our selves,
Trickles of its murmurs haunt us,
Triggering our refusal with fear!

Have we in our bravest of times,
Encountered this secret longing?
The inner voice that begs admittance,
Have we tasted its waters?

When falsehood plays its game,
And truth stands its test,
Blowing like a cool, muslin breeze,
Comes this voice, within us.

Have we, in our keenest of senses,
Waited to hear its tale?
To hear what it reckons of us,
To listen to its apparent wail?

Even when its music floods the lake of silence,
And its coolness beats the polar wind,
We turn it away, lest,
Lest, we should be discovered!

Is this our fear, fear of our own selves?
In our world of openness,
We wait like a tired, snappy goose,
To forget our own revelations!

Has there been a past episode,
When we’ve turned down our Truth?
We’ve buried our beliefs, and strangled their throats,
And the inner voice dies silently,
Sleeping its eternal sleep of death,
Wherein it could awake,
Had someone nudged its existence!

And when today, I see astray,
Voices waiting to be heard,
Swimming passionately the sea of ignorance,
Yet gigantic weeds crumble their paths,
Pulling them down to the trenches of cowardice,
It is then, that I remember,
My voice, has been left unheard!!!

Drops of Thought

a poem by Aishwarya

I never realised I fell in love,
With that dreamy blue,
Rippling sheets, softening tones,
Its soothing flow,
As it adorns the pool,
Rendering to us a walk into eternity,
Glistening drops in zillions,
Spread like canvas,
Moving for eons, to and fro,
Persuading us to look beyond,
Invigorating splendour does it unveil,
Liquid diamonds cast aglow,
Splashing frozen delight into,
Our blistering thoughts,
Flushing the nostalgia far away,
Ushering the expanse of cool freedom,
Elixir-like, its taste unmatched,
Quenching the insatiable drought in us,
Its mere presence is jubilation,
The touch of mirth,
Yes, I realised I fell in love,
With this queer, rippling charmer,
The fabulous abyss of water.

A Forlorn Seeker

a poem by Aishwarya

Bewildered, I ran unto nowhere,
Legs aching, the thorns pricking my soul,
Eyes – speaking of an unspoken fear,
Struggling for a breath towards an unknown goal.

Heaving, panting, I envisioned the horizon,
Was it so far? Will it near?
Questions, unanswered; and on I ran,
Illusion, I thought accompanied my fear.

The sky raced, the clouds did too,
The birds soared, the sands blew,
Night encompassed day, day overcame night,
Yet I knew not where I was heading to.

Then came a torrent, fascinating and true,
Carried I was, safely in turbulence,
The oyster shelled the pearl,
Willingly I relented, nearing the fence.

There was no illusion, then,
There existed a flow, steady and calm,
I felt like a leaf, being gently sheathed,
In the muslin breeze, I knew the charm.

The fence broke open, rattling into pieces,
Then there was just the cerulean sky,
No clouds, no sun, no moon, just day,
Had I touched the horizon, for which had I cried?

Open vastness, unleashed expanse,
Insatiable fullness, immaculate purity,
My heart soared like the voice of a lark,
Unfatigued, ecstatic, overwhelmed and intrigued.

I had tasted the elixir, enjoyed the bliss,
My run was over, parched throat was filled,
Intoxicated I was, by this experience so true,
The mist of my mind had cleared, it disappeared.

Who ended this endless quest?
Whose was this sweet torrent?
Who shielded me from those sharp rocks?
I never knew, will I ever know?

Wait I for an answer,
Do I already have it?
The horizon is all around me,
The sky blankets me to oblivion.

This is enough, need I no more,
The anonymous force appears familiar to the core,
I shall give myself away, just tell me,
Where are you, my succour – sole?

Love – The Elixir

a poem by Aishwarya

Travelling on golden sands,
Sinking feet into the heat,
Letting the sun scorch the lips,
Yearning for the elixir of life,

For ages we walk,
Yet not a pint we acquire,
Those mounds come repeatedly,
Eyes – gleaming with lurking satire.

But then that oasis appears,
With endless waters,
To cleanse our soul,
Of the invisible dirt,
To adroitly rid us of fears,
That we shan’t survive,
To nurture our minds,
So that invincibility damns strife.

Being perpetually in those waters,
The heart anticipates reason to remain,
Yet the mind – honed as it is,
Intrepidly commences to strain.

The satire in eyes dies down,
With renewed hope and vigour,
Destiny drifts the soul,
Far away from the elixir.

Separation is excruciating,
Inexplicable is the pain,
Yet the thought of reunion,
Reconciles us in the game.

Love – that elixir, rare and true,
Rids the soul of the drudgery,
Heals the wounds of falsehood,
Overwhelms the seeker – weary.

The journey being continual,
The traveller’s sojourn is on,
Yet some niche of the sandy desert,
Houses this oasis embodying love to move us all!

The Mind

a poem by Aishwarya

As I feel words failing me,
And I succumbing to their tyranny,
As enchantment wraps me up,
Into a dozy state of oblivion,
I rummage through my mind,
And sail through my heart,
‘What am I feeling right now?’
I just wish I knew.

Conjuring images of clouded skies,
Littered pathways, pathetic people,
I walk through them, into them,
Living in them for a while,
There’s a charm being in an unknown place,
In the absurd transport of my mind,
I’m just watching where it goes,
It brings to me pictures,
Of people I love,
Of those I never could understand,
Of difficult times, happy moments,
Of unique expressions on known faces,
They are stamped in my memory,
It’s amazing to be where I actually am not,
Standing the testimony of my mind’s eye,
I’m watching it like a stealthy cat,
Tiptoeing on the marbled floors
Of its very queer existence.

Sometimes it feels like a lone leaf,
On a huge autumn-shaded tree,
Deserted, undesired, left alone,
The mind is just not green,
In verity it feels like a huge hurricane,
Clasping my throat, tightening my torso,
Like mad hounds do thoughts speed,
Wearing away the peace of my mind.

I am now sailing on its boat,
It’s taking me to lovely sites,
Dwelling in the seas of my mind,
And then I dive in,
Into the sea, and unto its eternity,
And it’s when I pick up a glistening pearl,
That the lashing waves quietly still,
My apparent sojourn?
A voyage? A cruise? Nay,
A tour across the inner world,
Abruptly and thankfully ends.

The Rain

a poem by Aishwarya

Black are the skies, on tenterhooks are the minds,
Waiting is the heart, for a soulful feast,
The rejuvenating shower- the apparent laughter,
Of the clouds who are eager to go on leash.

The tender droplets, cooling the brow,
That gallivant in lazy steams,
Muddy brown water with a taste of rain,
That enamour the children, enlivening their dreams,

Their slight pricks that wake you up,
From the monotony of life and boredom,
Putting into you a unique thrill,
Of splashy water, and astonishment.

The freezing droplets that touch your cheek,
Remembrances of a sweet dream,
Let you enter the utopist lands,
Of amazing freedom, with the soul carefree.

The birds chirp with the freshest joy,
Letting out clouds of melody in the quiet,
The trees are all happy and gay,
Having bent their heads afore the cloud’s might.

In this materialistic life, where,
The mind is never out in the open,
The Rain opens the rusty locks,
The fading memories, giving you elation!

This incomparable blessing of God,
Who holds the world in his fist,
Takes you to paradise,
Leaving behind the hazy mist,
Of deceit and chaos, of hatred and falsehood,
Resurrect you do for the shortest span,
But enjoy and cherish this downpour,
When the sun isn’t tanned.

The creator of happiness,
Who expands the dimension of bliss,
The troubleshooter of man,
Rain- unworthy to miss!


a poem by Aishwarya

If a thousand daggers were pierced,
Into my bloody heart,
The pain would ne’er be so bitter,
Like the pang of your betrayal.

When I just felt the breeze,
Of your lovable trust,
Kept at the stake of my solemn belief,
And perpetual love,
When I felt the billows had departed,
Leaving my life untainted,
You thrust in, the enigmatic black cloud,
That can never leave this wretched abode,
This abode of my soul, where,
Your untrue love still dwells,
That cursed my existence,
That laughed at my belief,
That insulted my integrity.

Yet I am perplexed,
Wipe away that treacherous black cloud,
And I could own you, as I disowned,
But never again let me feel
The pang of your betrayal.

Don’t slay my soul and leave it unhealed,
It sobs and cries and wails and laments,
As Trust is belittled by your Lust,
As Love is shadowed and smothered.

Frailty is a venom, seldom dies the victim,
The heart calls on to justice,
The eyes shed tears, invisible,
The mind questions – why!

In a gust of wind you came,
On a sunny morn and spring,
But you left this interminable autumn,
And a weary night – unadorned by stars…
O God! Never slay my enemy so,
Breech of true love, loyalty, faith,
The murder of a man, it is,
By the deadly pang of betrayal.


a poem by Aishwarya

As the white moon rises today,
In this placid cool night,
In the darkness of ignorance,
In stillness and quiet,
A beauty unfurls her elegance here.

With the repetitive cries of the cicada,
And wooing of the breeze,
As though night was his bride,
And he loved her unleashed,
This beauty steals my peace.

The sun has succumbed, and so have I,
As nightfall wrapped the bright world,
One can but sit tongue-tied,
As how night charms her onlookers.

In this breezy ambience,
Amidst this unforgettable mirth,
I feel the anxiety of a lovesick dame,
Happy and gleeful, yet forlorn with fate,
As future is away and present is slack,

Night awaits Day to carry her away,
As leaves rustle in the frantic breeze,
As minds ponder over her mystery,
As trees silently observe her cry.

Night awaits her Day,
Day awaits his Night,
Joy anticipates Sorrow,
Love succeeds Betrayal,
But at the end of it all,
The circle goes on and on.

The moon – a testimony gazes,
Lazily at her benefactor,
As Night, like a nostalgic baby,
Waits to terminate her enigma,
She knows she’d be left again and again,
In the recesses away from her love,
Looking at the sky to get a gleam of Day,
She longs as a child and waits like a maid,
Day comes as dawn and extricates her despair,
She disappears in a jiffy as he appears.

Yet I wait to see her again,
To eye the beauty under a veil,
To merge with her verity,
To fall into her profundity,
As I lose, I wait to gain,
Amidst sorrow, amidst pain,
The clock ticks and reminds me,
I shall soon feel joy, unfeigned.