Category Archives: Nature

Rain drops

a poem by

Up from the gloomy sky
Down to the waiting earth

Some times it is like tear drops
Of loving mother
Falling on the head of infant

Sometimes it is tear drops
Of the lover
To the cheek of beloved
Filled with rhythm of heartbeats

Sometimes it is cool
sometimes it is too hot

Many times it was like
crying little boy
Who lost his kite in wind

Many times it was a tune
From the lip of clouds
meditating green earth

Rain drops
Come to awake the seeds
Come to awake the spring back
Come to pat the Sparrow
Come to the lines of a poem
To make the garden of thoughts

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.


a poem by

Waves are too long
Perhaps sometimes short.
They slide onto seashore,
With an aspiring hope, to
Bring about a smile on million faces.
They try harder to come up,
Thus giving Nature its beauty.
They are never bored of gliding into sea,
Never aggravating, Never dismayed.
Their Nature seems to be calm and peaceful.
Humans feel joyous to glance them.
But fail to be like them.

The soul discovers its eternity

a poem by

In continuous thoughts
The mind becomes an opaque screen
Imprisoned in the world of shapes, of forms
Else it’s engaged in the consciousness of
The unmanifested, the beyond
In walking with nature
My mind honours that rapturous realm
Absorbed to the brim
Leaving no space for its mental habit
Of labeling

A tranquil wave of freedom sweeps over me
Stillness echoes laughter of the winds
Silence screams ecstasy
To the grace of the mighty mountains

In a glorious burst of white
The sun-kissing peaks reflect expressive colours
The mind’s eye moves across
The compelling canvas
To suit its parameters of art and beauty

The walk with nature continues

In the immeasurable, infinite umbrella of blue
The upward gaze connects
With diverse philosophical strands

The silent core of the being
Discovers romance
In penning these lines and
Bows its head to the elements
Earth, water, air, fire and space
Symbols of birth, re-birth, life, death
Nostalgia and joy

The soul in its metaphorical journey of love
Discovers its own eternity.

Shiva’s silence

a poem by

Shiva’s silence?
Noon image
Futility of a clinging sun
On the breast of a shamed, helpless sky
The exquisite architecture
Of the Kedarnath Shrine
Tracing centuries of mythology
Warms to yellow
Yet we hear no echo that recalls rhythms of life

Shiva, the bestower of longevity
Trapped the descending Ganges in his hair
Absorbing her fall
Yet today, he thrust the Mandakini down from the
High trapeze of ruthless glaciers
Washing villages off the map
Dragging scarlet remains
Of annihilated beings
That belong to the river now.

Shiva played the conventional destroyer
Oblivious to the difference between
Beautiful and ugly
Between man and ghost
Between life and death
He watched the tandav of nature
As the debris at the temple threshold
Gathered heaps of bones, bodies and
Vestiges of life
Are these merely cultural delusions
For Shiva the supreme hermit?

A vertiginous night descends
Sad lights on the mountain scape
Rise out of blackened waters
The cadence of darkness is mine alone today
I sit to write the countless forgotten names
In my remembrance diary
Uncertain thoughts ask of the
Lone survivor – the shiv-linga*
Why is life so short
Why is death so long?

Save the Tiger

a poem by

Save the glory, save the pride,
Save India’s Tigers, save the indigenous wild.
Save the unearthly beauty, save the exquisite roar,
Save the Royals by the Sunderbans’ shore.
Save those vibrant deep eyes which have seen it all,
From the Zebra, the Giraffe to the Monkey who had the greatest fall.
Save the paws which have pounced so hard,
On the Cheetah, the Bear, all smashed like cards.
Save the stripped skin that glittered in the Sun,
Save it from being perforated by the deadly gun.
Save Your Majesty as he pleads for forgiveness,
For crimes that were not his business.
Save the emperor of the Jungle,
The law of nature – let us not bungle.
From ‘endangered’ to ‘extinct’ – it won’t take much time,
All that would be left then would be a few activists’ cries and whines.
Save the mankind from this great fall!
Ponder, whether your entertainment is worth it all?

Call of the Mountains

a poem by

Thou majestic mountains who stand up so high
Who romance the clouds up in the sky
The setting of pine trees adds to your beauty
The spread of snow makes one fall for you madly

Your charm forces one never to go back
Your beauty lures one always to your track
The aura around you soothes the restless minds
It makes even a ruthless soul noble and kind


a poem by

The Past sets as the winter withers.
Slowly and painfully the leaves succumb
To the deceit of peace the rain portrays.
The dome is but a gloom, the sun escapes
The dreary heartland of mourning foliage.
Herein lies the deeds of men forgotten
Like Time which hast passed its prime.

The Present strides like grace become.
Audacious and simple the squirrels frolic
To the betrayal of light tantalizingly encompassed.
The winter isn’t dead; the lost hills beckon
The pacified sphere to which they belong.
Herein lies the mortification of men tested
Like Time living its futility.

The Future stalks like infinitely surreptitious.
Fear it faces lest mortals dutifully rebuke
The promise of glory it may never foretell.
The pastures anew for winter’s belching
Of it’s last curse of creepy rain.
Herein lies the hopes of generations
Will Time withstand winter’s strain?

Curse in disguise

a poem by

The fierce fury of rain and unleashed
anger of the wind erased everything
around me like a black canvas sans the picture

The structure which was my home
is nowhere to be seen and a pile of
bricks and broken branches made
it looks like an isolated tomb

The garden, when it was there, resembles
a pond of mud with multi colored dead fish
after mutilation by a pack of predators
who had a field day of genocide

The trees who cared with their shades
and fed me with their sumptuous offerings
stands naked like monuments of a war
reluctant and ashamed to look down

It all began with a soothing breeze
along with a cooling drizzle
which felt heavenly in the summer rage
but turned out to be a Curse in Disguise

When the Sea calls

a poem by

My glass is clouded;
In this driving rain, a whiff-
of the salty sea!

Listen to the rain-
Like many running ripples,
Like gulls on the wing!

Sailor I am not,
Nor fisher or diver deep;
Yet I hear her call!

It rolls and it tugs,
This rising swell within me;
Deep, soft- all at once!

Its shores are not mine,
Nor to its waves I belong;
Yet for them I yearn!

When the sea beckons
from afar, I close my eyes-
It roars within me!

The Battlefield

a poem by

The incessant rain all through the night,
the intimidating thunders, like a mammoth
metal sheet scrolled again and again on a rock,
its echo reverberating on the horizon and
the carnival continued all night long

The band of night singers and their accompaniment
simply vanished before the rain started spoiling
their show; the rhythm of the fall and blast
of the thunder synchronising the tune
of nature’s symphony of fury

The charade ceased before dawn, leaving
the shivering and weeping trees for their loss,
the separated limbs lying down there and looking
up in surrender like fallen soldiers on the ground

Bushes and their clans, drenched, dripping,
shocked and shivering, looking for the sun
for help to be up and the submerged grass
struggling to breath and rise

Channels like slithering snakes leading
the water away and all around lay broken
branches and fallen leaves and the scenario
looks like a battlefield after a night long fierce war


a poem by

A fallen leaf in a flowing stream
How far and how long, have no answer
It is not moving ahead but being
carried away by the current

It have no control over its pace or
position and it cannot make any change
in its course or destination, just laying
there and being carried away

Few moments back, it was the part of
the canopy where there is no individuality,
name or identity, but it was
part of the green crown

No one grieve for its fall and
no one care for its loss and
no one knew that it is missing
That is the way of their life


a poem by

In the depth of the night
the time stands still for a moment
Nothing moves, even the
breeze holds its breath

Absolute silence and calm prevails
as if the time is taking a break.
The bragging birds have gone
and the band of crickets have vanished.

This animated suspension lasts
only for a few seconds where there
is no past, present or future
and this infinity moment has no name.

A Dream

a poem by

The shore was bare like a torn piece of rug thrown in
deafening silence filled over it, covered by a blanket of fog
The sea, frightened, frustrated and surrendered
The waves continued to nudge the shore to help

A pale moon watched, bewildered, up above
The halo deepening the numbness below
Few unknown birds flew around aimlessly
spurting out some gibberish as if mocking the waves

The expanse of the sea defiantly lay there
looking up at the sky as if in surrender and expectation
The foamy waves trying to cover its nakedness in vain
and the moon looked down uninterested
Few stars came out of their hiding to watch the scene below
and looked down in amusement, blinking their eyes

The whole scenario like the last part of a play, enacted
in silence, except the occasional exclamation of the birds
hovering around like a predator waiting for the kill continued

The moon watched the ritual below, without amusement
The spread of the ocean lying, waiting and heaving a sigh
The waves impatiently struggling to wake up the shore
The birds circling above, chuckling in amusement
and the patch of the sand like a carpet laid out for some ritual to begin
like a Scene from a dream…