Category: Musings

The streets are silent now. They no longer pulsate  With the chaotic throb of life. They do not groan anymore Under the onus of avaricious Or over-anxious humanity. Yes, the cacophonic din is ebbing. It is retreating into The inky gallows where it belongs. But, nowadays… Even the wind no longer rustles. It does not…

I have come far from the maddening world that curdled ort of ardors buried And claws gnarled. I have come far It is quiet here, esoteric almost my happy place pain is less so are the voices. The veil of sanity whose value is inflated so the egos are sated a guise, lies shredded at…

We don’t need the colors Rioting within our skins Merging with the salt Of our palms and dried tears Shrieking against our breath And yet we find ourselves Drenched in thirsty colors Of faith We don’t need your gods Protected in the sanctum With doors of gold While edges of our dupattas Lie soaked with…

The Yak In all its glory In its heavy, massive body Walked through the green paddy fields Step-by-step, climbing the hill It stood mid-way, and glanced around As if longing for its own ground ….. Aiming the altitude far It soared higher To find its boy Who wasn’t anywhere to be found Since days now…

Treasure lies in the silken  box of heart, Filled to  seams ,of gems and jewels, Of my unuttered words and unsung songs, Each precious tear I shed for you,gets Etched in these  undelivered letters . It will open like Pandora’s box, The world will be strewn with petals soft,  Of colours mesmerising, hues of love …

The little mouse smiled about, While around him the animals rushed, Cried out. Their dream, their homes, All lay in ruins. A horrid disease had arrived, Put paid to their warm cooings. ‘How is it you smile, When the world around you crumbles?’ The warthog said, grumbling, To the mouse,  Who kept a-smiling. ‘The future…

Dangling dewdrops silhouettes  the green and sleek leaves of my garden. I peep into the plethora of blooms, festooned with dewdrops much like a bride, Each flower manifesting the beauty of nature, Each pot proudly holding the plant and the  bloom, My lingering eyes capture the view of positivity, growth and a deluge. I wonder…

The fiery moon glimmers along the  western fringe, coating the  velvety sky  pumpkin orange, welcoming the spicy November, the lustrous dust sprinkling  an aura  of ecstasy, the silhouette of birds homebound. Golden tendrils embellish the  shimmering ripples, and the freckled  burnt-orange star  illuminate the brine; the heartache still fresh, raw; striving to sketch your name…

In the frugal chambers Of my heart Above the beats that echo I hear the sound of silence. It roars… Pulsating within the confines Of my reclusive heart, Shackled and bound to My closed-off self, It rages… Tempestuous and simmering Like a pot Of roiling emotions It beats upon the hollow atria. It raves… Murmuring…

That countryside where there’s serenity where they pluck organic cook authentic Their big red cheeks The winter still unable to defeat them Besides the little fireplace Where they’ve added Warmth to the whole clan Where they sit together and have mid-day meals . That countryside Where they wake up early Go farming and Grow enough…

Who cares about books anymore? Aren’t they just crazy scribbles Of an insane mind? Which still believes, that words matter? Who would care about, A library? Which is eventually burnt down To make way For things, more important ? They say, Books crave solitude Lone man’s treasure It isn’t fashionable to read, Habit of nerds…