Before Death Arrives..

My mind’s not empty,

Nor is it filled of you,

But of barks of tiredness

Between, a few flowers

Of real happiness lie;

Even though I speak not,

Even though I do not hear,

My mind echoes in talks 

Of mere young problems;

Even through crowd.

It is a busy city of noises,

Imaginations and more,

Fights at all squares,

Among people of same land,

And water, and air.

It tries to wear a hide,

Tight enough to cease

The pain, these echoes give;

And lie in utter peace, once,

Before death arrives.




I confess.

I have been lying.

Don’t know for how long;


The good news is,

I am no more lying to myself.

I am lying to her.


I confess.

I am lying to her,

False future promises?

May be!

I don’t know what the future might get.


If it does things in my favour,


May be!

It will anyhow break me.

But, oh!

I am not a six year old.

She remembers this,

I guess I have forgotten.

Pity on me.

I am not the same.

I am not ideal.

I have been lying,

Don’t know for how long.

Cooking and cleaning,

She knows I can’t.

But she doesn’t give up,

On me,

She teaches me.

But, oh!

I am not learning it.

I can’t.

I have been lying,

But not to myself;

To her.

I am guilty I know,

I couldn’t become what I ought to have;

What the daily soaps show.

Pity on me.

I am not the same.

I am not ideal.

I have been lying,

Don’t know for how long.

Broken Tigress

I am in a mobile cage, with transparent bars. It moves around the kingdom freely. But I am still a prisoner, imprisoned to material freedom. And emotionally I am tied by chains. My heart has a leak, or holes. I guess too many holes, both for inlet and outlet. I am talking of illegal transportation. 

I know I am imprisoned and inaudible, but often I find myself hoping a release. I know I shall be released, within 5 or 7 years, or a little longer. 

And right now I slumber in disappointment and distress, and hopelessness of present.But sometimes, I rebel like a courageous fool, cry my heart out, in spite knowing that nobody hears.

In this lonely tiresome, tied with chains, behind mobile bars, I move according to my choices sometimes, and inside it lay like a broken tigress, ever breaking down and healing a little, occasionally.


Yet I know,

I cried again,

Questioned weary questions, again;

Again my eyes danced,

Wet in denser tears,

Which flows not like a river,

But that fall, high above ground,

Blurry to naked eyes,

Drowned in mist,

Mistaken as beauty;

For what beauty lies in pain,

And what pain lies in young mountains?


It is fine.

I thought I could explain you,
No but I couldn’t.
I thought you would understand me,
No but you didn’t.
Its fine, is what he taught me,
So I remain where I should;
And yes, he did teach me,
To never give up on you,
So I don’t give up, but
But change my path to you,
For you are blind to my condition,
And I can try no more to teach you.


My tiny tears are unreliable, unfaithful;

They jump out, when I don’t want

Or I don’t need; in festive season,

Between happiness and rituals,

They don’t care, don’t see

How I don’t want them to be falling.

And so influential they are,

Affect my eyes and my nose, that blush,

Red and pale, sick my face looks;

How do I teach my tears, its festival,

And we don’t cry in happiness,

We don’t hurt people who hurt us,

Because it is a festival,

We swallow anger and depression. 

But these tears are rutheless;

Eyes see, but waters still,

When some of you pierce my heart

With tiny knife and tiny cuts;

Its bleeds not red but salt water,

And these tiny cuts do heal in time,

Leaving some scars behind,

And some cuts are over cut ,

With new and old knife,

And eyes water shamelessly,

Without seeing, its a festival,

And heart at so young an age,

Pains and aches, gets hopeless,

What shall happen if it heal not again,

When rutheless tears force out of eyes,

When festive moods are broken down,

And face turns pale and swells sound?

And the change remains unchanged?


I could hardly draw a letter,
Or a letter of appreciation;
A letter of farewell;
A letter of tears.

Four lines are insufficient,
Or are less worthy,
To show how we would,
Would, miss and wish you.

Yes! We are luckiest,
Or are we the saddest?
We did get years with you,
Yet, this farewell, too fell to us.

Sir! You don’t want a farewell,
Sir! We don’t want a farewell;
But this retreat could last no longer,
Yet there shall be more treats.

There is no class to be held,
But functions & teachers, still here,
So will you have to join in pleasure,
Every time we invite, everywhere.

So will you have to come,
And keep in touch forever;
Think us, your eternal students,
Think us, your eternal admirers.


Some hours ago she must have been there,
I know she was there, in weakness and despair,
Still and ill, in hospital bed,
All by her side, through her ailing
And suffering red carpet;
A month ago, I saw her in colours,
Deep and bright of clothes,
A happy weak heart within;
She is distant, and my sympathies are thus,
Weak or poor; yet I knew her.
But the body is lost in fire,
And soul has elapsed in air,
Somebody who lay,
And is no-body in few hours.
No turning back, but no foot rise,
To move away in despise.
One new born, the funerals offer,
Memories of their lost mother,
To hold on her image, and walk
When no face shall smile or talk.