Pass into the past.

Slow down,
See what just slipped past you,
Far away it flies,
You cannot hold that wind now.

But see,
Close your eyes and intake the air,
Heavily and in abundance,
Fill you heart full with it.

Let it pass,
Like the dark sparkling sky overhead,
Passing into the past,
And then coming round again,

Let is shine, if it shines,
Let it cry, if it cries,
Let it smile, let it laugh,
Let it dream, if it only dreams.


Fighting against

I ain’t fighting against a bear,

A leopard,

A hawk,

An eagle,

A dog, a cat;

No, I fight me

With a little myself.

I fight not really,

I guess

I pretend,

I guess

I put up a show:

Is it convincing?

Can I look peaceful?

Yet my eyes,

Unlike his,

Rest in pain,

In pleasure of his presence;

My breath no more

Fast and slow,

Slow and fast.

I wish for rain

I wish it could rain now,

I wish I could bath in the fierce showers of this city;

My wishes are pity,

I have no courage to risk sickness,

I have no heart to moisten again, so soon;

I just still want the rain,

I want just as much,

As much as I feel right now,

As much as I take in right now,

Still, just as much love.

Unoffered, be it,

I will absorb as much;

For though laughs are running away,

I am keeping some heart to smile,

To render some space to this sadness,

To lighten the straining eyes,

To blush and rejuvenate the cheek-flesh,

To open my ears to his music,

To open my heart a little,

To offer some reward for my ache.

Just as much rain,

Still as much love.


They told me: stop staring,
I didn’t tell them
To stop telling.
I am intolerant,
So I still stared,
Kept staring.
They were very tolerant,
They stopped staring-
For a long while.
Staring was rude,
They were polite.
They only whispered,
And giggled;
Whispering and giggling
Is fine,
Meant to be tolerated.
But I am intolerant,
So I cursed,
Under my breath,
For I am intolerant, and afraid,
I am a monkey,
Dancing to a caged tiger.
They were predators,
Civil to the caged monkeys.


Less people are dying now a days,

No large bombs, no wars,

The world is verbally chaotic,

Audibly silent.

Is he saving up burial lands

For people to build square boxes,

Or rectangular, for their progeny?

Is it the silence of storm?

Is it before or after?

Is it the beginning or the middle?

How far is the end?

Is there a get together,

Nearer to the gate of doom?

Can we question the fingers that pulled the trigger?

Can we question the saints?

Will we care to question?

Isn’t doom simple and greedless,

Selfless and oneness?

Is there really any END.


Today I want to smile less,
Something I have breathed in tells me,
Today I should smile less;
Today I feel quiet and calm,
Today has come again.

Some excitement has left me,
I am not dull,
I am silent, listening to my breathes,
Looking at things,
So many things;
All quiet and calm,
Just like my today.

And now the today is yesterday,
And I know the today will come again tomorrow..

A little more and a little less.

What are we?

I don’t see,

Where and what have we now become;

Yes I spoke,

Yes you listened,


But then?

Now what?

I know I wanted this,

To be at least,

To be there in silence,

Let the doors be open,

Everything just the same,

At least, at last;

But now, really

Are we same?

Just the same,

For I feel a little robbed,

Of what we were:

Now conscious, evermore,

Now thoughtlessly thoughtful,

A little more;

A little more, pretentious,

A little less awkward?

Real or unreal,

A little more wait,

Unsure and sure a little more,

A little more and a little less,




Unknown, after not knowing.

On the front

We all know everything. Or we all have access to know anything we want to. Internet.

Or maybe not. Even if you tell me your experiences, I may not really understand. Not that there is some language issue, or I am allien to your ideas. But sometimes we have just not gone through things ourselves.

My mind can understand, argue, debate, learn, realise, but how can it feel what you feel? What about the parts that your words can’t express? What about the things that your eyes express but I can’t feel, for I don’t know how many years, how many thoughts run behind those eyes.

When we say, we understand, do we really understand? When we say, we feel you, do we?

We are not in that state; we can never be. We can not even be in something equivalent to that.

What am I talking? Families of army men. We have heard and read about it. We know someone who has someone on the front. But do we understand them. Do we feel them. Can we understand their normality?

Can we, ever?

How do I love you?

How do I love you?

Shall I count some ways?

Or shall I love,

And just love,

Without the thought of you.

I know not if love means,

Meant the same to you,

For I may love in silence,

And I may love in crowd.

But wonder now do I,

If love be the ways,

The ways I felt for you.

Note: the first two lines are borrowed from Elizabeth Barret Browning’s poem How do I love thee?