There’s something about the night….

Goodbye said the day as she walked away…

My gaze moved away towards the dusky sky;

Draped in a blanket; lit with stars and the playful moonlight,

“Would you not look at me?” sang the night.

I couldn’t say no and kept staring into his eye…

Ah never did I see such passion and enigma!

It was a calling or perhaps a dream;

The mind swayed by the musical breeze…

My room looked cozy in the hazy light,

A strange kind of calm filled the night air;

Resting beside the window, I sipped some tea;

And let those mundane thoughts slip by…

I set them loose on those shadowy streets,

Maybe they’ll vanish forever someday…

In that hope, I closed my eyes…

Sinatra sounded just fine on the radio,

Reminding me that I was not alone…

The night knew many who trusted his company;

Good-listener that he was,

He embraced their stories, secrets locked in safe chambers;

They didn’t lie to him, nor did they fear his might.

For once, they were honest and felt lighter inside…

FOR NOW...

When I chose the path, questions rolled in my mind,

But the walk was worthy although I stumbled a few times.

A mirage so formed that you ran for it;         

And when the moment drew closer, my hands were still empty.

I went to the shore and picked up some sand,

The hands were no longer bare, for a while at least.

The sand began to slip off my palm,

And I wondered if time will ever be enough?

For the day is coming to a close,

And dusk will soon conquer…

Can’t hold on to the sand for long,

Will have to wait till I spot the rock
Now it’s just a matter of another night

There’ll be a new morning and some more time...

For now I have the sand and the moonlight

And so many thoughts to pen down on this paper

Words and thoughts; thoughts and poetry,

 Poetry and a tranquil state of mind…

She had to know …

She thought she was losing her face in the crowd everyday,

A city which ran at a pace she barely managed to keep up with…

But somehow it gave her thought and a sense of direction perhaps.

Reality wasn’t her favourite bedtime story, so she read little.

As long as there were colours and the occasional black and white,

She could hold on to her song and keep switching worlds…

It wasn’t a hobby practiced in solitude but a way of life;

Something that shields the flame within…

The crowd often intrigued her and she often kept wondering,

Why is everything the way it is and will this feeling ever last?

And the evening passes away with voices and laughs;

She joins in and embraces the moment, acting as if she wasn’t lost.

It was not in her control you see; there was something about those gates…

What’s on the other side?

Something she had to know…

THE CHILD’s ALIVE…

Those old times have gone by...

And all that I have is a chest of memories kept aside.

There’s a frail presence of faith and hope;

Objects in the light seem to disappear as I mount the steps,

And reminiscence decides to summon as I write…

The poet’s pen kept in a locked cabinet;

All that’s remained is rust and dried ink.

I wonder if words will follow the course of thoughts.

Nevertheless, it’s worth a struggle…

Caught up in Yesterdays and Denver’s music,

Sunday Mornings come to my mind.

Waking up to the tune of the singing bird and Mama’s embrace,

Playing hide and seek all throughout the day;

Cousins and acts of mischief, and punishments;

Those were moments filled with glee!

Never will I forget those bicycle rides and falls;

Getting drenched in the monsoons and Dad’s scolding,

Half days in school and afternoon sessions of mental math;

Evenings and games of chess with Grand Dad…

The roof top, a favourite spot for chit-chat,

Or just waving out to the wayfarers and cars.

Fascination with dogs, cats, fish and butterflies;

And that’s how the dog became a good friend.

Dressing up with mom’s make up and shoes,

And the lingering scent of dad’s Old Spice bottle.

Nostalgia plays on and on...

So much to remember and smile about;

Yesterdays and Sundays have gone by,

Still reminiscences remain to keep the child alive.

Kept the memory

It’s again one of those moments of solitude…
A room lit with dim, late evening light,
I lay there in that quiet moment,
Looking at those crisscross lines in my palm…
They say nothing which I understand perhaps
But the fist makes better sense I gather…
Gives a feeling as though I’m holding something inside
Love, power, secrets, anger, pain or more like a memory.


I wouldn’t let go of them, I decide.
Suddenly faces appear to my left and right,
Maybe it’s of Satan and my God…
A race or battle like scene, enemy lines, uncivilized crowd to the left;
Contrasts with images of those smiling faces I love, a home I guard,
With the sound of music echoing amidst the green fields of freedom,
And a hand reaching out to me, as I face the right.
Right looks beautiful and I smile to myself…


Satan still stands there, pointing at the loud tick-tock noise of his clock;
Luring me with wealth, status and all that I ask for…
“Many have joined my side, the race.
They’ll fight; they’ll kill, at my beck and call!
And I’ll give them all the worldly pleasures…
So why would you want to lag behind?” says he.


I desire victory, power and fame,
But do I need to be a part of this slaughter?
There are other ways to get there and I’ll find them…
Maybe there’ll be more of disapproving faces as I walk that way
That’ll barely change my mind though…
For those who have to leave, will go away
And perhaps only a few will stand by me.


So I refuse the war and will take that hand,
The hand feels warm and familiar.
It will take me where I’m meant to be,
Somewhere far, somewhere I can think free.
So I held my fist tight , kept the memory.

Reality isn't a Child's dream...

Time is running away too fast...or is it perhaps my inability to keep up with its pace? I had so many dreams as a child; wanted all the good things to happen to me, like in fairy tales.Would have been nice though...but it isn't real.People come to this world either born with luck or totally without any.I know determination and strong will power can create ripples in the waters of future, but it's rare of its kind.It isn't easy to retain one's belief's and values with the over bearing impact of harsh realities.I just feel like giving up sometimes... Loose my cool and just let things pass by me while I keep staring at those who don't.I observe,think and then start preparing myself for tomorrow. Sometimes what is unknown may be good...

It's just the pain you go through when you have to leave something close to you behind.There's no looking back then;even if you want to.Its heart breaking to see your dreams shatter in front of you.Why can't life be the same as you perceived as a child yesterday?Why take such a drastic turn without any options?

I'm not being a pessimist but of course I look at things how they "ought to be" for me... for everyone.

The First Day...

Okay, before I begin I don't really know why I've got into "blogging"...I mean I always felt "blogs" expose your personal thoughts(speacial ones) to the world...It's just like a transparent diary for me.Ah! I've been keeping a diary for myself but now maybe I haven't had the time to make regular entries there.So I thought of doing this instead.Well I have read some blogs...liked them...got inspired and here I am.I feel the need to write down certain things I really believe in and mostly thoughts which could never meet expressions...I wonder am I the only one who thinks like this?? The ones whom this world calls "weird"...Am I?