COLOURS OF THE FOUND…

Mind parked in a sea of endless thoughts…

Came across many travellers as I waited for the green signal

There was only one light;    

But each gave it a new definition.

Some of their bets stood correct,

While the rest changed their mind at the crossroads;

Who knows which was the right or wrong way?

They all wanted something different…

 Never mind the regrets thou shall make;

As long as the soul blends with the colours of the found.

The sky of far Eastern lands...

Oh the sky of far Eastern lands,

Your evening light tells countless stories…

In the glory of the fading light,

You sing tales of valour and pride.

You make way for the burning Sun;

Wipe away its weary soul, from the fury of its own.

Though it burns in your own heart,

You grant the comfort of your clouds.

As they play a game of hide and seek,

You gaze at the affairs of the mortals in land.

So much struggle and toil;

Yet their eyes carry a dream of hope.

Every time they stumble upon the rocks,

They look up to you in search of solace…

That’s when you realize the call of faith,

And a smile runs through your face…

Night must come for tomorrow’s light,

So carry on with the journey.

For none can stop the light,

It makes way through the clouds

If at all it takes a break,

You’ll dwell in the night…

For darkness my friend,

Is a make believe story…

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.