Thursday, September 30, 2010

Sand dunes of my life...

Curves, photo originally clicked by Mohit Gupta.

I walk through the dunes of sand,
leaving impressions of my feet,
which does not live longer than some petite hours,
wiped by the tempest or the scarcely showers.

It's a vast desert,
a desert of patterns and randomness - up and below,
I look up to the highest sky, counting the infinite stars,
and look down, counting the patterns of the randomness which are.

It's tough to walk bare feet,
for an endless journey,
in the heat of the sun or in the winter's fleet.

My alligatored sheath awaits the heavy pour,
to wipe the random patterns,
and lead me to the much awaited shore.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Who are you?

Old rust, originally clicked by Vaishali Ahuja.

I follow you everyday
to make your heart sway
trance you with all woes
I am not bothered however with you it goes.

I haunt you at nights
scare you in day
whenever I feel, from the present, you are away.

I need a single moment of your muse towards me,
And believe me, it starts with a fraction of spree.
Once I entice you, you are spellbound,
And you leave your present, future and around.
I try to stop you move ahead in your life
And this is something you still haven't realized.

I am your master and you are a slave to me,
But if try, I could have set you free.
If you think once before you sway in my flow,
It will be easier than anything to let me go.
Remember it is you who always invites,
I am not the one who incites.

Do you really wanna know who am I?
I am your "not so good" Yesterday.

Monday, September 27, 2010



I am like a branch of a tree,
Every season new leaves
lush and green
emanate from me,
They are so close
so loving,
They give me warmth in the cold.
But in the midst of autumn , they shed apart.
I see them dead on the earth below.
I am left there alone, yet strong.

With the spring, new flowers bud over me,
They are so bright
so fragrant,
They sing for me new rhythms.
But in the beauty of rains, they too are thrown apart.
I see them crushed on the earth below.
I am left there alone, yet strong.

I observe every season,
every movement of the sun,
every ride of the moon,
enjoying every bit of it.

Suddenly I feel weak and shaken,
They were someone I did not notice for so long,
Unlike those leaves and flowers which came and went by my life.
But these stood by, in all my pains.
None of the winds or the seasons could take them apart.
They fed me throughout since my commencement.
How could I not notice, not notice my origin?
Yes - they are my Roots from where I emerged..
I was so busy throughout,
looking up and around.
that I missed the closest to my surround.

This small poem is dedicated to all those who are too busy in their lives meeting new friends, creating new belongings that they forget to notice their roots- their Parents who have fed them with sumptuous meals even in the times of scarcity. It's the only time when you can be with them.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Paint my own world

I own my canvas - the canvas of my life.
And here I choose
what I want to paint from all the hues,
the yellows, the greys or the blues.

I am the artist of this canvas, painting a master's life.
But here I am - the artist and the master too.
I choose what I want to paint for the master,
the flowers or the cactus,
the tide or the hiatus.
Paint the blues as rain or the tear,
bring the reds as love or the fear.
I choose, amongst the strokes,
soft or sad,
hard or glad.

I own my canvas - the canvas of my life.
And here I choose
what I want to paint from all the hues,
the yellows, the greys or the blues.
I paint the canvas black to bring night,
or just make a peaceful day, keeping the canvas white.

I have this power, which I seldom realize
to paint my life's canvas, with the colors I like.