How’s everything else?
Very few things withstand the weight of regular life It pulls everything down with it. But, yet, that one thing … Continue reading How’s everything else?
Collection of my poems. I write these poems freely; without giving attention to the standard rules and forms of poems. Like many, I am after all a novice. Poetry is a field as vast and as deep as human history itself. And to say that there is a single way to write poem is as untrue as saying the sun rises in the west. I hope to find my voice and my style. Something so unique that it leaves unmistakable footprints on the letters I pen. Until then, I shall write as I have written here – as freely as a an eagle sooaring in the autumn wind.
Very few things withstand the weight of regular life It pulls everything down with it. But, yet, that one thing … Continue reading How’s everything else?
In a group conversation, The person who remains silent throughout, And when he finally speaks, he makes a non-obvious point. … Continue reading The silent type
Nothing can come between the man who wants his own little garden, from getting his own little garden. If he … Continue reading Your own little garden
Leaders are lovers. Lovers are leaders. — In love, One thing is prerequisite. You risk getting hurt, But for a … Continue reading Lovers and leaders
Do not seek thunder, Be thunder. Do not seek lightning, Be lightning. — Do not seek yourself. Do not seek. … Continue reading Be
Writers are cowards, They confide the truth Only to the written pages. Apparently, there are some others out there, Who … Continue reading Cowards
What happens When you stare into a river long enough? As the water rages, Nothing is ever the same, And … Continue reading River of life
To live is to cause paradoxes In what you love lies what hurts you In what hurts you lies what … Continue reading All you can do
So, You think you are a good man, why exactly? Coz, you never hurt anybody? or Coz, you can’t hurt … Continue reading Good man
I come from the land Where always The past is the present. In a certain sense then, India was independent. … Continue reading Poison my land