Independence Day


The poem is in commemoration of 70th year of independence of India on 15th Aug 1947. 

         The twinkling land of treasure

     Bequeathing a charm of innocence

      Reclined as an Imperial Sovereign

          Sunken into brooding history 

               Savaging past the border

     Grim nights and the thwarting noon

       Goldbricked of the bejeweled trunk

             Gnawed down to bits of fury

      Throwing apart the rampant tatters.

                Spark from the angithi

           Into the cursed leap of flame

         Burrowing in the cracks of sins

               Divides, once and for all

                 Subdued in coherence

         Revoked by the voice of honour

                    Smitten in haste

        Summoning the cast of valiance 

                 From the dust clouds

                   To the fierce hearts

      Fretting, lurking, numb and Groped

                   Shunning the rage

                  Of the dark invasion

                On the land of Descents 

                         Pure and rich

              Reduced to ashes of revolts

              Leaving an unknown desert

                 In the scape of chores 

                    Emerging patrons

           Exponenting the soulful pleat 

                With the sword of peace 

         As the sun shone on the rising hay

    And marks the onset of Independence                                     Day. 


Insomnia Intaglio


In this inure islit,

secluded devoured of

the longed leeway of rest

as in just lie, but awake

still but thoughtless

glide in the wave of intaglio

soothing the soul

untieing the rope of delirium

into the freefall dive

deep down the dark illusion

that of the gala of tiny stars

smile twinkling out

with creation of land of desire ,

inside, but out

a dream to glare,

A wish , but real,

a dawn to feel,

Insomnia , a sheer quell,

Wide awake to kneel

to descent unconscious,

to let go,

let go the pull of the whims ,

of the jet lag of the moves ,

merging the time and mind’s eye

an emulsion of spring around ,

espouse the novel breath

with each hollow groove

of the nested snooze

for a dream of intaglio.

The Broken Liaison


       The other day, I went off shore,

Wired in my musings,

Left the haunted footsteps,

brazen bold, I walked,

to the felonies inside,

A strange grey smudge,

As if an eerie in the woods.

Entangled in their own scaffolds

as the jury is at the door

knocking down the leafy roar,

Just as a chance to fly rattles

And it’s creepy flaps turn around a

loud battle

To let go of the island

Setting out towards that horizon

That’s the terrain I wove

in the clasping winds,

A spell of the fierce flame

In the quest of a revolution

Beneath the swirling throbs

There’s a life of Broken Liaison

Of the mysterious mind and the  aggresive soul

A Quiet Witness

That day spiraling aghast

in the cold shouldered winds

of the dark night,

swinging alone

past the bloody sheaths of walking deads,

gnaws of revenge,

scornful of the inhumane plight,

grumbling down their spine.

The unanswered bloodshed

of host of civilians

left a life long seal of reproach

of impuissance to pull those through,

the ones he had pledged to live for,

from the frightening awake of gunshots,

bullets piercing across their bodies,

in a shutter of life to lifelessness,

latched in his own existence ,

those teary cries of screech still

ring in his ears,

deads are alive,

alive for vengeance

from him,an abeyant soldier

in the cast of his quiet ignorance of duty,

escaping and running from them,

he opened his eyes

with a grimaced perspiring face

out from a horrendous dream,

though not really;

stroke of the wretched past in his soul

fight each day a new battle

of knighthood,

to rule the yard ,

than just being a quiet witness.


Love TracesThe Pavilion


Roads grooved from ages

faint steps prod shallow,

stricken to their edges,

yet a quanit shadow,

at a quiet deserted crossroad

beholds me to a blind alley

by the cajole of a wispy thunder,

a shyness prickles

as it draws close

throbs prompting inside,

despite that,rhythms float

of the seeming incessant qualm

drooling paces of love,

curling in rapt halo,

across us,caged together,

forgetful of the blemishes,

nerves ,sash ,adorning courage

these winds of love,

leading to a fabled pavilion

tracing apart the hard knocks

conjuring the glorious feel

and the versed charm of being there for the other,

heading hands in hand,

close pristine enamor,

streaming along the lustrous infinity.

Half Risen Sun

Eclipsed in the dilemma of emotional bidden tussle,

the sun of hope deeply immersed in the shackles of broken link,

intuition still manages with vibrant effects,

but mind is lost in the irony of unheralded demise of the begetter,

beyond this shore of meloncholy ,

the fear stops the hope to risk till zenith,

the stricken ,the fading , but shadowing , the fear has not left

eclipsed in this quandary ,

the half risen sun expects to illuminate those shackles

lashed by the betrayal of those,

the heart didn’t dare to live ,

though breaths alive

those ,the scoundrels sullen and sour ,

their morose deeds , relentlessly surviving,

surviving anguish in those soft lips

deliberate but conscious about the torment,

restrained by the limits of social regard,

the sin could’nt unfold,

the fury exists ,will exist and exude in her psyche,

like a crisp misty upshot

the glitter of sun ,hence has to soak the swollen anguish,

in the midst of this intense rage also,

the world will shine

once the half risen sun takes a bow for an unceasing life.

the stricken ,

Bird of passage

Rove amidst the strange silhouette,

past the noises and chores

making way for a thoughtless meander

to happen upon the clouds

over the new ravines ,

across to explore.

Nowhere a stabile place to stay,

keep up the hunger and fury of unrest,

with the l’ll chunks or raw dumplings.

Enduring the cold waves,

or heated weather,

a crusade of faith in self,

rises and flies ahead,

as the bird of passage,

determines to cross the barriers,

to the route of discovery

beyond the usual,

the bird reckons the horizon,

of the secrets still buried,

but yet to be opened,

and the evangelic forge goes on.