The blood sucker sucked the blood
And she looked dried from within

Delhi..........................

I am the journey,
And I am the destination.
I am the boy,
And I am the girl.
I am the man,
And I am the woman,
I am the old,
And I am the new.
I am the ruins,
And I am the habitat.
I am the refugee,
And I am the migrant.
I am Delhi
Come live with me.

i miss u through poetry.....

It does not die

Who said it dies
Although not same
The feeling is still lurking there
The smoky smell is visible in your eyes
Who said it dies
When she still bores your sorrows
And contributes to your happiness
And forgives you still
Who said it dies
When both of you are in pain
For the same reason
Unspoken, untold but known

The wandering continues..........


Wandering has become part of life
My friends you would think that
i am referring to my present job
No, no. no.

I am indicating towards the
Psychological rove of my soul
In search of its mate

The point which it thought
To be it's destination
Turned out to be a transitory shack

Where it had rested, quenched
The thirst of it's unspoken,
Unfulfilled dreams

It was happy,
Yes it said it was, my soul
Was at complete bliss

Unaware of her kismet
Soul thought
The shack was her own

One day an ill tempered storm rose
The shack flew away it with
Leaving my soul uncovered behind

Being unprotected, in agony
She prayed to God
“Give my shack back’

God was in other mood
Reprimanded back
‘He was not in your fate’

My soul arose questions
‘If it was not my permanent destination
Then why destiny made me halt

Why did I fall in love
Now when I am attached to it
It left me insecure.

How can it go away
Oh! I am hurt
God, give me back my shack’

It waited, waited and waited
God indicated, to move ahead
The journey did not end,
The one has still to come

Tirbulations

My trials for not allowing my soul to break up into pieces is still on;
There is always a new morning after dark nights;
I make myself remind the thought now and then;
But my mind refuses to abide by it;
I know my life will go on;
In spite of all the disasters;
But what about the soul;
What about the wounds it already suffered;
Those were healed or they are replacing with fresh ones;

The Anonymity

  I sometimes hate

   The Anonymity

What life always holds?

   In its folded hands

It reminded me of the

Storm preceded by serenity.

The brutality of the tempest

   Bruised my spirit

 I fought to stand tall

  Despite the wounds

Oh! That feeling bit by bit

    Destroyed my soul.

  With the little soul left

Surprisingly, I am again on my foot

   Prepared for the next

       Devoid of fears.