I visited Varanasi last year and clicked this picture during my boat ride across the river Ganges. There was something about these shivering reflections that stayed with me all this time and today, when I began to write my first Haiku, this image was all I could think of. Continue reading “Reflections”
She began to crawl and she began to cruise
and she learned to utter ‘yes’ and ‘no’,
But no one remembers just when that baby girl
actually began to tiptoe. Continue reading “Tiptoe”
This poem is the byproduct of anger against the burning of over 30 schools in the Kashmir valley amidst civil unrest. It is disturbing to see how low humanity can stoop and what horrors it can bring forth.
This poem is a translation of a poem I wrote long back. The original title was बीता हुआ जीवन and it is the voice of a person who is about to die and is evaluating his life in his final moments.
A poem dedicated to all poets who observe the poetry around them and put it forth for the world.
This Loneliness in the crowd,
this clumsiness out of sophistication,
this wickedness disguised in sweet words,
and my poor happiness struggling for attention.
When these gliding bits of paper
sway and float in the sky,
resemble an epitome of human ardour
high and high and high!
I thought one day that between gold and copper
who is the one better and deserving?
Gold, the one famous for its lustre and beauty,
or copper that makes it enduring.
Here’s how dreams work for a constantly dreaming person 🙂
Sometimes sweet, sometimes ecstatic.
Often scary, but always classic.
For every situation and at every stake,
My poor heart has a dream to make!
