what you create is creating you
I just had a lovely weekend in the hills, so it’s only natural that I write about it which I did. The wonderful array of shades in which the sunshine interacted with the hills made me feel as if the sunshine finds her favored home in the hills and only visits us elsewhere out of obligation 🙂
Amidst the roars of silence
my heart perches
the nest of sunshine.
कलम is the Hindi word for a pen. This poem is about my state of mind as I constantly look around for stories and yet when I write something, I don’t know how it came about. It’s almost as if the pen and paper had a mind of their own 🙂 Continue reading “कलम”
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”
Sometimes, I write about how much I don’t want to write. Sometimes, I am unable to write because I have just finished a beautiful book. Sometimes, it’s just the good old writer’s block. Confused?
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 poem is about the increasing violence in the name of religion by people who probably do not understand the concept of religion in itself.
This Loneliness in the crowd,
this clumsiness out of sophistication,
this wickedness disguised in sweet words,
and my poor happiness struggling for attention.
Literary Lemonades 
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