I am lost

I am lost,
That’s all I know,
My gray matter doesn’t respond.
Am lost
amidst all.

You are you,
but I am not I,

And there is your smile,
And there are my cries,
And am lost amidst all.


Sanity is not for me anymore,
With a deceased heart,
And brainless mind,
I am still alive.

None but a worthless life has I.

But what is the use of such a life,
You are you, but I am not I,

And there is your smile.
And there are my cries,
And amidst all I am lost.
I am between the smile and cries.


And slowly hollowness creeps.
And I succumb to it,

And for once I look for you,
You are you,
But I am not I.

the corrupt soul

The corrupt soul lies back today,
not much in a mood to play mind games,
in peace it is,
harmless,
bothering none,
and I smile,
the wickedest one,

For the corrupt soul resides in me.

today is my birthday and i am dead

today is my birthday,
and I am not among you all,
yet I am
do you know how?
of course in spirit and form.

do you remember the times
I used to write long lines,
the ones I used to call
"recollections of a troubled mind"
and used to pass it to all.

some of you thought
I was crazy,
for some I was a buffoon,
for some I was the best of pals,
but I love you equally and all.

I see you remember my birthday today,
and doing things I love most,
and believe me am missing you,
and not apart from you at all.

I see my parents shedding tears,
my ma crying all alone,
my baba is quite as usual,
trying to hide is pain from all,
my jeja, the painter at heart
hiding his tears and laughing
with all.

I wish I were with you,
I wish I could feel you,
I wish I could understand your pain,
I wish I were with you once again,
laughing, partying, enjoying life as ever again.

today is my birthday,
I am not among you all,
yet I am,
do you know how?
of course in spirit and form.

to you my friend abhinandan.......you truely live in spirit and form.

oh! my poor poor sun

It’s the rain everybody is talking about,
I will talk about the sun,
these days the dark clouds
are bothering him too much,
they hover all around him,
and then they rain,
and people think it’s the clouds responsible.

But my dear friends
what if I say?
the clouds bothered the sun so much,
he’s crying all day.

Not a moment of peace he has,
the clouds are such bullies,
tormenting him day and night,
no matter in which hemisphere he is.

So I took a step yesterday,
And informed the commissioner of clouds
About the torture and the pain.
The head looked at me sternly
and grumbled and said:
“Its monsoon, so what to do
that’s the rule you see,
every year about this time,
we bother the sun with all might and glee.
So before you lodge a complain
next time,
come with facts and figures properly”


Along with the sun today
I am sad too,
And now it’s raining all through the day.

The clouds and their mighty guns playing all the way………..

today I am in a mood to cry

Today I am in a mood to cry,
Should I say mood
Or just say I want to cry,
See there’s already a tear
In my perfect almond shaped eyes,
a drop of pearl according to some.

But today I am happy,
The weather is nice too,
Its monsoon round here,
And it’s drizzling.

I love it when it drizzles,
Love to walk on an empty street
On such a day…..

Yet today I am in a mood to cry…
me and my mood,
Always playing hide and seek
with each other,
but today I am happy.

Way to my office
I listened to my favourite
song on air,
Perfect song
for the perfect weather.

Yet today I am in a mood to cry…

I read a lovely poem
on a forum by a friend,
perfect poem for the perfect day,
on my favourite season,
‘monsoon dance’ it is named.

Perfect day,
perfect everything,
even the wind my lover
passed through me,
whispering sweet notes of love
and I blushed as usual.

Yet today I am in a mood to cry,
may be ’coz the wind just passed by,

To write a letter (part 2)

It’s the same letter
Addressed to me,
I haven’t answered it yet,
The question was who to answer it to,
Someone said send it to the winds,
I tried to write as told,
But in vain it went,
And the wind these days
Passing the other way,
No more in love with me you see,
It’s warm in here,
Not the kind of warmth one likes,
but the uneasy ones.


The letter, the letter,
It’s killing me,
Not a line written,
Not a sender found,
Am in between hustle and bustle,
The daily chores remain untouched,
The bedside table remains the same,
No more cleaning spree,
In case another such letter found.

The Wind

The wind betrayed me today,
it passed the other way,
didn't even look at me once,
how insensitive
it can be at times,
quite a hard thing to imagine.

The wind: my best friend,
always carried sweet notes
of perfume
some from Arabia,
now mostly French ones,
they are in vogue, I heard.

The wind used to carry messages
of love,
whispering in my ears,
and I blushed,
now am pretty sad,
why the wind is mad
with me?
Nobody said a word, not even hushed.

All I know today it’s flowing the other way,
must have found a better lover than me,
it’s the season of infidelity.

Well, my dear wind,
my best friend,
my lover
come back
If time and love affords,
Some day, some time….

I will be here waiting
waiting for you forever
by the same window seat,
the exact place where you left me………

to write a letter

a letter arrived God knows when,
and laid by the bedside forgotten,
today on a cleaning spree
I opened it,
the envelope had my name on it
and my address,
but to my surprise no sender's name,
in it was two papers,
one blank,
nothing written,not even a dot,
the other one carried a small note:
"write in blood,
wrench your heart,
squeeze your soul,
delve in pain and then create a poem
full of thought"

and now I sit idle,
knowing not what,
is there an answer to such a letter at all?
addressed to where and to whom?