Where there is the last of the lights, Where there everything remains at edge, On the far end, at the brim of eternity Where the finest of the telescopes don't see, Where silences are never awkward, There lies a door. It leads to the next. And the next to its next. Every one wants … Continue reading far ends
I want to be in places, Walk their pavements and stairs, I want to see faces, Eye to eye, heart to heart. I want to be the one with their sundry beats. Forests, dark, I'd love to cross, I want to strain myself horizons afar, I want to kiss sunset, get high on … Continue reading Going places
Biology gifts us with analogies. Mutation is nothing but just a minor change- a codon replaced with the other- that yields a major effect. All has been trans-mutated. All but Democracy, into Democrazy. 'C' into 'Z'. Function to dysfunction. Like a wild bull unchained, the democracy we pampered has lost its mind and hence its … Continue reading the system, mutated!
Mornings are always like that In a rush, they slip away. But You can chase dusk, behind the day. Some things never happen. But at sunset, birds fly back, the horizon’s hued The day’s toil is at last reviewed, The sun sinks over, hours pass, They bid an easy farewell To the ephemeral daylight … Continue reading For the love of metaphors
Once, There was nothing. Once, Electrons didn’t even exist. There were no stars, no winds flew then Nothing ever happened, no clouds then rained No sounds ever echoed, but then came the men, By their virtues, all white sheets stained. ‘Once’ became too far away Time’s wings grew big each day, And the cosmos went … Continue reading The Dance of Electrons
I consider myself a poorly emoted person but some instances in life leave no other options than questioning own psyche about the perceptions of life and death. I was shocked to learn about the bike accident of my friend that snatched his … Continue reading Somehow we live on
At the end of all dusty aisles, beneath rooftops that rattle under cursory monsoon raindrops behind curtains, by window-panes, there's a holy bubble, its space reserved for all misfits and lunatics in disguise. From their windows, curious, they gaze inside the dust. the dust never settles, neither does the scrutiny. Sometimes it even takes forever. … Continue reading The Lunatic’s recipe for cooking clouds