A FAMILY, NOT AT HOME | FRIENDSHIP DAY SPECIAL | POEM

Shared, Cared, celebrated,
the moments of fallen days,
nostalgically memorized,
some path traveled with an army of own,
the ruling legends, a family, not at home.
A group of persons,
met in different phases of life,
a stranger at first,
and a friend at the end.
some met at childhood,
some at young
and some will be with me until I die.
They taught and learned,
lessons and chapters,
of life and lies,
the funny, the funky,
bros and sis of mine.
With pros and cons,
with twists and turns,
we burn a lot, we fought a lot
and survived, at the best of all.
we had hard times,
we had best times,
we are growing,
we’ll have more times.
Let’s not thank,
just live along.
If life got a second,
from its end,
Let us ask for, one more friend.
HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY

Read complete poem here


Confluence of love | REPOST

The love of yours, To the love of mine,
The affinity of heart-beats, To remain alive.
The eyes of yours, And the eyes of mine,
Enough to see, The world of ourselves.
The arm of yours, To the arms of mine,
Enough to reside, For the whole of our lives.
The lip of yours, To the lips of mine,
A completeness, And cheers to the life.
Your trembling soul, To my closeness,
Your bowed eyes, And my yearning life,
Makes it adorn, The coveting soul of mine.

A MASTERPIECE| REPOST

Sitting besides the blue-ish river of Atlanta,
Staring, the filled sky with grains,
Glittering in the nights.
He beseeches for a masterpiece.

A thought, that can change,
his life, before, it ends.

Carving, through the muds of soil,
he began his journey of life.

Some emotions, like an ocean,
with devotion, and his imagination,
created some wonderful creations.

Dolls, to play with,
Sculptures, to decor with,
Utensils, to cook and eat with.
Love and emotions put into it,
to live with.

Paving ways to the thirst of his creativity,
to accomplish, its starvation,
to achieve its thoughts, of giving life,
life to the cluster of soil and water.

Now scattered, within itself,
asks for relief, in search of something,
a masterpiece,
to mark his name,
in the history of this world.

Never found, was a masterpiece.
Found, was never a masterpiece.
Life squanders, to a limitless,
infinite, search for the pearls.

Never seen but catching,
Attentions of all, calling,
hidden inside,
deep and within,
the structured, boundaries of flesh,
Craving, is a masterpiece.

THE FABRICATED LURE

The divine ride of my bicycle through hazy humanity,
innocent replica of tomorrow how dim witted!!
slow-thicken and twisted, lullaby of lies we heard,
melody of myths, each passing day subsides.
the goodness, the beauty and the morale of life.
ashes, ashes, all fell down.

Then ticked on the Life’s clock, adult reality,
Full moon brings the darkest night agitated,
for people are bats who sleeps upside down,
they chant of modesty and truth fabricated,
Deadly roses, delicate and sublime,
The moment you see it, the moment you die.
Ashes, Ashes, all fell down.

Truth is the rotten dung in the dumpster,
Honesty is cowardice, love is miserable-lore,
For I know the truth of the selfish bones, I lie.
Assumptions, Beliefs and a relentless dream,
of an ethical, modest and fascinating us,
for you and I, we’re not the priest,
Ashes, Ashes, all fell down.


THE PEN OF CREATIONS

It’s enfolding, the forgotten me,
the dead me and the rising me,
a prose of love,
and some poetries of life.

It stretches me out,
from the life of hazards,
to the life of wonders.
Like a lyrics,
Written on breaths,
It sings inside,
to make a charm,
Blowing up the faces.

It feels the joy,
Of creating thoughts,
the ink of zeast,
Filled to the life,
Writing on the lives,
Of an small ant,
to huge vampires.

It surrenders to me,
the weapons of creativity,
To pave a way,
for a blind kid, like me
Who can’t see the life,
the life of wonders,
Filled with joy.

To the heaven, which is here,
And nothing is beyond,
it blow up the mind,
to fill the with lights,
The light of creativity,
for the lives with art.

“I do love you” |Poem

In midst of life,
In lies of the world,
In my craving thoughts,
I breathe of disguise,
I am not your worthy,
neither trust Worthy,
But I do love you.

For that reason,
Or for many reasons,
I blush at you, or
for silly jokes you have,
I might tell you some day,
Or may not tell you ever,
But I do love you.

There’re flowers I look at,
the same way I see you,
I smile for them,
I don’t touch them,
But I do love them.
The freshness I find in them,
I find in you.
For this reason,
maybe the only reason,
I do love you.

You know even if don’t,
I will continue loving you,
Like i’m standing
in the burning sun,
I feel no sun, but calmness,
For you’re standing,
in front of my eyes.

For the feel, no one does,
But I do.
For life no one have,
But I do.
In the pride of loving you I say,
I do love you.

Burnt Arms of Roses hurt

Stuck within the walls of nonsense,
Stung by the venomous society,
Hiding scars of her heart, hopeless,
Gazes, the chopped wings of her.

The alluring blush has long gone,
Left is the flesh forlorn.
Deserted in the dust of humanity,
Burnt arms of Roses hurt.


The Dirty flowers in the garden of God

Flowers in the garden of god,
the aesthetic, elegant mankind,
flourished from one to the other,
an infinity of beauteous nature.

Somewhere, bestrewed with heavy
Leaves of cruelty, sits some flowers,
Covered in Bosky roots of hunger
and poverty.

In the brume of misery,
they ask for nothing,
but a mere question
of blooming,
at odd time,
at odd place,
in odd conditions,
is this life is given or forgotten ?

This injustice of god still prevails,
they need much but never given,
How cruel of creation?


New Arrivals

Time escapes

Time escapes,
faster,
wildly,
unrealized,
unpresented,
but slow for the fastest.

In the arms of heaven,
it never sits,
but keeps running,
towards
a never-ending race.

We,
On the other side,
Keep waiting,
for the right time,
to strike,
for good,
or for fortune.

It never,
Strikes the clock,
the way we want,
the way we wish,
and, we keep waiting.

the better is,
not to sit,
but to run,
faster than time,
realizing,

but not looking at it.
For what we know,
we can’t stop,
never we can,
so, run faster,
and leave it to rest.


New Arrivals

The brave ashes

On the sore of a river,
beside the ponderous forest,
from the burning dry woods,
they were born.

They smell poignant,
a grief that expanded,
from the dead wood,
till they’re burned to charcoal.

The whirling of them,
with the smoke feels like,
milk centrifuged in churning,

The black smoke with white ashes.
they travelled with the air,
from plants to plants,
from trees to trees,
from land to waters,
from everywhere to nowhere.

Some of ‘em just stayed there,
with the burning wood,
they found peace with themselves,
others keep roving.


From green flesh,
to the brown wood,
and to the burning,
then to the ashes,
is a journey,
which the brave ashes
keeps living after dying,
so many lives,
so many times.