Honored by Usha Ma'am & Rukhiya

Art of Living

>> Feb 9, 2010

For once I read my poetry
and caressed with my palm,
Felt what I have fathered
and suffered and altered and
still kept, dearly.

You may show indifference but deep down
between the pages, you have counted
stars and tears: same time, for one.

Your promises that were fulfilled
and wishes that were abandoned,
it still has the scent of the first red rose
that has died waiting to be savored, somewhere else.

The earthly smell and the aroma of rains
happily trespassed and blotted a few emotions
when you slept oneday keeping your window open.

I shall stand up and say this to all you poets.
If one night you feel like gasping,
Touch your memories that are etched and inked
as events, there inside your poetry.

I have heard emotions can soak.

For you will see glowworms
coming out of them,
and flying all around your room.
You freed them and saved a life (of your own).





I am sleepless at nights.
Between you and me
and our rhymetic and prosaic verses
Lies a Judas- perspectives.

Yours and mine and theirs.

Replication is for machines. And uniqueness is an illusion in a crowd. Because anyday we all are grouped to be too common or too unique.

Just like this above contradiction,
I concur...

...Lets not decipher a beautiful thought.
I can take an oath against my limitations
and say, interpreting is an insult sometimes.
You can take a poem for a petal
And sit there, just admire. Can't you?

Because oneday you will mother an orphan emotion.
I shall examine the skeleton and laugh.

Would you like that Poet?


[You are free to avoid this piece as a crazy social experiment going wrong :) ]


The Hungry Tide

Inspirations Continue...

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