Slow Rising

As I walk on the wet sand

by the sea beach,

lonely is what I feel.

It is 3AM in the morning

and I’m mourning..

not about anybody’s death

but because I stopped living.


I, I used to live, laugh and cherish

Now, now I perish.


I see before me a vast beautiful sky

I wish to be a bird and want to fly high

But the ‘society’, yes this cruel society

Doesn’t let me be me.

Aha! Now you’ll say “society’s a bitch, you got to stand up”

But dear I did… I did fly high.

I felt powerful and independent.

Jealous you, cut my wings and made me dependent.

You, the patriarch, enjoys a victimized woman

But let me tell you, I won’t let you achieve your goals.

I was powerful and now I’ll be a rebellion.


Yes, I felt lonely but now I won’t.

I’ll be a glass of Champagne with hint of Red Wine

And will let you taste some lime.

I’ll walk on the sea

Because I know I can.

I’ll fly like a bird

And will conquer the sky.

Sure, you put me down

But I’ll not surrender.

I’ll be my own mistress

And not your damsel in distress.


I’ll live once again

‘cause I’m the silver lining in the cloud.

I’ll be a fish

And will merge in the sea.

How I’ll change forms, now you’ll see.

I’ll fall on this earth like a raindrop

Seeping deep inside the earth….

I’ll turn into a diamond.




The Pencil

I asked the pencil
To dance with words tendril
But she had mood swings
And started to ring,
With no sounds but strokes
That hit the blank pages
Where the words unfold.
However, words were in slumber
And lines and curves she remembered.
Amateur with both words and strokes
Still something beautiful she beholds.
That is, the art to mold.


beautiful words

powerful language

not for communication only..

depicts feelings, emotions and intellect..

Sarcasm a wonderful tool

not for fools

Literature an insightful piece of art

a true lover of books

can see through..

I can grow

only if I never cease the yearn to learn…

The White Bird

Sitting on the terrace,
Looking at the sky,
I saw a white bird fly.
No, it wasn’t a swan..
Maybe a dove?
No, there was no symbol of love.

I sat there looking around
With nature in its heavenly bound.
Smiling at the bird,
I wished it would sit and talk.
Meanwhile, I started to walk

And then the bird came up to me
And perched on my shoulder
And I stared in wonder.
My wish was granted and the bird sang sweet.
I caressed its feathers,
And suddenly there was a change in weather.

The bird disappeared
And there was smoke-black
Ding dong dang and the old poet sang
“Oh pretty lady, thanks for the gentle touch and making the wish,
I was cursed years ago by a wicked witch”
“Who art thou?” I asked the old man.
“I’m a magician from the incomplete story by the author of Peter Pan”

The old poet smiled with relief,
And I blinked my eyes in disbelief.
Staring at the poetic manly bird with beard
The feeling was really weird.

On blinking my eyes again,
The scene changed.
There was smoke and haze,
And I felt the earth shake.

Now, my friends, you’ll laugh a lot
Because the earthquake was caused by the alarm clock.


It’s silent here
And it’s cold.
I, I feel old
And numb under the blanket of memories.
That are cherishing and yet teary.
It is silent here.
Yet it is so loud
The thoughts’ cloud,
Rains. It pours without pitter patter.
I ask the existence to say something.
In vain it was.
Silence said it all.