The Inescapable 

Staring at her moonlit face

careworn was her look

her eyelids hanged 

laden with tears

her chest heaved

rammed with sorrow

she couldn’t be a bit on the side

and he knew he wasn’t cruel

for letting her go

It was so inescapable

like a breathe

this,they couldn’t skip

craving for the last bit

they hugged and kissed

pain thrust her heart

it was so brief

and perilous to her desire

slothfully dragging away

she tried hard not to cry

he watched her go

until her silhouette faded out

into the thick cold night

and with a lightening ease

he erased the memories of her

Photo source :Google 


Tired Song 

The old luminous song

The song of I love you

Of rosy lips  and glossy eyes

That song,

It doesn’t move her anymore

To it’s beats her heart cries

Beneath it’s note,her soul is enslaved


That tired  song,

Will it  ever make her smile again?

Will it ever touch her heart?

Will it ever bring her solace?


That old vibrant song,

I’ll keep singing into her ears

Less her heart get touched

Less her soul finds solace

Less she finds love again 


​I recall how we kissed

worries fully dismissed

under the lit street lamp

Still your grip like a cramp

Pressing me drum tight

Eyes flashed in the night

All our feelings fremd

our throats hemmed


Then the lights flickered

We stared and snickered

strong cold wind howled

the street dogs growled

the drizzling atmosphere

we groped a little longer

searching for heart beats

That was our very last


Now am sitting distressed

mind much of an agonist

Face waiting at the window

Of nothing but little airflow

moon spread over everything

a thin layer of paining sting

chest Laden with sorrow

eagerly waiting for morrow


The little Dire 

Of less admire

The city of poets 

Who wrote daily

Of the rustic plains

Hot stifling air 

Of the dull ambience

And of Dire amidst its mere love


All went unread daily

And so day by day

Life grew colder

Slowly the ink drained

The touch of the quills slowly faded

Flowers dried before blossom


Still in Dire

The city of poets

With the sun rising and setting

The hearts never stop beating

The rivers never stop flowing

And poets picked up their quills

Wrote the poems of Dire

Less their city die

New Day

Its a nice morning

New day to continue the struggle 

I sit up in my bed

Blackened mood,I don’t know why

My eyes sweep across my little shoddy abode

Yesternight I don’t know what happened

I tried my all,to sleep a happy soul

Its morning but the dark cloud is still there

70 missed call,….landlord

19 new messages…… Lending corporation

The struggle is real

I curse why I woke up

I wish I hadn’t seen this Morning….

Wait its a blessing I woke up

I have to make Papa proud

As I step out of this bed

Help me God!

I call your name

The wind blows

And it isn’t a gust

But strong and lasting

With a tight grip

It catches my breath

With it to the west

Yet to the east

I want to dwell

To the far east

I want to wake up

Wrapped into your arms

To the real east

Is my heart and soul

So I call your name

In my mind’s eye

I see you not moved


To it’s pick up

I yearn to give up

Still I call your name

Time Off

After the combat

All soldiers unarmed

Off the suit of armour

Ambience a trailed wreckage

Thus a complete pyrrhic

Night fell moonlessly

Minds display of disquiet

Faces woebegone

Eyes on the sky

It’s faded glamour

Shrouded with bloody clouds

hands fiddling with talisman

He was in the assemblage

Yet he didn’t conflate

His cynosure was home

Redolent of homebaked bread

Within ripples of wrecked thoughts

Were spaces nimmed

With sweet ago memories 

Those of his wife and kids 

Parents and relatives

Of his dog and the garden

Of love and peace

The goodest potion of heart

A faint smile touched his lips

For soon it will be time off

Off the gory battle field