The Gamble of Life


The life is full of small nuances…
You run along- it gives you chances…
The gamble’s right when one percieves
The risk, one’s next chance receives.
But once hormones take the control
One’s not too far from Murphy’s fall…
So better fall for the spirit of sport,
Because then winning is the last resort.

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Contrasting Hues


There’s something doggish in every cat…
Something wintery in someone’s summer…
Some eat thin while slaying with all their fat…
Why where’s attempt there’s a fraction of a bummer?
Where’s that sun in every lunar eclipse?
Why are the demons so Godly for the common man?
What, to submit to Higher, do people do with whips?
In every pit of a furnace there’s a door with fan…

How can that beating warm beacon of the lost,

Pierce through some souls with such a chilling frost?

How is it possible to have burning water?
There’s helplessness before every power…
There’s sometimes a lot of money in every quarter…
Unfair is when a man can’t tear down a tower
But a Simian Flu can take down whole humanity?
Fiction contains an entertaining element of insanity…

Flickering moments


Do you know how tough is it sometimes to evade those eyes?
Ghosts in the crowd of souls- when we become as cold as ice?
In a flooded with light ground, when all is left is a shadow patch
And our souls bled victims to an untimely mismatch
Leaving us funneled down our paths, flowing through that breeze
As blood tries to while hitting the whitened walls en course…

Do you know how strange is breeze when we flow by
Through thick, with our eyes deliberate, so high,
Yet so familiar… Reminding of the past, not so passed away
Voices are in close vicinity, yet nothing’s there to say
There’s something, some aura in the void space between us,
Yet both of us kept on floating away as we freeze…

The Writer’s Block


Be it prosaic, be it poetic- it is a writer’s block,
Sometimes it sort of happens, my brush in words I soak,
But when it comes to painting, those patterns in your eyes,
Sailing behind those eyes, my ships simply capsize.

With all the force that’s present, I hit that sheet with quill,
Construct, combine, create- there is plenty of will,
Yet something’s missing, something great,
It’s absconding- my creative tongue as if I ate.

I search for muse in nature, even in random ‘you’
For what I’m dwindling here, there’s no one to sue.
I run around in circles, like moon or like the sun,
Still touch can’t I the surface- this is not done!

I walk voided on ground, the depths are far from reach,
I wish some inspiration could come down and teach
Me how to dig, to dig the gravel till the roots of words,
To irrigate this waste of land, but seed I for the birds.

Too many vague ideas- those seeds fall unto earth
But none succeeds to grow- that’s my poetic dearth.
I beg:- “Oh birdies, leave some for me, please!”
Denied, I wish they turn into a bunch of flying trees.

I wish that one idea comes in the wake of day,
And just before the darkness, I could have my way,
Just before it slithers, catch by hook or by the crook,
I’d care and grow and proudly say:- “It the world had shook!”

The “Speedy System”


The rush is real, the rush is bold.
It doesn’t allow to keep things on hold.
Stepping on that accelerator we fly over
We’re stuck in light feeling as we hover.

Stuck in the present, stuck in the past,
Forget we about the future approaching so fast.
Is it too fast, is it about to blow?
With years our sprints exponentially grow.

Dashing blue burns through the air,
And through our veins it’s only fair,
While stepping down off we take,
Headed into cosmos at Century’s wake.

Trail our so cloudy all the twinkles dissolves,
With high pressure it pushes our moral resolves
Starving as it suffocates in it’s own void eager,
Aimless efforts yield no thing bigger.

The rush, the rush is in our blood,
It keeps us running as a fired up stud.
What is happening, how’s it absolved?
Justification keeps things resolved.

Notice for readers & the McDonald’s Company:

Please, differentiate the title of the given work and the original “Speedy System” on the basis of content, I have no intent to infringe the copyrights, alternative title will be produced upon requirement and request

Panting Wolves and Dancing Squirrels


A distant drum beat, darkness, skies…
To creep one out a forest always tries…

So there’s a clearing, moonless blues…

With a bonfire this, on can confuse!

Vibrating- dancing shadows turned to spokes,

Prancing silhouettes and no one talks!

And round and round is all they go…

In circles, on sand thus dark ones flow…

There’s self- commotion once you see

And in a jiffy feel the glee…

That you’ve seen and with no perils,

Painting wolves and dancing squirrels!

Love Nature


An elegant curve of the path

With shades all around…

A pair of Arabesque hills

As they turn into the plotted math

Of scattered ponds on the ground…

And a few of memorable stills

Turning it’s whole beige core into wrath

Of multilateral picture- green all abound…

And ending at a pair of strings of matrix nils

Exploding into a flowy, shrill- shivery brown path

And stars exploding all around…

With all trees behind rising up like hills.

Contemplating about the hidden treasure

Like fish in the sea


The awestruck fish was stuck in a tree
Thumbing it was, trembling, to get free…

Life twirled and turned it like a darn hurricane

Only to leave in hardship and vain…
Fishy fidgeted a few tiny leaps ahead

Then it realised that it just fell from bed…

But how felt the dream, you can’t fathom, just see…

The man turned- fish felt like one fish in the sea…

The One on Strength & Perseverance


When people ask me:- “Are you strong?”

I point, that their question’s wrong,

I say:- “It’s not just really all the strength,

That helps survive you to this length.

But how, this length, you do perceive

Through all the friction you recieve.”
When people tell me:- “Wrong, you might be!”

I flail them, “That depends on how you see.”

They preach how strength and even power

Is grown with friendly people’s shower

Of their goodwill and blessings; “That’s thin”

I say and add, “This first comes from within…”
They scream and shout, “How dare you!?”

Of egoism, in this debate, they me do sue.

“A little scared they’re, ‘s what I think

To face their sins and cross that brink,

Confess of evil thoughts lurking their mind

And speak of how they fight ’em for mankind”
Each day, each night, each dusk, each dawn,

Pitch black heed grows our mind upon.

We strive, we fence, we burn, we fight,

With morals, ethics, brought up might

And frown when fellow strikes amiss

And finds oneself in dungeon bliss
He is not strong, not strong at all,

For him his friendly people took the fall

And now all they all do is just repent

On how ugly scary was his dissent,

And how they had in this no hand

And this was only his failure grand!
The lonely bastard’s hit hard by wall

How people standing by him tall

Now vanish, never to be seen,

While once lost mind, is never clean,

And there he sits in stone cold cell,

With all well-wishers, lest wish well.
He sees now, that this sin his- grave,

If only once he were that brave,

To shut them out, stay solo- soul,

And let his wicked thoughts to crawl

And face them straight with no advice

From friendly people- witless’ demise.
Then maybe, maybe he’d have seen

That strength he seeks is there within

 And darkness shunt away, aside,

That right came with no one beside.

For no one’s wicked born with head,

But it grows unto them instead.
But what is done, is done and stains,

And now he’s left to endure the pains

Of heavy chains and morbid thoughts,

With none, but hope of grimly sorts

That perseverance’s all what’s left

Now, lonesome burden for him to heft.
He might not live to tell his tale,

But this- a thing one must not fail,

To seek and find within that good

Which makes one strong or so it should

At least to judge oneself permit

Where people rise, where fall in pit.

Pedal of Century


It was half past eleven, then a quarter to twelve,
Then creeped the clock stealthily for a gong beat.

We sit, somewhere lay we, in deep thoughts we delve,

Mind like some clocks did serenade and tweet.

Our stupor, if not turned to a slate’s screen

Is rather enthralled by the darkened bright skies

Or maybe traversed to some grasslands lush green

Calmed, but not really, we shut down our eyes.

Anxious lay some, restless are others, few left baby-like,

Heartless some, broken are others, few lay cold and alone.

What they all really need is to take that darn, lovely bike

And pedal way deep into abysmal abyss with no phone!

The Search


Something highly relatable for each of us at one point or the other in our life…

Maybe it is the search for the ultimate purpose or maybe it’s just all about a pizza…

One might never know…
What if whatever you just fail to find…

Is hiding right there in plain sight…

But you’re one clumsy kind of blind…

You just can’t find it in this light???
What if you search for that in place…

That’s just not right, for it to hide…

And it’s damn staring at your face…

Lost, have you sight- eyes open wide???
What if that thing has no disguise…

But you’re searching masquerade…

Still here- seeking, post it’s demise,

Shortsighted, dwelling in crusade???
What if all this effort blown to skies,

Mirage made into​ the fair of Vanity

Is moulding real all those lies

And dripping on our sanity?
What if you’re searching​ for the meaning

Yet can’t find a pivot point- full life- like..

And think of these as words demeaning…

Bedazzled, but still void in thy psych?

Twenty’o’seven


It’s twenty’o’seven and I try to find you…
Your smile is like heaven, when I’m right beside you…
I wonder, I hope, how smittening are you???
The irony grins, I still don’t know you…

It’s twenty’o’seven,look up in the skies…
Two glittering stars, I hope those, your eyes…
I repent on my ignorance, I should have been wise…
I failed to recognize you, in your disguise…

It’s twenty’o’seven, I laugh where I stand…
It trembles, as I cover my eyes with my hand…
Tears and disgusted gazes at face of mine land…
It pains in my soul, you forgot to mend…

It’s twenty’o’seven, it pains in my heart…
I see through my past, slowly I fall apart…
No dear, you should have come in the start…
My feelings are hanging as if tucked with a dart…

It’s twenty’o’seven, I gasp, you are late…
Alone, my soul dwindles, that’s my fate…
Hope dies last, I trust in this state…
I resist, just try to remember the date…

It’s twenty’o’seven, it lies on the ground…
I feel so happy and light, as I turn around…
Your angelic hand lifts me up with no sound…
Still irony laughs, to death were you bound…

It’s twenty’o’seven, the earth ain’t still…
Just feel, you’re bound to someone, or you will…
Though it runs not in accordance with will…
Someday you too will be ground in love’s mill…