The Tension of Reminiscence…


“At tensed note, you me do hear…
The lines I stroke are feebly real
But life is surely- sure, my dear!

We bravely cry, her heart’s- a heal,
All other times we choose to fear!
We do decide what we do feel!”

The Road

” I saw a courtyard, cavalier,
A flimsy household, burnt despair…
Still tinsy flames, a shaky pier,
Still enter it the brave one dare…

I wised en route, a decrepit man,
“Worth of life perceive no youth can…”

The Market

Not clay, but stone- fat man’s abode,
All passers- by, their mouth’s broad
A blacken shadow strikes a cheek
“There be a duel! “- crowd’s a meek

“Enough! “- at passers’ stall I snap my bread,
With agony, my eyes shall not be fed”

The Wasteland

Miragy, shaky dot, at far horizon
It shivers closer, is that a bison?
Dead and bony, stumping, crossed liaison…
A cross and pike, stuck, chest, war’s son…

“I kill the wish to end it’s pain
I kill the fire and sleep in vain…”

The Bonfire

A stilted, silent, devil’s whore
But she can’t see her kids no more…
A lusty flamelet leaving first sore…
From shrieking crowd- “Torture her, more!”

“”Mumma- Mumma!” Eyes wet, them follow
I turn and stand, heart dipped in sorrow…”

The Woods

The darkest thicket, a daunting stare, stinge some foul…
An eerie swamp, a cryptic flare, a glaciating howl…
All, but none around the pyre, all, but one- hides in the cowl…
“Who is that?”- one dares to ask. “Solitude”- is heard a scowl.

“There, behind “seclusion”, hides a fading man…
Despondency is what it turned into, on that long a span”

The House

An early morning, drapes alfight, birds all tweet…
At portico, beauty for sight, glissades a damsel sweet…
“Where’s your corset, you lousy wench!”- is all the heat,
A High estate, a rich demesne, yet filth off street…

“All this society, all those trends- a despot o’er heads…
Trailing those, loosing friends, knit we all dystopian threads!”

The School

A flock of kids, in field they play, mirth a bunch!
Around something they are gay, natures gift?- a hunch?
Closer, laughter, there’s a deafish boy, gets a kick, a punch…
His name is Ludwig, and he shan’t leave a crunch!

“All have stories, paths, habitude to greatness…
Some suffer, some don’t, yet all reach in lateness!”

The Lake

He ran his eyes- stars seemed to hover,

“Life’s been concise”, he does uncover,

“I’m still in joy, I’m still tired of lies

Reality’s Troy- green bellied fireflies…”

“The man’s just right, in his built up illusion.

Blind us the truths, sight, with confusion!”

The Pub

“I fill the bowl, then tap the dottle…
Meanwhile others- down the bottle…”
He opens stashed up, tobacco leaves…
“Minds’ out resort, senses take heaves…”

“I’d puff for grayish soul and ring for misty mind,
All kinds love a kind, that’s the truth of the mankind”

***This piece is unfinished, so keep updated, periodically)

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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…

What if…


What if at the end of the line, if we say no to “Is there anything that you want for what you’ll be willing to go through the hell all over again?” and therein lies our salvation?

What if in process described lies the sole purpose, the educational aim of meditation?

The neighbours’ greed

turnt conquistador…

The conquistador’s wrath

against one’s valour…

The rebel’s sloth

of neighbour’s neighbour…

The early murder

was in labour…

The glutonny of the free

turnt sinners into hoarders…

The feudal lust

grew up those country borders…

The current pride

lies in the strength of orders…

What if…

What if he asks & you say- “Yes, more?”

& therein lies punishment?

What if…

​The sweet essence of moment…


This one is for the depressed souls, those who spend their nights in sorrow and absolute stupor of their situation. The psychological wave is used first to conform and accept the situation and then to show an alternate beauty of the nature, which keeps our side through thick and through thin.

If there’s a difficulty in understanding the poem straight away, read odd lines and get the vision of nature, while if you’ll read the even ones- you’ll get the condition of the person in depression.


Sandwich’d layers top down skies…

One’s fed up with their hissing lies…

Ascend the staircase to stargaze…

Burn one’s eyes on that face…

Boiling, mighty Earth’s insides…

Fuming are one’s darkened eyes…

Brush’d the breeze through the green…

Burnt down- memories one’s seen…

Deadly pitch plack crouching fear…

Doomly thoughts one does wear…

Pounc’d & snapp’d lope’s pain…

Lies one crampled ball of vain…

Smooth melodious crackling bark…

Clenched lies one’s hair stark dark…

Fat burstin’ cheeks, holed in rodent…

One’s cheek- crimson pressed in dent…

Sweet smelling joyous dancing grass…

Veined out, one fails to cry out brass…

Sniff’d the air that sworn predator…

Beating, tearing up- this darn obliterator…

Swift & cautious pawed by lost soul…

Cramped, stiff, yet sobbing whole…

Hoot missed  that disappearing tail…

Still, lies one doubting one’s tale…

Turn’d the Earth, stifled beauty- Utopia…

Thoughts railed with chaotic Dystopia…

Calm’d are the starnights, calm’d the moonsight…

Calm’d now lies one mindless, child of the light…