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
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The Boom Impending


Something different is in this air…
This air is ethereal…

This air is eternal…

This air is yours Oh Earth…

Tell me whether it is real…

Tell me even if it’s carnal…

Tell me even if in dearth…

Drop at me like autumn rain…

Drop at me that heavy news…

Drop at me how Environment is climbing for the noose…

Sweep away my worldly pain…

Sweep away my subtle cruise…

Sweep away all worldly men, who dareth you to loose…

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.

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?

A possible preface


I realised myself to be the righteous apostle of the record book keeping when I was sitting by the fire and listening to the two bards ranting to the crowd about how right their independent versions were and realised that the version my own father told, was rather entirely different. I trusted my father, because the old time scar was ogling at me from his collarbone​ each time I was addressing him. I was a relative pacifist and let the former both, keep their argument burning up. Very soon I found myself peeking up the porch of the monastery from day to day and eventually the prefect archivist pulled me up and invited me to learn reading and writing. And I’m glad that I wasn’t born a lady or believe me in our kingdom, at our times- it’s rare they’re getting any chance to get out of their “lady” activities like games of croquet, ball dancing, designer gardening and other art, sewing- basically enjoying their lives and do as their wild wishes tell.

Since then into my youth I spent days and nigths reading and rereading the archives and records of this and even number of other churches. When I couldn’t find more, my father didn’t approve of me going away for too far, because I was just 14 back then and didn’t perfect my bow and arrows skills enough to embark on such a journey alone. He didn’t have enough faith driving him to accompany me on my undertaking, I walked into a library. It seemed as if a heaven touched my rusty robes, made me unaware of any sort of unease including them and embraced me with it’s open arms absorbing me into an abysmal depths of historical and fictional texts and smells. That is when I realised that writing and preferably the truth were the two most important things in the world of my perception.

By the time I turned 16 and by the same time- the already Grand Archivist, came down to bless me personally from the Great Church of Uptown, while I was initiating something unbelievably surreal and important with my volunteering to serve in the defence tower operating the turrets of the guards of our kingdom- Pacifia. It was a relatively sought after position within the hierarchy of the armed forces of our then king Le Mustachie III and it was all thanks to Grand Archivist who recommended me over a crust of bread. It was less hectic a service than that of the foot soldiers and less glorified than the cavalry, but meant a lot of travel and sitting which were just perfect for my soulful orientation.

Days started flying by and my duty shuffled me among the towers, towns, crossroads all across the lands… By 22 I read every book in the cities that my towers guarded and started writing down the records of my own and tallying them with those of the old man Grand Archivist to see, whether I kept everything up to date. Archibald Hansen, was his name and he loved to talk of the beastly lady fish like demons at sea. He appreciated my work but over the years of my absence I knew that he grew closer to his other apprentice Le Brix who was a son of an utterly wealthy nobleman who had a speck of devotion on the silver laden suit of his pompousness. He and the mistress managed to pass him that devotion before they met a terrible end by the hands of an unknown woods’ gang who robbed them off everything and their lives. He unfortunately witnessed all that and ran away with the Circus only to be recovered by our Grand Archie almost a decade later. Pretty easily convinced he learnt fast and by the time I ran out of books to read in our kingdom and started my own private archive keeping, he was already doing the same, but devotedly and had no problems with arranging the parchment​ or papyrus to waste. I on the other hand had to struggle through harbors and traders to scavenge the few I could afford.

It was all fine for a while, but pretty soon my fellow guards started utterly despising my erudition and consequently exiled me mentally from their acquaintance. I, very soon, noticed how fat I got reading all those piles of books and munching down our garrison food stocks and pretty much accepted others’ sedition towards this fact. In almost no time I started to get neglected and even sooner I was reassigned my position.

It seemed that they somehow got an approximate idea about my efforts and acknowledged the reference Grand Archie gave for me to the Marshal himself recommending my talents while conditioning Le Brix to follow in his holy steps of Church Archiving. I didn’t mind, rather got self- content from the fact that I might proudly keep records of the king’s army and experience the live action of every step they took. These were another few years before my career within the army abruptly got finished as Dissipati Peribunt, being the Marshal, lost his head to a better gentleman Bon Tu Pati somewhere around the tent I was scribbling in. The same day Le Mustachie the III and his nobility with the help of Prince Meinland the I’s cavalry, managed to crank their heads a wee bit way off their shoulders. The whole family, or what was left of it was brought out in their own bedsheets and sent to a respectful cremation by the edge pf the river. The times were noble and so were our neighbours.
Once again my writing​ prevailed and after reading the glorified records of the truth behind the unfortunate governing turmoil which uprooted the basics of the kingdom the new king himself declared to decide my fate. Archie and Brix didn’t get any sort of such judgement and my papa was parried away from all this unease by the holy angels of death. I’ve never told you about my mother, because from all I heard she wasn’t much of a story to tell about.

By the stories of papa she was an untimely smart lady from a humble family of a laundryman. She was courted briefly, but vigorously by him when he served with his life for her then employee- Count Un Fukwitablu and his nobility. It was around that time that my father experienced first hand the story those bards were lamenting about. In short the house fell poisoned and all of the commoners were dismissed of their posts. Following a series of useless months, old man got himself a ring and got her under the blessings of the cross. They miscarried my elder brother, but papa got a hire and was able to afford a healer and a roof over their head on outskirts of the capital. In a couple of years of relatively dull, but as per his words- turbulently romantic married existence they tried again. This time with even more care and support from local healers and two midwives my father unknowingly enjoyed her company for healthy nine months. He held her trembling hand when I saw them both for the first time together and cried knowing this will be the last, because an angel told me before they pulled me out. “The labor was tough…” was what they said while trying to explain the obvious.

I was tossed to our pious neighbour aunt Martha whom I’ve never met thereafter, but I’ve heard that she was in conveniently lactating at that time and didn’t mind another suckling offspring at her spare voluptuous tit. The last part was emphasised by papa every time he gratefully mentioned her and honestly, I thought the word explained something about volume till I came of age. Ever since, I always wondered, if there was something going on back then during my infant days. Papa subdued to grief a couple of years later and almost sold me to a Chinese trader once while he was dead drunk. Coming to senses he took an oath to upbring me right and did so in the house of the God. That’s pretty much how my future got secured.

Talking of future security- his noble highness Meinland decided to make my fate a court decision and scheduled a sitting a month into the new kingdom. They all sat down enjoying our land’s pears and some Chinaman’s dumblinks or whatever they called their whitened meatballs which I always reminded me of a bunch of scrota of some foreign beast and by the end of their meal decided to exile me to the last tower of their land. Now for those following this record- Pacifia became a taxable state of the kingdom of Nobilis and thus lost it’s boundaries and identity to the new king. I ended up at a God forgotten tower amidst the barren land with a waterfront at three sides and a strange, even more God forsaken road coming from the kingdom and headed towards the neighbouring kingdom of Rexnovis. Relations with this kingdom were so pacific that border security was taken for granted and neither of the states cared to check upon the welfare of the other even for periods as long as half a dozen years.

With a personal request from his Highness, I got carts of archives and writings coming and going over the next few years and I really enjoyed that as I rewrote all of them unto brand new leaflets. My life couldn’t be any better, but as always each garrison assigned to my tower always came back with a word of despise to king Meinland. All I did was just reading​ the texts without any harm to others, but it seemed that matured footsoldiers were mpre comfortable with utter displays of extraversion which wasn’t the case with me. This annoyed them terribly to an extent they started fearing me on pretext of sorcery.

I wasn’t a huge fan of liquor, but one of those days, glum about my situation with tower watchmen I walked into the nearest town, which happened to be on the ground of Rexnovis, but as I said- nobody even did as much as bat an eye on a foreigner. Seeing my morbid expression they even took our gleans as a payment. I got so drunk that the tavern returned whole 3 gleans and wished me to come to senses real fast and get some help or something like that before I tasted the ground of their stables, which unlike my expectations didn’t taste of horse excrement. That, most likely, wasn’t because they were being sincerely cleaned out, but because this town, just like my tower was- deserted. I don’t remember much of that day, just some guy running by my side- maybe even some scout, while I was making it to the tower and trying to explain that there was something wrong with his kingdom or mine, I don’t clearly remember, but I dismissed that as a dream and gulped down on it in the morning. The hangover hung over me for hours giving me a melodious torture of some eerie song they were singing at the tavern table across the border. The crew looked at me and I understood that they “just had enough of it all”.

After this nuisance on my part, garisson unease outgrew to an extent that Meinland rode his horse himself to cope with the situation. He arrived one early morning and I got to know about that as soon as the garisson got into a random melodious commotion and scattered trumpeteering building a unison along the way of it’s own harmony. In no time I was summoned from my room and he publicly proclaimed me to be further exiled to Rexnovis. While I stood halfpresent and bedazzled he dismissed his guards and held my shoulder saying- “You’re a great archivist Fatuus, but your conduct, howsoever rational it is to you and me, is creating a lame public’s unease… I want you to disappear for some time and thence I’m personally giving you a task to fulfill…”

The Chances


At playing card factory, piles of cards- all prints, get sorted…
Still hot, they travel miles, to get to box they courted…

We tag defective our lives- a solitary Joker of a deck conforming…

A random draw- high fives, thus turns our lives heartwarming…
Getting that tightly packed, they smudge each others’ ink…

Those tinsy smears stacked, amend more than you think…

Some turn Hearts sweet, hurt spiky- Spades few prick…

Some Diamonds built with heat, some Club until they sick…
How lucky is thy draw, depends on how you perceive…

The monster that you saw, turns to lifeline you recieve…

You’re boxed in, solitary Joker, and yours are chances rare…

This draw game is like poker, each draw- a million dollar affair… 

​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…

Play Along


Can I see you later?!
Cuz now I am with her…
Baby gimme your number
Stay on Friday as you are…

We’re young & rave…
We jump & wave…
In this game…
That we are…

We crave & lust…
Love turned to dust…
Hurting, hurt…
That we are…

Baby, baby don’t reprimand…
Cuz I’m here on your demand!
If you see me on Friday night…
We’ll spend the night!
Well spent, a night!

It’s a game & we are players…
And the world is not as old
Don’t be crying…
Don’t stay in prayers…
Love will come, but for now, just play along!
Just play along!

If we went out
And spent a night…
That doesn’t mean
We’re in it all right?

We kiss & date…
No love & fate…
In this game…
That we are…

We don’t mind or stay…
We forget & play…
Hurting, hurt
That we are…

Baby, baby don’t think too much!!!
Neither of us, felt love, as such…
I’m scoring my next Friday night!
We spent tonight!
What’s your next Friday night?

It’s a game & we are players…
And the world is not as old
Don’t be crying…
Don’t stay in prayers…
Love will come, but for now, just play along!
Just play along!

(About current relationship trends)

Weird Pathology


This song (bard) is written in Hinglish (first time ever by me), so will be relatable to all Hindi+ English speaking people:

“Bachpan ki meri dost- badi yaari hain bhai!
We have each other’s back, right until we die!”
Samay beeta zara, a bit we drew apart!
“Tu usse baat kari!”- (some problem’s in my heart!)

Bagal- tera kandha, honthon pe teri- smile…
(I don’t wanna see him around you for a mile!)
Bachpan ki meri friend, bachpan ka mera ride,
(He’s “dove-ing” her right there),- “My trying’s bonfide…”

“Tujhe kya ho gaya- as if you got a dent?
Please, tell me if he’s good- you’re my best friend!”
Uski baatein sunani- all the way she went…
(She’s more than my friend. How to drop a hint?)

Ye dono- boy & girl- badi ajeeb hain life!
Together & apart, hotey hain ye drive!
You watch them all along- samajh na aawe, haye…
Idhar- udhar ghumein, kyu dikhtey hain ye “high”?

It’s a weird pathology…
It’s a weird pathology…

“Bachpan ka meri dost- badi yaari hain bhai!
We have each other’s back, right until we die!”
Samay beeta zara, a bit we drew apart!
“Tera friend hain bada cute, uspe hain mera heart!”

Bagal- mera kandha, honthon pe meri- smile…
(Ho use kya gaya, why is he tailing for a mile?)
Saath hain mera banda, bachpan ka mera ride,
(Wo hume ghuma rha. This love ain’t bonafide)

(You love me, I’m right and that is the dent
I know he’s no good, because you’re my best friend!)
Uski baatein sunani- all the way I went…
(I’m ready and afraid- please, drop me a hint!)

Ye dono- boy & girl- badi ajeeb hain life!
Together & apart, hotey hain ye drive!
You watch them all along- samajh na aawe, haye…
Idhar- udhar ghumein, kyu dikhtey hain ye “high”?

It’s a weird pathology…
It’s a weird pathology…

A sound evening Crush


“Fairy tale, fairy tale & cartoon life…

I’m the Prince, you’ll be my wife…

La-la-la, la-la-la- they show no strife…

La-la trough!- there goes your life…

Three hours ago I was in town…
And now I feel alone…
That girl- that girl, in that gown…
Now I feel as if reborn…

Like a chute- like a chute, her dress I found…
Look at her- and your mind flies…
But gives no chance to get off ground…
Don’t compliment me!“…- those are lies…

To the left- to the right, now turned around…
I swear, by her side- a Unicorn…

And her heels, make, that hoof sound…

She was there and now she’s gone…

“Fairy tale, fairy tale & cartoon life…

I’m the Prince, you’ll be my wife…

La-la-la, la-la-la- they show no strife…

La-la trough!- there goes your life…

“Where is she- the sweet Unknown?
You appear, change- quite a time…
I’ll see a new and you’ll be gone…
But till then we’re fine…”

Through the Day, through the night…
She is by my side…
We dance and sing… Till there’s light
Though that happens in my mind…

“Sometime from now, when I’ll be alone…
And she’ll be in the sky…
With eyes closed I’ll see the storm…
To the sorrow, say- “Good bye!”

“Fairy tale, fairy tale & cartoon life…

I’m the Prince, you’ll be my wife…

La-la-la, la-la-la- they show no strife…

La-la trough!- there goes your life…”

Breaking Free…


Separating them both...
Separating them both…

Sleepless nights…
Oh- oh!
Soul denies…
Oh- oh!
Wet my eyes…
A wee
Blind my eyes…
But everything I see

The other guy,
took all…
Tore away,
my soul…
But all along,
I knew…
Still I forgot my “faith” in you…

Burn me all,
your talk…
Cold as ice,
your walk…
Shattered heart,
but your good bye hand…
Said:- “Crush it more, into the sand!”

Getting over with you left my heart wide open…
But now I know what I got to do…
Walk up to you,
                  grab your sight,
                           and with my mouth broken:
“Oh, baby, any more- I don’t love you!”

Sleep a bit…
Oh- oh!
Work a bit…
Oh- oh!
Colours around,
all gone…
I see you already,
moved on…

Secrets shared,
Unto the grave…
If you told me,
Once been brave…
You could’ve spared,
All my pain…
Now I see you’ve changed and I talk in vain…

It’s high time,
I mustn’t stop…
“Spare that dime,
Not a word you drop!
Forget about her,
Suit up and walk away…
Oh man, it’s time to walk up and say:- ‘Hey!'”

Getting over with you left my heart wide open…
But now I know what I got to do…
Walk up to you,
              grab your sight,
                       and with my mouth broken:
“Oh, baby, any more- I don’t love you!”