First downpour of the season

First downpour of the season,
A lush green landscape
A biscuit half dipped in harm warm chai
Dogs seeking shelter, squirrels chasing their playmates
A road adorned with potholes
People losing patience in gridlocks
A day engulfed in picturesque motion, with
first downpour of the season

First downpour of the season,
Bracing rainy breeze ruffling with the summer heat
Children skipping schools, merrymaking
in rain drenched uniforms
People late to work, and
soaring disappointments
Home dwellers savouring pakodas, relishing
first downpour of the season

First downpour of the season,
Across the window- eyes brimming
with longing and heart with desolation
A room celebrating love
Clouds hovering the sky, banishing all the
twinkling light and
sprouting ambivalent sentiments,
Here is the
first downpour of the season


The Night without Redemption

This night comes to me again
and keeps me awake to its silence,
seizes my breath in its darkness
and unravels me to its deceit
The sky sails under false colours-
sometimes crooked starless black
clouding all the light and triggering
hollow-hearted conspiracies,
sometimes shimmering with
moon and mourning star-studded
memories shrieking in moonlight
The night is erratic, and the silence
is devious; for it buries down all
the morality and humanity,
letting it take its own course
And while some people sleep over
it; the rest become a prey to
its darkness gasping for an escape
in sleepless tears, words
or the same shattering moon
The music cannot placate this silence,
neither the sound of T.V
The silence only produces a silent
outcry pleading the early rising birds
for their chirping aubade-a hope
for light and redemption
Yet, there is something
Inescapable about this night,
about nights like these

The Modern day Feminist Man

The Modern day Feminist Man

He will publicly don the
feminist’s hat and make you vehemently
believe that he’s the torchbearer of
all the justice and righteousness
pervasive in this world.
In the guise of this utmost demeanour
he will crouch on his actions.
He harps, or rather preaches
a bit too much, and more than
often forgets the age old adage
”actions speak louder than words”;
for his words make up for his value-system
of self-concocted conceit- a prerequisite
for social acclaim and gratification.
He becomes an imperative instrument
(or rather source?)
of empowerment by guiding and
eventually granting his women
the prerogatives.
He indeed is a new age feminist
and in that endevour, never intrudes
unnecessarily (and only “guides”)
in decision-making; instead manoeuvres
through his gradual clutch on
their emotions.
He embarks on disentangling
other lives around him; forsaking the
bedlam in his own mind and life.
But most importantly, he says
the ‘right’ things and ends
up being always right.

Maid of Faith


Every day at quarter past 11,
an impulse in me
starts expecting a door bell
to which she usually makes
an untimely not-so-peaceful entry
with a baggage full of sundries
and stories of neighborhood

Suddenly the house ruffles
with a disproportionate agility
of her ageing labour and emotive babble
and on days when she would give in
to immoderate empathy and gratitude,
she would take to laundry and cooking
along with the usual cleaning business;
bringing my muscles immense respite

There is a peculiar predicament of
images of godliness and un-godliness
rife in her expression:
the spiky evil looking worm
(Devil’s associate) in the wash
deems to be murdered
for it tried to kill the god,
And the long leftover food in fridge
must be served to the flying
god messenger crows;
after which follows a chain of
instructions-of doings and undoings
All of which confounds my beliefs into
disbeliefs and disbeliefs into beliefs
For her fear of god keeps
her off delinquencies
While her obedience to god keeps
her anticipation renewed
for a steady future

Whether her faith dooms her
or brings her fortune-
is incomprehensible to my faith
My faith only confronts with
her faith when-my leaving the city
makes her unemployed,
while I start another hunt of
an indispensable household need

How will you do without me?

How will you do without me?

There is so much in me of you,
that I will always be with you,
even though my present reality
jolts me with your absence
my mind which is brimming of you
will bring me thoughts that
wan sustain me without you
But how will you do without me?

I have my words, harbinger of solace
words that lead me to you
I will make my words meet with you
and nonchalantly gaze at their endearing romance
My words alien to prejudice
and treachery (unlike yours),
only manifest the best out of you
My love for you can count on my words,
But what will you count on?
How will you do without me?

You know I carry you everywhere I go,
an obstinate fragment of my mental reality
Next time when I will visit the mighty sea
and those staunch mountains,
and run into those trees and alleys
forever accompanied by the unwavering moonlight
None of them will question the physical
absence of my amour (in disguise),
instead will seek a refuge on my
self-constructed imagery
But what will you answer them?
How will you appease them?
How will you do without me?

My words will always find a way
to these pages, to different people
I will continue curating words for my
poetry that will reach my people-
family, friends and foes, friend’s lovers,
lover’s lover and like
as petty gifts, indelible souvenirs
or mere obligatory assignments
But who will write for you,
dedicate all those glorious words
into hymns of your adulation?
How will you do without me?

Love of all sorts will cross your path
but the love and kinship that you
long for, by that time,
will have lost its way to you
The very love that you seek to
unshackle yourself from your
own excruciating soul
and my hapless self, till then,
would have been transported to
an alternate universe, unable
to hear your mourning
There, you will lose
all rights on me
then, how will you do without me?



There’s a road that must be travelled,
though the destination is destined
Of all the sounds in the wilderness
that trespasses my path;
the sound of my footsteps,
echoes in the dark
But I mustn’t forget,
there’s a road that must be travelled

As I walk along, leaving behind trees
that align the road; like the things of past
A yearning pulls me back,
and retards my footsteps
But I mustn’t forget,
there’s a road that must be travelled