Wistful Thoughts

If the world was less cruel,
With kind eyes and happy faces,
No schemes, no taunting, no fiends,
Just happiness and lively lives.

If the world was unpredictable,
With everyday a new adventure,
Every other moment full of adrenaline,
Every day a beautiful moment.

If the world was different,
And I was able to fly,
Over the seas to the horizon,
Zipping through trees tall.

If the world was different,
And I was able to sail,
To the ends of the world,
Explorations abound.

If my life was different,
And I was able to travel,
To destinations unknown,
Towards the eternal and beyond.

If only the illusive façade,
Of monotony could fade away,
The chaotic mind would then be strong,
And my wistful thoughts become the reality.


There were five of us this morn,
Only I remain as the sun goes home,
But here I stay, in the frontier,
Amidst the prison made of bodies,
Shivering, hungry, cold and almost dead,
Knuckles split, and nails broken,
Lips parched and eyes bloodshot,
Shell-shocked and uncomprehending,
The flicker of hope, all but gone.
The smell of burnt bodies,
And that of blood and mud,
Mixes with the air, swirling hypnotically.
War has come, famine follows,
I die tonight, my story dies tonight,
Meaningless torture; cold eyes behind enemy lines,
Betrayer and traitor if I go home.
So, I go to the only place I can:
My body one with the elements,
Burnt dispassionately,
Like yester’s waste,
Less than a mangy cur,
Less than rotting wood.

(inspired by the movie Saving Private Ryan)

A Handful of Night

The meadow is young and virile,
The sky has an elegant pulchritude,
The faint smell of pollen dances in the wind,
Pines in the distance sing their choir.

The night is alight with winking stars,
The night is aflame with passion and beauty;
A dance of elves and fairies, a fantasy of its own,
While the crescent moon watches on.

The mystery is begging to be explored,
The joyous beginnings, the happy endings,
Yet sleep beguiles the waking,
And I fall under its enchantments.

When I wake, with the sun in my eyes,
The meadow is bland, the sky is uninspiring,
The fairies have vanished, the woods are like any other,

And with a heavy heart, I turn home,
Wishing I had could turn back time and wander,
Wishing I could dance with the fairies and the elves,
Wishing the night would go on forever,
And I would never grow up,

Wishing I had a handful of night.

Discussions in a Bar

I went to a bar. I sat. I observed.
And I saw the following:

“Nay!” called out the philosopher,
“You are a lie, a conundrum,”
“Just lie in your bed and go to sleep,”
“And the morn will show the truth,”
“Whatever truth may mean”

“Aye!” called out the scientist,
“’tis a mystery, but thee are not,”
“The change of nature; dance of dust,”
“An investigation of the working of man,”
“A religion of objectivity;
A following of subjectivity”

“Ha!” called out the drunk,
“A testament to nature,”
“The commandments of life,”
“You fools! ‘tis a holiday,”
“Go to the barman, get a shot,”
“Come share the fortunes of the dead,
And misfortunes of the livin’.”

28th September, 2020


The greatness bursts out,
A myriad of colours,
A beautiful explosion of life,
An angry catharsis,
Followed by beautiful Eden,
A time and place of life,
Of plenty, of happiness,
Of wonder, of exploration,
Of greatness.

But plenty is always fatal, and Eden shrinks,
Mindlessness grasps life, the higher handle fails,
Journeys bound out to nowhere, regardless,
Life falls down to substance, depressing,
Stimulants can’t budge life, life is dead,
The fabled creator looks out, and cries fabled tears,
Trying in vain to pacify the fire killing Eden.
The tears of illusion flow everywhere,
Obliterating everything, razing everyone.

A heavy wasteland.
Nothing great, colourless, sour,
The universe cries onto herself,
She curls up into a ball,
Alone, no one to share with,
She falls into herself,
An implosion, and she dies.

But again, death is a metamorphosis of life,
And again, the greatness bursts out,
The colours are back, and so is Eden,
More beautiful, more lovely, wise.

26th March, 2020


Abstract, yet changeable,
Intangible, yet stunningly real,
Vibrations through the air,
Beautiful amalgamations of pitch and strength,
Intensity and frequency,
Free from the material world,
Yet a part of the same,
Beautiful creations of nature,
And the creations of her creations,
Through heart and soul,
The meaning of everything;
Syllable, and tone,
A flowing river, and a stepping stone,
Melody and lyricism,
Beauty and Sublimity,
Joyful, Joyless, and full of sorrow,
Silence, euphony and cacophony;
The joy of the world,
The wonder of the artistry:

28th March, 2020

Joys of Being Human

The joy of being human,
Living on different worlds,
When ours falls and dies;
Escaping to temporary illusions,
When the reality falls to crumbles;
Basking on the fire far away,
While the very same fire destroys everything;
Fighting over petty things,
Things that are forgotten an instant later;
Coveting over stupid things,
Only to throw them away in solitude;
Sweating over choices,
Choices that, in the end, are insignificant.

22nd March, 2020


Small transient moments of joy,
Blanketed by the envelopes of sorrow,
With contempt on every crevasse, under every stone.

Live life as thus,
Soldiering ahead,
The Grand Delusion;
A mist of illusion,
Of a life well-lived.

Nothing “special”, nothing “unique”
Everything “special”, Everything “unique”,
The thick flaps of mediocrity overcomes us all,
All of us mere embers in a large fire: meaningless.

Ah, banality,
The joy of an observer,
The curse of a thinker,
The comfort of the subject.
Ah, staleness,
The friend of the mediocre.

I go on, soldier on, survive on, alive, breathing,
On this lonely torturous little place.
Anticipation for rays of joy keep me going,
Through this thick forest of deceptive moments,
And cruel sorrows.

1st March, 2020


Taste, smell, sight,
The eternal gifts of the Gods,
Touch of the beauty,
Sound of the great,
All of them: our friends;
The lover of human beings.

The universe: open to us,
A cascade of colours,
A burst of the metaphysic,
Truisms of the cosmos,
The world in its purest sense.

But then, the thought awakens,
The absurdity, the façade reveals itself,
The world comes crashing down,
Reality as you know it: a lie.

All senses are but dull, colourless,
Just a beautiful glass,
Telling nothing but lies,
Sensing nothing but sweet fakes.

Just a beautiful glass,
That shatters and collapses,
At the first touch of scrutiny.

And thus is your life,
And thus is every life,
And hence, I will die,
All hope lost, all joys gone.

15th February, 2020

A Titleless Poem #001

I taste reality,
The sour phases of existence,
The dour lives of people,
Bitter and unhappy souls, carrying corpses.

Frustration kills me,
As I go in and out of tune,
The taste was better yesterday,
It was sweet the day before,
And yet, today it is damning.

In and out of lucidity,
I understood the universe yester-year,
I don’t have a clue today,
Today is the day without color,
This is the year of sadness.

I detest existence,
I love life.
I’ve survived through everything,
I’ve had yet to live.

A thousand lives spent,
Mulling over things small and big,
Things of significance,
And those of utter insignificance,
Shallow and superficial,
Deep and profound.

The polar expressions constrict me,
Squeeze me and inject me with venomous deeds,
Apologies everyone!
I am just confused,
As my interests vanish,
My curiosities fade away,
My dear words abandon me.

10th February, 2020