The submission


oft I endure,

the wrath,

of the dreaded rain,

that burns my body,

needling its way inside,

filling with poison,



eloping with destruction,

an ever lasting affair,

with my dreams,

a mirror of marred images,


and jumbled  silhouettes,

with hazy outlines,

dreams of wild birds,

on an unnamed journey,

to anonymous destinations,


to keep wandering ,

in and around the melting sun,

free me,

detach me,

from your vicious clutches,

a plea ,

an appeal ,

let me go,

and bow down,

bend and wash off,

my evil attire,

of all the ego,

of all the pride ,

and consciousness ,

that keeps  my feet heavy,

must learn to submit,

give my self away completely,

not in parts ,

not keeping back any of me,

with me,

just reverence,

just submission.





The bereavement exits



The fragility of human nature is carries an unusual philosophy of life, at times it bears hardships never imagined or seen before and then at times the resilience breaks at the tiniest bit of a jolt…

The psychological burdens on the human mind have a wide array of effects, they can either rapidly shape,  strengthen and

put us into a stronger more stable frame of existence or just put us into a dead halt.

  • The Grey Vacuum

The inert apathetic mass of cold and  insensitive being  keeps on going for the sake of the world and worldly ties. The subliminal mind does not perceive the intensity of emotions.It corners and enters a grey vacuum, a space where no other exists … just shadows from the past, something that one can relate to and feel comfortable with. The numbness masks the personality and all the qualities that once marked the calibre and character.The perfunctory body looses contact with the passion , warmth and ardor. It is more like a kite wandering in the sky with no ambition.The interactions are involuntary and forced , there is no pleasure in associations and bonding. The sense of belonging is lost along with the loss suffered, the trauma takes the toll and consumes in a cannibalizing fashion.The trauma devours the best of us, taking in the basic units of happiness one at a time. The endeavours become casually faded , to surface, to have a meaning, to know; eventually exhausting up and retiring into a sweet lackadaisical slumber. The sleep of ignorance, the sleep of frittering away, being prey to the woe, the melancholic quagmire ,all designed  to make one squander wantonly.

The wish to stay invisible becomes greater and demands breaking the discipline of routine or just continuing it in  a platonic manner.The pyrrhonic abandonment becomes the mainstay of the doctrines to be followed.The reds of the thoughts get lost in the blues and eventually a grey .


  • The Red Zone
The crimson rush of strength comes with more divine attachment and abstraction of thoughts in a more reasonable way.The Magnum Opus of the fate then begins to unfold, and one tends to shape the course of the story with their own directions.The course of the stream flows positively and helps us distinguish between a “lemon problem” of second hand life or first rated locker full of experiences, experiences that make us who we are. Some of us learn to  act on the philosophy of utilitarianism so perfectly that the biggest of the sorrows are dealt with a monster calm.Knowing that the ail has no instant cure brings the patience required because evidently the process is slow. The belief that there is a cause and that this cycle must have a phase where things begin to get clearer.
The more it boils up into furious lava of anger and emotions , the better. The only thing that must be washed away is the “guilt”. Guilt is not for those who believe that the supreme power is in charge and that bad things  happen to us because we sinned or we are bad people. Solace lies in being active and actively believing that there has to be an end, the mortal theory.Nothing stays, jobs, careers, friends, relationships, kids,parents etc they have to go , but what doesn’t perish is “faith”. The faith that the healing will come and it will come in time.
The objective is to  live,learn and cope with such tragedies .Sorrows always bring wisdom, the greatest of the teachers one will ever find would come from life itself. The legacy passed on from generation to generation is but the essence of experiences.

Ballads of the wise.


Do not count on me,

I am but a beautiful lie,


and mixed into your blood,

by your ancestors,

all those folklore,

all those tales of gallantry,

they are but a figment of imagination,

don’t count on your fragile beliefs,

they can break into a million shards,

in a flicker of seconds,

the  maddest of moments,

when your heart falls in snares,

of  foolish but alluring desires,

do not succumb,

be steadfast,

the temptations may perturb you,

force you,

to shift your sails,

to march your ship,

right into the storm,

and thrust it against the ghastly winds,

to waiver you,

to arouse in you,

the need to be bigger,

larger than your shadows,

it might never happen,

as centuries lapse,

all you are,

but a running mechanism,


the folly does not lie in wanting,

it lies in wanting to be more,

there is no “more”,

do not yield to the monsters of history,

they are the very fabric,

that meddle with your logic,

snapping the rope that keeps you tied to reality,

discard the gamble,

it is not worth it,

be like a wanderer,

a shepherd,

who rears and controls his sheep,

protecting them from harm,

but do not think that these sheep are yours,

for the taking,

do not feed the belly of fire,

just dance as the warmth it emanates,

be like a soft poem,

the unfurls,

reveals itself,

with formidable power,

and yet falls like the sweetest of the nectars,

on the ears,

of the people ,

that want to hear,

that want to absorb,

the wisdom,

that floats in the wind,

for the time to come.





you know I love you,

when the trees,

shed their leaves in spring,

when the tender branches,

let the snow reside on their body,

or may be when I spend my days,

lying flat on ice cubes,

or churning on burning coals,

that feel like the petals,

of the sweetest rose,

or the endless dark nights,

that seem decorated,

with  brightest of the fireworks,

or the thirst,

that builds each day,

with every breath and every sigh,

at the lips of the river,

of all those moments,

where seasons changed at a glance,

staying conscious,

felt like harm’s way,

seasons of prayers,

seasons of harmony,

seasons of you and me..

All that was and all that is…



Accusing me of indifference!

how could you blame me?

do you not know me anymore?

not my heart?

not at all?

my heart that carried your secrets,

like the vastness of sea,

carrying pearls hidden in shells,

and in the deep of its blue water,

lies the warmth,

wave by wave,

washed at the shore,

taking back a little,

giving a little,

this sharing and exchanging,

keeps on going,

but your memory is too short,

too short to notice,

too short to acknowledge,

the exotic ways…

i kept you thriving,

and excited,

and momentous,

so you could build like a wave,

immense and mighty,


and colossal,

and then slowly,

i taught you to be gentle,

to  learn to crash,

to be humble,

to bow down,

to surrender,

to exhale,

to give,

to impart goodwill,

why have you forgotten?

all the lessons,

of submission,

of humility,

of commitment,

where is your unpretentious self?

which knew no conceit,

no arrogance,

lets stride you across the lanes,

of bits and pieces,

of hazy recollections,

reviving the glory,

hidden in those moments,

moments of self recognition,

meet yourself,

as in- meet me,

when one from the other,

was hardly distinguishable,

when the seasons,

of hope and joy,

would welcome you,

let you reside,

in every pore,


capturing the beats,

of the very heart,

that you now find no use of,

the very heart,

that knows no boundaries,

it is limitless,

and insane,

and jealously possessive,

it knows no ways of masking,

what i elegantly flaunt,

as a lover’s wish,

a prayer at the doorsteps of denial,

hope that is whispered,

with every sigh,

that you may live,

with ambition,

that the emptiness,

which crawls up and consumes,

making you inconspicuous,

that you may have,

of what is concealed and pure,

and that is visible,

a desire,

that faith may find you,

rest assured,

I am forgoing all that was,

and all that is..






















why could you not storm,

like thunder and fury,

the strength of which lies,

in those tiny droplets,

that fall,

as the rain of redemption,

soaking you ,

waking you from nescience,

preventing the vacuousness,

filling in life,

with avidity,

and fervour,

why must you lie dormant,

letting the lava of ardour,

and vitality go cold,

I must shake every grain of your being,

I must remove all inhibitions,

make your soul naked,

so that it could fly,

on the wings of absolution,

erase the blankness and emptiness,

flow like the brooks of enlightenment,

illuminating your paths,











suraj dhalne tak


kis shokhi-e- rang mein doobi hai jawani,

sab sach lagta hai ,

sab haq lagta hai,

her kali se ummeed,

her phool pe mannat hoti hai,

her subh suhani,

her khatra mol leney ko jee karta hai,

aur phir peeri dabbey paoon se,

zindagi daboch leti hai,

her kona thamey,

chaadar charo orh lipat jati hai,

raaz aur kahaniyan apni aghosh mein liyey,

chehrey ki silvatein,

aur hathon ki larzish,

aur gham e zamana,

tag o doh zindagi ki dor ki,

aur milney ki chaahat,

yeh bhee aur woh bhee,

sab be maani,

sab nakli tasaliyan,

kyunki  jab siyah badal,

umeed key khokley jism pe,

bina barish kiye laut jaein,

aur dhundley pul pe kadam dagmagaein,

tu ankhein moondein,

bina saharey chalna seekho,

khud pe bharosa,

apney wujood ko tatolo,

aur kismet ki rahon mein,

ek bazi tumhari hai,


suraj dhalney tak,

fasana-e-hayaat jo samaj sako,

tu samajh lo…










Come to me,


when the wants grow bigger,

seize the functionality of your being,

you would return and feed on my ‘givings’,

givings I so generously distribute,

depleting my reservoirs,

the ones I’ve locked away,

in a room full of bounties,

bounties that are for your taking,

with which I so merrily part,



all yours….

for when I cease to exist,

my soul becomes you,

erasing all the distinctions.

I may not be an actual story,

but my soul wanders,

as your shadow,

in past,


and future.


Who could find pleasure in taking,

when giving away becomes a habit.

I see in you…


what do I see in you …


of the world your shoulders carry,

of  the people who worry you or those you are worried about..

how can you let them all reside in a sacred place, that is meant to nurse your creator?

how can you let them take it away from you?

cleanse the ground of your thoughts,

let your feet be the only footsteps that leave a trail,

make a choice,

your silence is your only friend when all the words in the world might fail you,

cling onto it…

meet yourself at the doorsteps of solitude,

for what you can gain when you part with the world is what stays with the soil you’re made of ..




Ailing ?

what is it that you are suffering from?

misery is always a blessing,

just disguised in a bleaker way,

the plan is greater,

more complex,

with each intensifying blow that winds your boat into a storm,

there is an eternal calm waiting,

your tears wash away all the past,

so when you are tearing apart the nature puts back all of you into an attire that would protect your soul…

your body may get tarnished and bruised and show all signs of ailing but your soul is the healthiest when you ail…