Saturday, 20 April 2013


The following poem is the ending salutation of a story that i wrote called "The Prosody".The story describes a nature lover whose life is tormented by a natural disaster.He loses his house and his family.When at the fag end of his life he lies on his death-bed this poem is his last offering to the love of his life,Nature.

         Why did I fall in love with her
         Why did I devote my life to her
        She Shattered my world poles apart
      I lay in my Grave with a broken heart
    My life has neither a beginning nor an end
          I can neither fight nor defend
            Yet I find this emptiness
             to be so very delightful
            She happens to be a monster
             But still she is so beautiful

Friday, 5 April 2013

          Poetry is quite parallel to life.Having no reasons,requiring infinite patience to make it look beautiful,spreading boundlessly,demanding compulsion from the creator & ending so ruthlessly so as to leave no trace of tenderness or sympathy for the beholder much alike a mock casual blink of the eye.

Choosing poetry over all other disciplines is a cowardly act from my side for I fear that Science would leave me short and longing for answers when the guilt of resisting an ensnared lifelong atrocity would doom my mind.Poetry on the contrary lures me into itself  'cause it offers me the luxury of creating self-satisfying answers no matter how impractical they seem.  
Talking of Impracticality I encounter it as another Human testimony.When people tag events,expressions & fellow people as practical or impractical I beg not to be included in such rituals.I suggest an easier definition,that of a renowned philosopher "If we were all to die then the most practical thing on earth would be to die the very moment we were born or not to be born at all"(I might seem like a depressed soul talking of death at such a young age but i cannot help bringing in the word into my writing for the very word impulsifies me to imagine the whole concept of survival as irrelevant & even funny).Inadequate expressions like these create a doubtful,vague & nebulous sketch of nothingness. 
I assume by now you would have adjudged the above written piece as directionless and confused but I didn't intend to create something wondrous.My intention was to define what poetry is to me and how it shapes up my life. I am a Poet. Disciplined in the fierce and unforgiving art of language and I ought to respect that.

Here's Something I wrote years ago.It is ridiculously childish but it is not something I am ashamed of.It still possesses my Poet's Vanity.Feel free to comment and please put forward your views in-hesitantly no matter whatever it is you wish to say.

from where did we ingress 
and what are we supposed to do
why do I love eating ice-cream
and why on earth is there a zoo in a zoo

what are the prickly borders meant to deliver
why does happiness cost hard and pain lasts forever
I see no joy in the human value to serve
& I am yet to find in my Physics textbook
The Force Called LOVE

It is a bit Daunting
to Imagine a Fitting End
I have heard them say How one
lies on 2 Yards past all pain
& takes nothing with him
not his house,neither his ego,nor his Porsche 911

I feel scared or I feel excited
I don't understand what I feel
This is when I realize the limits of language,
the limits of fortitude and skill
This is when I realize,I am Human
and so am limited to Live and let live

It is a vague atrocity
that we can question butn't challenge
we do move like puppets
in the hands of a drunk electrician

However fast I run
The horizon runs farther away
I sweat and Puke and mourn
Perhaps I should just sleep 
and sleep and sleep
all lifelong.

              But as I am thinking all this 
            I see some children out there 
  Dancing and playing in the rain and the rainbow's 
                bright and vivid lights,
  As for now I only have extraneous answers
          to these meaningless questions
       but dancing in the rain in this magical
                     beautiful world,
                   It all seems some
                MAD POET'S DELIGHT