Many valiant rise,

but just to fail

in the land of devil

where evil prevails.

pray stop your legs

as you know nothing

of the dangers,

that are laid upon the way.

I fear death’s approach,

shall you not follow

the words, i utter.

Though I forgive you

for you are naive

but that doesn’t sense,

you won’t end in grave.

It’s not the devil –

of who you should fear

But the almighty.

Pray stop your legs.

The charming path which lays ahead

shall guide you nowhere,

but, to land of the dead.

Though its you,

who accepted the offer,

you not alone,

I too shall suffer.

For, I am the preacher,

you- the listener.

Whatever you are 

I am the creator.

But if you think different

then do what you may,

And I’ll be the one-

who’ll see you at bay.

Please remember as you go,

to join the comrade,

It’s not you – the listener,

But the preacher –



A home of old age.

My space

I looked around for a little bit of home and there was nothing that would look even similar to it. There were some faces that did not smile and some that just stared clueless about where life had got them. You know sometimes it’s not about the life you lived, but about the place where life lead you to. The beautiful saree doesn’t really matter when you don’t have your spouse staring at you with a smile. The money you earned doesn’t fill the void in your heart when you no longer have your parents to pat your back for your little victories. And, even the most expensive and delicious delicacies will fail to satiate your hunger when you don’t have your mother, serving you all the love she has in her heart. I walked and walked to see my wife weaving a sweater in the swing that was placed…

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You should have been honest
And not played this game

You could have asked upfront
I would have said what I had to say,

You lost your pride
And pushed me astray

Now the winds might
But I cannot stay.

I gave you a part of my life
You tried to own it

You could have waited a while
For our fingers to fit

You lost your head
And I lost my faith

Now the times might
But I cannot stay.


Before You Die Alone

Put on a face
Choose the one you like
World offers many choices
And you still have a life
See the truths, live the lies
Go fly in the ocean and fish butterflies,
Get a shade for yourself and stare at the sun until it begins to burn within your eyes,
Live now with others or yourself
Run behind the gods,
Live the way you want
Let desires corrupt your spirit
Tomorrow, anyhow, you are going to die alone.
Grab all that you can or want
World offers a lot
Let options betray you,
And if you don’t like something
Let it go,
Wake up to dreams, and behold the nightmares
Go win something or find loss
Let your demons chase you
They will show you who you are
And if you don’t like what you have become,
Go change yourself,
Put on a new face
Go be someone else, or be with someone else
Live, anyhow, you are going to die alone.


She doesn’t like poetry

She likes her girlfriends and adores her boyfriends too
She likes the hazzy nightouts in shady corners of her friends’ house
She likes to get drunk in the bars
She loves her partner too
But if could, what would I do?
She doesn’t like poetry.

She likes to talk,
Oh you should see her talk,
When she does, she does a lot
She likes to buy new clothes, makeup, and some jewellery,
She loves pictures and songs and TV shows
But what would I tell her, if I could
She doesn’t like poetry.


Monk and the pilgrim

A monk sat on a mountain
When a pilgrim arrived
‘Did you find god?’ asked the pilgrim
‘No’ nodded the monk,
“Why?’ questioned the pilgrim
‘I am not looking for him.’ answered the monk,
‘What are doing here then?’ enquired the pilgrim
‘Sitting’ the monk smiled.


Father and the Boy or (Ah ah aah yeah!)

Father, father no, don’t do this to me

Come, come my child, I am your father

Come give it to me,

No, no, father, I am only seven you see

Come, come here, lord’s home is where you should be,

And I am here too!

Come let me thrust some blessing into you,

Ah ah aah yeah! Jerk a little more my boy,

I’m your father after all, don’t be so coy

Aah aah, ah yeah! The father came with a burst of joy,

Don’t tell anyone of the secret blessing

I have bestowed on you, you boy!

And come again when I call

Father asked the child,

The blessed boy bled from the strike of spear

But did come again to father in fear,

And did so until he was fifteen,

For the father had stopped blessing him anymore,

He loved kids below sixteen.