Look, look, look

Look at those fakes

In faux leather

Speaking false words

Venturing into the unknown

With all synthetic stars

That let out borrowed shine

To complement their artificial smile

As they try their best to beguile


Look, look, look

Look at those fakes

From faux crofts, they hail

To fool people and play

with their emotions

And the scariest part of their being

Is that they bear the same face

And looks exactly like us

There words and smiles fake.  



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.

In disbelief

She accepted his refusal
It squeezed out all the passion from her heart
Sucked in all the life from her soul,
Now she roams zombie-like, undead
And the cold words of people don’t instil shiver in her form
The heat of jealousy doesn’t burn her gut,
Phrases of praise have lost their meaning to her
And now, she is as good as The Thinker
Who sits sculpted, contemplating a single moment
Of ache, loss, and grief
Unaware, of people, admirers and haters
She sits accepting his refusal
Like a statue of stone, in disbelief.


Find me a shade darker than the shadows
of all men, and beasts
Let me wallow in it, let all my agitated senses rest
Lend me a silence that surpasses that of the dead, and decayed
Let no voice be heard, no song be played,
Gift me the isolation that reigns over the stretches of the Thar
And let me the repose of soldiers dead in the war,
Let a bleak ambience take over my shape, and my soul
Make me a shade darker and stranger than the ghosts
Let me be forgotten as those trifle twigs that make up a sparrow’s nest
Find me a cocoon in which like an oblivious worm, I can lay myself to rest.

Old age and youth

Lately, I have been missing you
Feeling the absence of your warmth
in this cold winter breeze,
I am apologetic
For when you were here
In the hot afternoons of the summer
I missed you out,
And I feel bad for another
Who had missed me so
long back in my youth.

Now I know your sorrow
I know that I have hurt you
But I hope you also know
That I love you like I loved the another
And still do,
And I miss both of you,
I miss my old age and my youth.


I don’t know what to tell you
If you were really listening,
What do I write if I have to, need to
Would you really read, and more than would you understand
That nothing is right in my life
Right now,
All is just wrong
Right now,
I feel lowest than I have ever felt
Right now,
I feel more than depressed
Right now,
I am lost more than I have even been
Right now,
I am so detached that I can hear my heart’s din
Right now,
I just want to away
Right now,
I don’t want to live anymore
Right now,
Wish I had the courage to die.


From the cusp of ever-growing memory,
Some words spoken and unheard
are uttered,
but lose their natural glare in the shade of lamps,
Words that are born yet buried, under the invisible thickness of dust,
Words that make a difference to the indifferent heart,
They are lost in the burnt smell of smoke,
Subdued by other humanly voices and artificial noises,
Words that are born ghosts,
disappear into the cosmos, and stay, Forever.