Sunday, 29 September 2013


The Mag 188
Photo by Mark Haley
Duty bounds all men with a rope
That pierce the flesh and plants
The seeds of labor. At the end
Of it all what we see is a light
That spots the faint dis-beliefs
We had in ourselves. The glory
Of life is when the light fails
To capture even the smallest
Prowess of dusty grooves in
Our limitless soul. A path to
Salvation is a walk we make
All by ourselves, without the
Pride that carried us around,
Without the happiness which
We hunted down, without the
Momentary discomforts that
We regret all along. A walk to
Meet the savior of all human
Souls, and the conqueror of all
Worlds which exist within us.

Friday, 27 September 2013


Happiness, An Abstract
Credits :

What is happiness but a touch from
A word that calms your soul, when
You want to weep sorely on words
That forever remain unsaid.

What is happiness but the tricks of
A clown that jumps you off
With laughter and fills his starved
Dreams with a hope of life.

What is happiness but the magic
That fills the air from a masterful
Hand, and creates strokes of mystical
Finesse which made breaths and smiles.

What is happiness but the thoughts
Of a philosopher which resounds that
'Happiness is a shadow that creates
A blackout in our miserly memories'

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

Breath of Life


I was listening to 'Coming back to Life' by Pink Floyd (video above) just now when this poem came into my mind :

Here, where the bleeding rose overruns
The boundaries of a garden nurtured in
My limitless infinities of imagination,
I am thrown into a stupor by the breath
Of life that emanate from his firm voice.

The dark rains, that followed me since
The day I took my path away from the
Nomadic followers, slowly eased into
Oblivious chants of support that the
Singer got from the deep stretches of
My solitary existence.

Standing on a land that smells of
Blood and unaccounted 'sarin',
I heard cries of battles I never fought,
I saw lost lives that I never known,
They danced frantically along with me,
Death may have liberated them, but
Music have granted them salvation!

I kept walking, I kept running,
I made pace onto the gravity that pulled
Me towards it, like a child hopping
Behind a lost balloon, I found my feet
Make frivolous jumps to catch the tunes
That were being thrown around for me.

In that faint seconds lost in towering eternities,
I knew I am not alone until my ears go deaf,
And I am not sad till my hearts shuts the doors
 To the divine tunes that floats around.

 A modern recreation of the artwork made by George Hardie for the album
'The Dark Side of the Moon' by Pink Floyd released in March 1973

Saturday, 14 September 2013

Friendships are Personal

Picture taken during our college trip to Goa (India) last week

When I look back at the 20 years of experience I had on living in this lone planet which is found to harbor life, I find a lot of images passing by like a moving picture. Some faces stay on longer on my memory screen, I prefer to watch them forever.!
This poem is dedicated to everyone you see in the picture, and to anyone whom I find staying a second longer in my memory. Without you life seems a lot less colorful.

A melancholy poem of loss got stuck
Between my pen and paper last night,
In a vain struggle to untie the knots
That choked my words, I injected
A dope of fresh prompts, quite
Unaware of the loneliness that slept
Undisturbed in my rusted mind.

Without knowing the reason why,
I wrote, 'How shall you describe friendship?'.

Just as a faithful dog whines when
A master dies, my pen made a noise
Which killed seven different powers
That blocked me from my words,
I wrote about seven seas and infinite stars,
I envied the path of a frenzied quark.

Though I never added much to the question,
'How shall you describe friendship?'.

Feats of enchanting fleets from fights,
And tales of untamed heights of joy
Passed by my mirrored mind, where
I saw a part of me surrounded by
Hordes of faces I loved seeing beside,
The haste of passing images never took away,
The smile that sprouted from my heart.

With the same benevolent joy, I faced
The question, 'How shall you describe friendship?'.
I knew then, that some things are better
Described when you experience them.

Thursday, 12 September 2013

When you look out through the window, what do you see?

Credits :

You shall surely see the grace of a bird in fight,
But I see a mother's desperation to fly home to her hungry young-ones.

You may then praise the art of the setting Sun,
When I fear the fading shadows that unite stealthily with the night.

You laugh at a running saint being chased by a 'mad' dog,
I cry for the dog, cause he shall face the wrath of a mindless 'God'.

You shiver at the howl of a wolf, magnified by the silence around,
I smile with the symphony which gives me an illusion of company.

You see the moon rise steadily in the East,
I feel its webs of attractive aura making me walk into it.

Now, do you see a lonely poet juggling with words and missing many?
Because he sees you like a classic painting, while I continue the scrawl.

Monday, 9 September 2013


Before the days of customary depression,
Joys of nature blossomed secretly like
A garden which was gifted with hard-work.

Credits be to the cycle of existence, all
The passions of youth merges finely into
The senseless devotion of adulthood!

We search for keys to happiness more
On the outside than the inside, as we step
Into an illusion of inflicted feelings.

Boarding a vehicle that guides you
And leaves no option for choice
Makes me think who is making the travel?

Is the path left to us? Or are we followers?
Why do we prefer a visit to the zoo,
More than a survival at the deepest forests?

Answers that float like an unguided missile
May breach any of our insane limits.

Between the momentary thoughts that pour,
A glance at the unleashed power of nature,
Left me in a state of chronic awe.

A poetic rendering of thoughts that sprang on into my mind during my visit to Jog Falls, Karnataka yesterday. Standing underneath the falls and looking straight up, you see yourself and your life as a miniscule part of something that is too extraordinary to be explained.

Jog Falls, Karnataka

Sunday, 1 September 2013

Gifts of Servitude

Artwork by Jeanie Tomanek
Courtesy : The Mag

Angelic psalms of care often deprives
The pleasure of waiting for your God,
A noble crime is to forget the divine,
And rest assure in a miraculous drive.

It is sane to wait outside, when ghosts
Of hungry men waits to rape even after
Their lust has broken down into fine dust,
There you cradle your fear and drink
The burning blood that drains through.

Yet with a misplaced anklet that adorned
Her one leg, she swung upon branches,
(An image of love flew for the ghosts to see)
She left herself for the heavens to free.

Measured glances of hope dripped her
Fragile face, she was a daughter, a lover
A mother, a saint and a believer,
She planted herself onto the tree
And sat forever with her bare basket,
For the ghosts and the Gods to see.

Wings of faith were never too large
To lift her off, crowns of thorns
Were never too sharp to keep her down,
A bird which ceased the desire to fly
Now gave her adept company.

No mirrors were born out of the tree,
Which makes me wonder,
Is the bird I see a part of her?
Or are they both a part of something else?