What bothers me most is time. What is it? All it does is pass. Why can't we hold on to it? Would we want to hold on to it? Isn't it wondrous, the constant alterations, sometimes upheavals it causes in our lives. Should it be celebrated? Yes. It is our only true companion during this journey in our world. Seasons change and we understand time has moved on. It has changed us. We can't feel it, we can't see it, we don't hear it, yet we sense it, mapped in our faces. Without it, our journey, wouldn't be a journey at all. Who would keep time? Who would know our beginning, our end, our meaning, our story?

Time you mean the most, you are the constant the witness to my life I exist within your books, from start to finish, and you will retell my story when the time is right. 
In constant worship, here is an attempt, in Hindi, to say what i feel i may never understand (and while i finally confess my immaturity, it's incomprehensibility befuddles me so much that unde…

Love Poems

past the proclaimed day of love.....
lasts the warmth of love......

and therefore a few poems written in the recent past, for all my loved ones and everyone still in love post valentine's fervour......

If love could be spelt out
I'll douse my words in cliches, my sentences with repetitions, the thoughts heard of before, meanings that create no imagery, a bland poetry. In an attempt to say  something worthy, I'll sound like a fumbling idiot, But I'll put myself through  all that ridicule because when i get down to  parting the world, there is the whole world inviting but blue and then there is you.

When 'She' Loves
She love enough to do things with eyes shut mind stalled.
She sees not the follies, nor the bargains, nor the machinations.
She ponders not later on the benefits gained from hindsight but continues the same way for she simply loves.
She is blamed, named, silly, stupid, unworthy But learn to forgive her for that is the only way  she has learnt to be.
Settling down
All you want to…
In defense of a break up
There is something you need to know, child. There are equal parts of everything in this world. Benevolence and malevolence, in nature and measured equally in the friend you think you know. Everyone will protect their own first. You may feel alone. Hanging on too long on hope and on the silver lining will make you miss all the rainbows behind the cloud next door. But chasing rainbows is Not what we live for. There is thunder, there is winter And then you encounter spring. There are forest fires and earthquakes, balanced by snow drenched scenes and white beaches, lasting friendships and conversations over drinks. Feed your soul what is thirsts for what it is truly after – life - give in to this adventure, and make only a few things matter, a hot cup of tea with a bedside book
And a good nights sleep.
Sigh, sometimes.... most times.... okay, nearly every time it happens. I feel like writing and I get distracted. It is always easier to blame the external forces but it my own fear, my inhibitions, my laziness and indiscipline that come in the way of my getting any writing done. This one is mostly on the external distractions that like I said are easier to blame.

What do you do?
What do you do?
When words are trying to make their way out, trying to say something at the wrong time, when you are in the shower scrubbing yourself clean of yesterday.
Or when your notepad and pen are in another room, or when the children have a crazy demand or an unresolved fight, or you are thanklessly engaged in a familiar familial need.
When the words compete against the pinging phone and a choice has to be made  
whether to savor this moment of visit or        to flingthe words in the bed of your soul in the hope of something worthy growing someday and answer the phone, rote and routine smiling thereafter, thinking t…

मेरे घर का पौधा मुझसे कहता.......

Hello! It was fun to discover that I could actually write the thoughts that I had in Hindi in Hindi!! So I jotted down what I was then thinking into these lines and well, it was fun. And somewhere along the way I lost my train of thought and out slipped the poem!! Disaster. Although it is not the first time I have attempted writing in Hindi, I might need to keep working on Hindi grammer.

Also, whenever I rethink on this topic, I will perhaps edit and re-publish this one again. So this one remains a thought-in-progress.

मेरे घर का पौधा मुझसे कहता.......

हर रोज़ गुज़र जाती

मुँह मोड़ के यूँही

न पानी, न ख़ुराक़ देती

मुरझाए हुए को मुरझाया छोड़, ऐसे जैसे

किसी और की हो ज़िम्मेदारी।

बातें होती है, फ़िज़ाओं की

दूर देश के हवाओं की

मोह लेने वाले नज़ारों की

हरी भरी नदियों की;

क्या फायदा,

अपने आँगन को सूना छोड़

पेैडो के छाओं पे मन ललचाने की।

I responded to a publication seeking poems on the the theme of 'Objects'. I sent a couple of poems. It has been a while since but nothing really came out of it. Sob! Sob! But of course, there is a really superior work happening these days and some poems are simply exemplary so I think I really need to work hard to stand any real chance. 
Here are those two poems below. Enjoy, critique, laugh over, mull over or just simply read! Until the next post...........
In the seen and the unseen Lies this thin layer alongside, a part of our environment and mingled in our stride. It’s on my paintbrushes, On the painted sheets Reminding me of things to do And pictures I would never complete. It’s on the papers to be filed On the shelf where books look pretty On the paper with incomplete thoughts, that I hailed as poetry. On some memories most cherished, On relationships, casualties of misunderstandings, Inside closets with once-worn clothes On dreams and clouding our fantasies. It is …

Fragile Homes

Wrote this sometime back. It was in here saved as a draft. Am posting it now to actually update the blog. Reading it again, the poem does sound dreary but come to think of it, it is more to do with changes that we somehow come to accept and how life just goes on......... 

How fragile are our homes 
They can crack from the inside 
They can break from the outside. 
We raise our loved ones here
We welcome our guests into it 
We hope our secrets stay within it
But always, there is a one fine day 
When the first cracks appear. 
They make us sad, they make us fight
We don’t recognize ourselves 
And then the breakdown arrives. 
The unrecognizable is the new way of life 
And we carry on like before 
inside our fragile homes.........