We Are, Both!

We Are, Both!

do not shake your head

in kindled vehemence
we are not angels,
neither God!

As human beings with consciousness,
latent at birth and later
buried miles under
the mounds
of stories,
we are
and evil,
and ignorant.
Our thoughts can be
both vicious and virtuous.
The contrast lies in our acceptance!

If knowledge does not admit her ignorance,
if virtues do not confess her evil thoughts,
and if light never meets the darkness
on the other side, the ignorance
overflows and the evil inside
in silence grows,
brought up by
our reluctance
to wake up and
open our eyes.
And evil, overgrown, lurks
in our subconscious minds,
as we live our conscious life
without a shred of conscience.
With only our virtues thoroughly
and consciously emphasized, the evil
permeates our thoughts and feelings about
all others, everyone, except the face we see
introspecting, or in an ordinary mirror on the wall!

The Color of Your Soul

The Color of Your Soul

Of all the earthly color, my favorite one is blue!
And in thy glory, even azure oceans fade in hue!
In green you resemble the Nature as if you two are one
and you are everywhere down to humble mosses and ferns!


But woe! Enough said already? Perhaps. How could I tell?
Silence chills and soothes and I shiver all the same,
trembling in deep shock and awe from inside, but in the end
seems I love you even more
than I have loved you ever before,
because of nothing but the color of your soul!


In red you remind me of Menaka,
the Nymph famous for her beauty, and in pure white,
of Parvati, the daughter of the Mountain King!
So, sometime I remain calm, contemplating
like Vishvamitra, the great-saint
and some time I become Shiva-like, tumultuous –
destroying and preserving both, like a raging flood,
or churn the seas to drink the poison, floating in their blood,
depending on the color of your soul,
and in the end I love you even more
than I could have loved you ever before,
because of nothing but the color of your soul!

Vishwamitra & Menaka :

Menaka was one of the most beautiful celestial nymphs. When king Vishwamitra started his first meditation, Menaka was sent by the gods to lure him out of it. She was successful, by the grace of her divine beauty. They fell in true love with each other which resulted in the birth of a daughter. Their grandchild was called Bharata. The name of India in Sanskrit and other languages descending from Sanskrit is Bharata. However, when Vishwamitra came to know about Menaka’s initial intent (of luring him out of his meditation), he cursed her to be separated from him forever.

Parvati :

She is one of the three daughters (Ganga or the river Ganges was another) of Himavan, the mountain king. Along with Lakshmi and Saraswati, Parvati forms the trinity of goddesses or Tridevi. She is the wife of Shiva. It is said that Parvati embodies the amalgamation of divine knowledge and mother earth.

Shiva :

Along with Brahma and Vishnu, Shiva forms the trinity of gods, Trimurti. He is the god of destruction. Shiva is famous for saving the seas of the world from poison administered by the anti-gods, during their epic battle with the gods. With Parvati, he forms the androgynous god, Ardhanarishwara.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

… And Darkness, my old friend, himself
opened the door to his house on my second knock.
He greeted me with a wry smile on his lips
and a glass of whiskey, in his hand, on the rocks.


With my eyes, bloodshot and swollen,
with dried out trails of tear on both my cheeks,
I tried hard to forge a smile as best as I could,
but my friend put his other hand on my shoulder,
ushering me inside, he closed the door behind
and said, “Do not fake a smile when you cannot laugh!”


The ensuing silence hovered in the air,
as we walked through the hallway to his living room.
There we sat across a wooden table, dark and round,
he gave me a knowing look and I heaved a sigh!


A soothing smile slowly spread on his face,
like moonlight spreads over a passing cloud,
his voice grew as deep and calm as the Pacific
as he said, “Why have you sought me out, my dear friend?
I see you are troubled by some thoughts,
tell me, what can I do to put your mind at ease!”


“It is a vision” I said with another sigh,
more audible this time and he squinted his eyes a little,
as if his world gets darker when a sigh is heaved.
Nevertheless I carried on, “that keeps recurring
every time I close my eyes to sleep.
In that vision I see, topless towers
burning hot and fiery red, falling down,
dragging me down with them into the pit below.
I keep falling until jolted out of my slumber,
bare moments before I’m engulfed in that flame too.”


“So you wake up with your throat parched and dry,
wishing somehow you had never closed your eyes.”
Said my friend, as if he was present there,
when I was trembling in my bed, in shock and fear
like the wreckage left by a vicious storm
after the haunting vision had raged through my brain.


“Yes, you are right,” I said, “but tell me please,
if you know of a remedy for my disease…”
“Of course,” He cut me short and said, “I do!
You need time; it is only time that can heal you.
I do not how much time you have remaining in your hand
but this I know, if you have enough you’d be healed, my friend!”


O Night, Tender Night

O Night, Tender Night

O Night, tender night, I miss the darkness
of your silent hours, when the society
is dead asleep! Introspection that shreds
myself to pieces in search of the light
demands prolonged hours of darkness in solitude!


Now I too must surrender to the whims
and wishes of my frail limbs, the pinnacle
of evolution, one step in front of the chimps!


Pity for my empty dreams I have through the night
like the rest, of belonging to a higher step
the next day; higher not ahead on a stairway
built on the whispering wind and vague promises
of a better day, at the cost of one’s neighbors’ demise!


As the dawn spreads across the horizon,
a darkness grows inside despite the rising sun.
Soon the forged manacle of time with its tick-tocking,
incessant, pushes me over the edge of sanity.


And though I know, absolute freedom too is disastrous,
amid so many shining abattoirs
on every walk of life, I am neither cruel
nor fat enough to take either roles, so I pray –
O Night, tender night, I miss growing mad the other way!



She Rose

She Rose

That soothing touch of the night cannot revive me.
Its silence, riding on the pleasant wind
or its dark shroud, hiding my sorrows for the rain
can no more imbue me with the light of creation.
What else is more unique to humankind alone?
How else can I justify my blessed breaths?


This hazy roller coaster ride, the one
we so lovingly plan ahead in time,
without knowing which way is the next turn –
up or down, how sharp to the left or right,
emboldens us to call those rare few without plans
as outcasts for not yielding to the perceived norms.


And lo, still I write, though since dawn I was
bleeding to death on the red plains of Mars,
with the dusk She rose like the rising sun,
halfway to Venus my spirit returned!
Is it not the way true love should feel like,
the more one lives, the less the other dies?