Skip to main content


Showing posts from February, 2019

The Faceless Man of my country

The man you see strolling around
the war memorial there,
is a faceless man of my country.
He has taken a pledge to light a candle
every night in the memory of those
who never die in any war. The brave men ; who stick to tv during war
and watch our soldiers march like thunder,
carry a sting in their hearts and bitter taste in mouths. There : this man has grown grey hairs,
who had only five feet of height.
Every morning he applies his dream
as a butter to his bread and eats last night's stale chapati in lunch.
After his dreadful job gets over,
in the night, he walks like a corpse
to the war memorial and lights a candle
in the name of those who want to die for
our country. But I know he is courageous,
He keeps on living with hope.

I am writing a poem

No... it does not seem nice... I need to use more concrete imagery and add detailing...
"Are you talking to yourself?"
"Yes I think so."
"This new writing app has made you insane."
"I don't think so because playing PUBG hasn't  yet turned you into a schizophrenic."
Together our sense of humor turns into a bad joke. We stopped conversing and slept at our different times. The sun was full bright in the morning like a cheerful adolescent kid. My morning begins with basking in the sun, watering plants and making a rough plan of the day in my mind. I feel so complete in the morning. Rest of the day till midnight, I feel like a single mother. The last night's unfinished poem keeps me occupied for the whole day. This kind of incomplete is so fulfilling because at the end I know I can complete it. Rishabh comes late in the night. Not so tired, but he seeks 'me time' too. After dinner he goes for a long walk, when he returns, our…

On our Anniversary

Saying 'I love you' in a marriage
is the most underrated thing.
Helping out in chores, you mind,
is often ignored and mocked at.
Planning a surprise gift,
I think, is another disaster,
which we never even thought of. What I can afford for you is
A fresh poem - written only for you
Which, I know, you will receive
with a tilted smile and a thanking hug... Though 'unread' it remains,
Like ourselves.

Roses are red

When he was a young boy, he began to dislike the color red. It all happened due to an incident. Once some of his school boys molested him badly and he got minor injuries which later turned into the hatred for the red color itself. But he needed to grow up as a bold man as he was the son of late Major Pratap Singh. He became a soldier. He was destined to. His first posting was in Rajouri, Jammu. The place was now serene, unlike years ago when it was a hub of terrorists. One could see the snow white mountains in the background and valleys wearing different shades in each season. He noticed that the place evokes a vague feeling of emptiness and sometimes a guilt in soldiers, mostly who were bachelors in their early 20s. Today was the Valentine's day. Last year, on the same day he was posted here, so romantically he had thought Rajouri to be his Valentine. Though he never had a valentine in his life. He belonged to a remote village in UP where even today girls were engaged before they…


Among friends, I do
talk effortlessly, crack poor jokes
And somewhere, for a moment ;
Just when my hot chocolate has arrived,
I taste aloneness. Long I had awaited for
hot chocolate and one glass is so scanty,
The bitter - sweet chocolate flavor is my first love
Just as I like being alone
Anytime, Anywhere.

The color of his eyes

He looks into the mirror again. He scans every change minutely. He looks at the white strands of his hairs, loosened skin and his eyes. The color of his eyes was changing continuously over past years. It had changed from brown to a light blue color : that of the sky.
Looking himself at so close was surreal. Like he met somebody else in the mirror. Somebody who has faced depression to the extent of killing himself in his every thought. That somebody in the mirror cherished the thought of suicide as if it was the only decision one could take freely for one's life.
But he did not die. Death is not always an easy choice.
January has passed away. Giving way to a hope that new colors will arrive soon and paint our blank eyes. The color of his eyes are changing constantly. His biggest fear now is Death. Which would rather come slowly, making him realize the different shades of the color, life is.

The Corner Table

We have shifted to another flat. It is almost as big as the last one. The only difference is that the bedroom is comparatively smaller and living room is spacious. When we shifted everything was easily arranged by the guys who helped us with shifting except my corner table. A small white wooden table which used to be in my bedroom. It had only three things on it : a handmade pen stand, a vase for fresh flowers and a pile of four-five books. This space was my escape in the house.The day we shifted, my corner table was being tossed from one room to another. And I kept pleading : please let me have my table in my bedroom." Mom you don't have any spare corner in your new bedroom." said my elder son."Yes, you can have it in your kitchen." interrupted my husband."Why don't you have it in the balcony? We can also use it for study after school." suggested my elder son again."Mom can I have it in my room? I will make it a super human spacecraft machin…

The Broken Suitcase

My mother had bought a set of three suitcases for me but she gave only one  on my Bidai. I never asked her, why didn't you give me those two suitcases. Like, I never asked, why didn't she give me many more things when I left her house. She might have forgotten. Or perhaps she never supposed to give. And that's okay. All I want to tell you is, a girl subconsciously thinks about how she left her house and what she left behind. I think about what I brought with me : A broken suitcase. One among two suitcases which I brought with me was slightly broken. I didn't notice at first. But somehow I realized there is something terribly wrong with this ritual of 'Giving'. I tried to care less about what they gave. They cared less too. And therefore that suitcase was neither repaired nor exchanged and was always ignored. Oh did I tell you, I have a lovely daughter who will be getting married soon. I have already begun to  pack things for her. One box is already full wit…

Poems posted on YourQuote