Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories

First Day | A Poem About Meeting The Others

It was beautiful but not immediately. I was afraid  but not for long. I was longing for something I did get eventually.

It is funny town. People here want to learn Hindi so they can survive in the rest of the India. We in the rest of the India are taught English so we can survive in school that is in the next neighborhood.

They go to big cities to breathe a new air. Air of opportunities to prove oneself, to showcase their myriad talents that have till now been packed up in tiny boxes of their people’s minds.

We come to their small cities to breathe a fresh air where nobody is a stranger and everybody is a friend. Where we meet ourselves in the tiny boxes that are their houses.

Our distracted big city minds find solace in their cozy walls that come down on us wrapping us into their arms, showering us with so much attention, we almost cannot bear it.

Their trapped small city minds want to jump into the vast oceans of the big city. They find peace in being truly seen for all the talents they have been nurturing discreetly, usually in plain sight.

One such lover of small towns like me, bent down to exchange a cigarette from his village with a cigarette from the small towner. Exchanging whiffs of the worlds they belong(ed) to.

That is what binds us all, the wish to leave our homes, the will to hunt for whiffs of other worlds.


Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories

man is such an ambitious heart!

man is such an ambitious heart

a wild dreamer and then 

a wilder hustler

we could be getting it in inheritance

across millions of years creative labour

handed down across all fields

sex is not the right word for 

the most primal human nature

creation is, the will to pass on

to carry forward, to take the baton ahead

continue the journey whose 

beginning we never saw

nor end would we see

all we have is a baton and

the thrill of running ahead with it

to next level to next generation to next mountain


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Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories

to the brave wanderer

out in the open waters where you tasted freedom cast ephemeral shadows under the sun painted your own paintings with the hue

you also lost some of your own colour in the nights of the journey and the bumps of rough waves 

when it was time to return to the shore you looked back in despair for having achieved nothing but loss on this journey 

loss of dreams because it never turns out as you plan 

loss of love because you know you will leave the waters behind

loss of freedom because rest is also necessary 

and finally loss of those paintings you made with your shadows beneath the sun 

after all they were paintings on water what were you expecting | go on row ahead row back to solid grounds and saltless waters 

lie down after a hearty meal to look up at the stars 

fall asleep to counting them and dream dream dream again of these waters 

dream again of my vast uncertain chaos 

dream again of chartering another course down my dark waters 

dream again of a new adventure a new treasure a new love 

dream again of me


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Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories

you are the fire

you are the fire you are the light you are what brings colour to my black and white life 

in your arms begin even the toughest days on your breasts they come to a safe end

you are the centre of my circle of life yet without beginning or an end of your own right

the wheels of colour the circles of eons all center around you

you are the point the source the bindu where it all begins

unselfish without any self of your own you exist for others for the creation of others

it all begins in you it all belongs to you and yet you belong to none at all

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Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories

A Treacherous Mountain Being

You are a magnificent blue green

In the sun’s shade

You breathe the mountain winds

On your rippled surface

And feed on the rains

Those zephyrs bring

A blessed gem beneath

The mountain knuckles

A carved and shining stone

Held captive in minerals and its own value

It is only when the sun retires

That you return to your wild self

Disappearing into the dark skies

Ceasing to be a decoration

Becoming an untamed force

Unseen and indecipherable

Dissolved into oblivion


You quietly teach by example

To men, the art of living

Paying honage to light and life by day

Retiring to darkness and death by night

To live the best of both worlds

Above, as under

To remain inbued in contradictions

And yet be a wholesome being


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Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories

Dusk – An ode to a lost love

You know the day has ended

But the world has not

You know the sun isnt really

Disappearing but only we 

Are facing away for a night

You know it is for the best

So your tired body can rest

You know a new day 

Is only a few hours away

You know despite the pain of farewell

The beauty is unmissable

You know this beauty of death

At the end of what was once beautiful

Like a broken doll or soon ending summer vacation 

Last day of college or a broken relation

They all end with a high flame

Giving off their grace, one last time

You know this is that one last time

And you still ache, you still well your eyes

You still feel the dark hopelessness

Wrap around your soul once more

And you lay there torn

In battle as old as time

Between new and old 

Between day and night

As unprepared as on

The first dusk of your life


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Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections, Travel Stories

A Tibetan Wolf

​She left pawed mud behind

As her personal legacy

Taking errands in the woods

As the wild one

She now runs back n forth on stone

But fails to leave any mark

Swinging like pendulum within her tin box

Like the tamed one


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