The greens, the blues and then the whites,
Are all there is through days and nights.

Once you look above and once below,
The white moves over the blue so slow.
You welcome the lush green lifesaver,
Where the mighty once slept forever.

Halfway through, the vista takes a turn,
Browns and blacks emerge as a slow burn.
You wonder and ponder over what unfolds,
Confusing you with the news and the olds.

Your mind tries to tell you a suspense story,
While your heart dreams of a fantasy glory.
Chaos follows order as if a grand illusion,
Flooding your thirsty kaleidoscopic vision.

Have you come to a conclusion as to why?
Or are you still in a dilemma just like the sky?

The Calling

As the rush of the grass strokes your hand,
And each dash of the wind adds a flavor new,
Do you feel like writing about that distant land,
Where the only king your body served were you?

As the whiff of the waves hits you in the face,
And the squeaks of the sand clutch on to your feet,
Do you feel like rewinding and playing those days,
When the only ring your heart knew was its own beat?

As the size of the peaks reveals the grand scheme,
And the mystery of the shadows speaks of a friend,
Do you feel like grooving to the ancient dream,
Which is the only string your mind follows at the end?

As you feel alive with all the senses firing the brain,
And the mind connected to the body at the core,
Do you feel like asking yourself again and again,
What is the only thing you’re here to search for?

Image by Pezibear


Putting the lipstick in her purse,
She stole a glance at the mirror,
Given the fact this wasn’t her first,
She couldn’t afford any error.

Tucking the tie in between collars,
He put on the blazer black,
“I’ve got the charm and the dollars”,
He drew the matte shoes from the rack.

It was a lovely evening of spring,
Lovelier were the outfits they wore,
As their table got ready for the fling,
The glances kept playing with the four.

Amidst all the laughter and the cheers,
Both were unaware of the maquillage,
Which wasn’t so shiny as their attires,
But was donned as the perfect camouflage.

Image by Gerd Altmann

Out There

Careless whisper of the drizzling drops,
Enormous greens bustling with crops,
Wild stares of the winged with a twist,
Magic in the ways and rules of the mist,

Out there, all belong to the creator.

Old leaves in the wind of old cheers,
The chaotic order of smiles and tears,
Shadows of feelings and their carriers,
Even the shapes of the broken barriers.

Out there, all belong to the dreamer.

Image by A Hopeless Anachronism


One night went off in endless words,
Keeping wide awake two young birds,
Unknown feelings hugged them tight,
Open eyes welcomed the guiding light,
Past storms seemed like breezing by,
As both deemed those worthy of a try,
New prologue written for a new story,
Newer versions brought newer glory,
So hope sailed for an island farther,
Silver queen leading the path to harbour,
The branches failed to check the reach,
Little twinkles made it large in each.

One day of wandering among the old,
Drove some forgotten tales to unfold,
Standing tall with that glazing grace,
History chanted about the ancient ace,
Unknown chills ran fast down the spine,
Witnessing all colours of the then divine,
One of them was a believer by heart,
While the other played an atheist part,
Yet both remained humbled by one sight-
Where ‘god-particle’ was enamelled bright.
Celebrating a mark had never been jollier,
Dug up memoirs kept filling their collier.

One evening had brought them closer,
One dawn dreamed of a bird younger,
One dusk was about lending wings,
One morning built the house of strings,
One noon tweeted all the good times,
Some short and some so long rhymes,
Looking back at the river of moments,
Which rewinds back to playful events,
Feathered heart wants to pause and play,
See each other all chirpy and gay,
Hoping the stream will reflect the past,
Out there in the coming days to last.

Alas, this mirror does not give back,
What has been taken, as though black.

Image by Ulrike Leone