Blue black, hurtful eye

Blue black, flowing falls

Blue black, storm’s awake

Blue black, star lit night

Blue black, beat to death

Blue black, I stand naked

Blue black, the Lord of all

Yet blue black, her downfall.


(For those who didn’t follow the second last line, it refers to Shiva who is known to have a blue throat from swallowing poison to save the world in many mythological tales.)


Where the sun ruled

We started building our castle

With sand of wit, hope and love

With tonnes of space for our kids to play

With a big bed for us to lay

Where gardens full of ripe things abundant

Where nannies cleaned, 10 or so attendants.

We got lost intricating intricacies

We worked up till used quantum technologies

We built it so big and heavy

When the wave came strong, it left us soggy

The unborn babies never saw light

All left was a pathetic sight.


Accentuate my body

With those hideous claws

Can you not see how

Beauty deceits them all.

The fur shall protect

From the windy ways

There’s a long way to go

A huge tide against.

Rip my voice a bit

Raspy sound shall strive

The misophonic world

Shall leave me far behind.


Stone, stoned, stonely

Hard for existence sake

Wait, waited, died

And yet again awake.

Conceal, concealed, choked

Dying a terrifying death

Everyday, days, months

Nope, no difference made.


Made in hell

Tormented in heaven,

Will she ever be able

To find her haven?

Dragons lifted her up

Doves pecked her down,

On stopping by Thor

Could she ditch her Clown?

Where cactus made

Her giggle and blush,

What good can do

The truth and trust?

Paper towns

Dare to dream in a paper town?

Here you reside up-side-down,

Only washi tapes to hold you up

When love is down to a prenup.

What… not you?..

Scare me out

Flush me in

But don’t forget

It’s all paper-tin.

Can you see the

Glorious slave

Thinks he earns

Pretty… pretty naive.

Yes, yes you too

Caged in gold,

The Sun doesn’t cry

Yet surrounds blue.

My dreams of dreams…

Poetry… it’s as beautiful as it can be and as soothing as a massage session but that is not what I am writing about today.

A few days back my dad was reciting a few shlokas from the Bhagwat Gita explaining why the Lord thinks caste system is important and there it struck! A poem and a holy book have something in common… their meaning to you is a reflection of your brain! What might be a comedy for you may find me crying… yes, the same poem!

We apparently are Brahmins (the highest caste comprising of scholars). Never once in the words of wisdom was it written that a Brahmin is one born in a Brahmin family! Any learned person can be a Brahmin be may he a son of a so – called lower caste father. Yet poor Gita was misinterpreted later to cater the needs of a few people…

This was our great old India where hard work was appreciated, women were free and independent, lovers were respected, sex wasn’t a taboo and gay love was not only accepted but considered absolutely normal (not that it is not normal now… it’s just that we love ex-British laws very much). Ohh and do you know, here gay sex with consent has longer maximum prison terms than rape… and yes marital rape is absolutely normal forget illegal!

Now obviously times have changed and so have our needs, we cannot go back to living in forests but we surely can retain a few good habits. If we really want to brag how great our country is then why not take the pain of researching and find out what actually is our country, what are our roots, what we are today and how much can we be…

You wake me up and call me a proud Indian and I shall certainly be one but first bring me back the land of Lords, not a mere reflection…

Hear me out…

Can you hear my screams dressed

In shorts n top, my hair so sleek

Not messy like you would have thought.

I want to scream so hard and yet

Hear I stand all hard and wet from

Writing things I don’t want to, from

Walking about with legs so numb.

There are people dying, the riots

Emerge like they have a right to

I want to stop them, scream and make

Them sit quietly and listen to Kanha play his flute,

Watch Shiva do his dance,

Watch mother earth perform magic,

Yes I want to do that so hard that

I sweat while thinking about it

I cry in my dreams and give speeches to myself

Then cupping myself in my arms and

Sheddin off those tears away,

I go back to studying hard of sciences and mathematics.

Is there nobody out to really hear me loud,

To hold my hands and assure me

That I am not the only one hiccuping myself to sleep…

Shiva where are you when I need you?…

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑