like a dew drop to the petals of a rose.
like a snow flake to the river of dreams.
like an autumn leaf to the bosom of soil.
to be one and never to part again.”
“If the one thing that makes us cry
is the one thing we ever loved,
let’s go on with a rainbow thrown
from our tear prisms,
our broken hearts held high
like a flag of glory,
our scars thrown at a canvas
like a piece of art.”
My first book/ poetry collection in English, The Blue Rabbit, published by Writer’s Workshop, India is now available on Amazon, India for sale.
To be a bard To walk as a free man To tell the tales that made me And the ones that broke me
Her brilliant colours? Faded and dull. Her unending charm? Long gone.
“Nothing hypes me up like kindness these days.”
What a false sense of hope When you walk into the room
51 poems spread over 3 sections: People, Love and Search
Craving to write a simple “love” or “mirage”
in a piece of code.
Typing out of a desire
then deleting out of necessity;
“aroma” or “drizzle” or “rainbows”.
In an infinite maze of “ifs” and “elses”
I stand broken, my emotions wrecked.
Poetry lost in logical dilemmas,
stories buried in broken thoughts,
characters strangled to meet deadlines,
plots caught in the catastrophes of demands.
Here I am a lost writer,
writing programs for a living.
The same 26 letters of the English alphabet,
plus some numbers and symbols –
the narrow strait connecting my two lives.