Thursday, February 9, 2012


Once you are on board,

Forget solitude,

Give up tranquility,

Its going to follow you,


All the time.

It reeves In between the ‘how are you', and ‘am doing fine’

As the indecisive hesitation,

It inhabits that blank stare

That you had never let anything to fill up,

It rolls all your thoughts and wraps into a single ball

Becoming the wrapper itself,

It permeates your playlist

And picks the tracks to its temper,

It foists itself on your temper,

And before you realize, it terms you a gadfly!

It is all the nonsensical words that you unintentionally speak,

The tautology that runs through your sentences,

Yes, You are on board.

Those thumbs that happily pained in texts

Now debate as to who among them did the bigger damage,

Those fold of skin between your brows

Plead to be ironed back from the constant frown,

Those movies you watched all years long

About the ever insentient clan, smile back from memory, in sheer smugness,

Those dreamy bards of yore

You pray they better not catch your sight, for fear of cold blooded murder,

Yes, you are on board.

And just when you decide you are done and quitting,

When you urge to claim back your old self,

There surges a breeze of new hope, all over again,

The slimmest change in weather,


Forget solitude,

Give up tranquility...........

Take my gyan,

You are on board.

Take my gyan,

You are not getting down.

Sunday, February 5, 2012


In every predicament I face,

An inner hassle joins,

Sometimes taking over entirely,

Snatching the focus,

Blurring all vision,

Replacing the extant trepidation,

Creating its own,

And all that remains of the situation,

Is the immediate threat,

Of that precarious little droplet…

Forget the cascade of the mawkish,

This is about that singular traitor of courage.

And hence When I sat that day,

Like so many others,

In a quagmire of solution less tribulations,

With a spate of people around,

Trying to dissolve me into their conversations,

I was fighting something else,

A mockingly tiny mass called tear.

That restive bead of water,

Finding its groove and precariously perched,

Was warning me of its slip.

Like the last drop of glue

That peeps in and out of the tube,

It played its game on me.

The pressure building steadily,

I refused to blink, persisting with the stare,

And when finally alone,

With just me and my dew,

I closed my eyes,

The lids zipping hard,

And my cheeks wetted.