We were the Chromagnans.In France.
What a life to live!

when i found him,
i just had to,on him, dive,
he was mine,
i was a chunk of his brain!

We were the goldsmiths.In the mauryan empire.
What a color to shine!

when i found him,
i just had to smile,very shy,
he buried gold into the mine,
and melted like ice!

We are the engineers.During the recession time.
What all ways to whine!

when i found him,
i just then, had thrown away my file,
we both jumped inside the waste pile,
and found my file,in no time...

fig-leaf...

it was a big,wide, fig tree,
full of pride and esteem...
rich and yellow,with green...
it was the prettiest,to be seen...
every branch had at least a bird,
every noon,to it,men had sung...

the trunk never cared for the rest,
thought he was the best,
the roots were under,unpopular,
leaves were short lived and lighter,
and for the branches,he was the father...

his kids, the trunk, pampered,
they grew spoiled...

spoiled branches sunk their props...
for nothing they had any regards...
anywhere inside,no second thoughts...

anywhere inside,for more beautification,
without caution,even in adulteration....
once,the tree caught an infection...


the big tree,
shed all it's leaves...

it stood there bare,
no breeze,no shade...

near it no one came,
no water,no sunshine...

it never sprout,again,
nothing green,for a long time...

the fig leaves,fell down,
for a reason...

they had to teach a lesson,
"beauty and respect are easy to gain,
but hard to maintain"

constructive criticism

i could be wrong,
i don't say no,
i am here to know,
tell me if am wrong,
help me get along...

i could be wrong,
i don't say no,
life is a construction,
if i have made a bad assumption,
help me with a way of disillusion...

writing is art,not alchemy...

deep realization,
it can happen,
to her and anyone,
in a manner sudden,
a heavy explosion,
she can't handle,
the heaviness alone...

she can't handle,
the heaviness, alone,
she writes it down,
and posts it in a blog,
and gets herself numb,
for comfortable contemplation,
gets hope and has fun...

skinny jeans

skinny jeans,
summer times,
they are very tight,but dunno why,
the girls don't complain this time...
how does air enter inside?

summit.

true love and happy endings,
they told me,it happens,
but only in books,
only in adoloscent dreams...

bad against good,
i assumed,happened,
only where there exits good,
for what is evil's food?

mediocre formed,
when good is enough bad,
and bad is not enough good,
i saw,this is what i deduced...

of a book,i dream,
in it me,starting fine,
being good,fighting bad,
and it never ends...

in it good is at it's best,
evil is the unrest,
mediocre can't persist,
never ends- happy through the summit...

too many inside...

Too many inside, many inside.
Loss in between them, there…
All of them rush to the face,
Paint applied to hide…
Loss comes out as tears which pierce,
And paint is washed off for a hell-hole ride!

Too many inside, many inside,
Pride in between them, there…
All of them rush to the face,
Tears running down to hide…
Pride comes out to close the ride,
To let not the tears fall, she keeps the eye wide…


Too many inside, many inside.
Anger in between them, there…
All of them rush to the face,
Eye wide open to hide…
Anger reaches the high,rushes into the eye,
She turns it into red red eye-not fine…

Too many inside,many inside,
Dream in between them, there…
All of them rush to the face,
Angry dangerous red eye- to hide…
Dreams comes onto the red eye point not fine,
She keeps the tired eye awake,worried whole night…


Too many inside,many inside,
Courage in between them, there…
All of them rush to the face,
Worried dream to hide…
In the dream there is silver lined hope, hope lined courage,
Courage soothes the worries,dreams the sleepy eye…

Too many inside, many inside,
All of them in colored sleep…
They can’t rush on the face,
Colors fly high…
Sleepy is not the courage,
So in the dream, she still flies high…