so many years

so many years
painting the seven colours
and still the color black
stains my brush
so many years
sleeping with the moon
and still moonless nights
plagues my sky
so many years
under the burning sun
and still a serpentine darkness
coils my skin
so many years
composing ballads
and still a blank canvas
envelopes my hide
so many years
writing, seeking solace
in words
and still am a wound
living on blood
so many years
writing poems
and still am an unknown hermit
hungry for words
so many years
dancing in the rain
and still a raging desert
lives in my clothes
so many years
carving statues of women
and still my women
are made up of paper
and still my women
are made up of paper 

it is so ironic

flapping in Wuhan
a Chrysalis caused chaos
Earth rests on its back

it is so ironic
while the whole of mankind
is in a cage
the animals run wild and free
and mock us
seeing us in jail
it is so ironic
as we battle
an invisible enemy
waging a strange kind of star
all these tanks, missiles,bombs
and warships
prove a mere vanity
against nature's wrath
it is so ironic
while we dance
on the streets,beat plates,utensils
and light lamps
as one by one the brave
doctors and nurses fall
we shamelessly kick
out of their homes
their very kind
it is so ironic
while from the foreign shores
the rich ferry this disease to our land
a strange paradox
it is only the poor and the homeless
who in thousands die
it is so ironic
while humankind
still tirelessly tries to find a cure
this very pandemic is making
our ailing mother nature heal
it is so ironic
while the silent intruder
performs its gory dance of death
here in my land
in the name of religion
sadly people still do fight
it is so ironic
here in Ladakh
it was yesterday
in the stillness of the night
that i tried writing these lines
while outside
bizarrely
in the middle of spring
snow fell

blank page

a blank page 
is God's way 
of telling us
how hard 
it is to be God

blank page
staring at my face
asking me
is writing  really that hard
blank page
my white  canvas of hope
beneath your skin
are hidden infinite poems
every poet's holy grail
blank page
though besides the brook
amidst willows and poplars
why is that nothing inspires me
blank page
now that spring has set in
piercing the darkness of winters
why is there a winter so savage
still within my bones
blank page
staring at my face
while still trying to write
a magpie flying above
shits on my head :(

poverty's child

whoever you may be
be as a blood
to a bleeding answer
i am a wound
who lives on blood
like a beautiful leech

the last 
hundred rupees
has been withdrawn
suddenly

everything turns
cold and numb
like death!!
misery
like a gangrene
ripples into my
blood
bones
and maybe my skin too!!
ambushed
bruised and defeated
wearing the carcass
of penury
i run from everyone!!

cousins

acquaintances
neighbours
shopkeepers
the newspaper vendor
the cable guy
and my weather friends!!
buried in my cocoon
i go to
the darkness of my room
where hunger is my only friend
the smiling cup of tea
my only solace!!
battling monsters
in this dark obscurity
' now ' after ages
i dust the cobwebs
of my mind
as i try to write
about

this cursed
and damned
poverty's child!!

even this borrowed bidi
has now started

showing tantrums

it refuses to light

this flesh is really sad
but i laugh :) :)
as i rot
and burn

in this fire

of
poverty

:  rupee is an Indian currency
   bidi known as poor man's cigarette is an Indian cigarette wrapped in a tendu

a dream :)

and suddenly
in the deep silence
of the night
a dreaming of mine 
begins

last night
i dreamt of beauty
that sight
a burning river of fire
engulfed me
and a brave madness
erupted inside me
i leapt from the bed
and went searching for beauty
high up in the white of the hills
flying across the endless skies
drifting along the misty clouds
taming the canaries and falcons
surfing the seven colors of the rainbow
i wandered into the Savannas and the Prairies.
Bathing in perfumed gardens
gyrating with lilies and the blue bells
searching among the green of the meadows
for that oasis of Eden.
Singing hymns to the wildflowers
i crossed vast deserts into faraway lands
where the winds made music
in praise of her charm.
Blasting away the calm of the forests
i hunted in the night with pumas
riding wild stallions
looking for that pearl
that hidden shrine of forever.
Jumping from the highest cliffs
diving into deepest ravines
drowning into unfathomable seas
i was a madman
in ecstasy
half-burnt
by the inferno
of this elusive beauty
suddenly
as if the dead have risen
from the grave
my phone rang
and from the invisible world
you whispered ' Hello!! '
and my search for beauty
ended :)

the wild flower :) ;)

i don't want you like that
masked as another
i want you pure , free
irreducible you
when i call you
among all people of the world
only you will be you



since centuries

you have been
chained to the roots
of these empty traditions
time and again
you were sacrificed
for being
a mother
a sister
a wife
a lover
for long
you have endured
in silence
for long
you had misery
pain
and tears for company
be a rebel
open the braids of your hair
rip apart the veil
that clothe you
from yourself
come out of the garment
woven by men
stay naked
in your happiness
you are a woman!!!
the powerful metaphor of my poems
you belong to the wild
where no force on earth can tame you
you are a wild flower
go..breathe in the wilderness
go..dance in the wilderness :) ;)