Can live with a sorrow,
but not with an embarrassment,
can forget all the punishment,
this will haunt even tomorrow;

would like to hide the face in a burrow,
for that deed, shall forever repent,
not a cure for this ailment,
feel like a mummified Egyptian pharaoh,

some deeds get no laughs, felt right then,
but retrospectively the soul is ashamed,
in the past some stupid mistake done,
shadows follow to rest in grave engraved;

now that all is over,
laugh at oneself what fun,
but for a stupid yet evil deed,
better bury your head.


Love and Beauty

Where night ends, day begins,
every beginning has an end,
why is it? My love, my friend,
all waste to end in dustbins;

you are all my kith and kin,
beauty, love and affection blend,
my dirtied conscience,
rusted soul you rinse;

your eyelids open just to close,
but then opens freshly again,
in the seas the waves rose,
only to subside without any gain;

your beauty, youth, style and poise,
shall also end much to my strain.


[ As mentioned earlier, all attempts at poems made as a kid have only been included in the School days’ Rhymes section, those saved by my mom. As an act of rebellion I burnt all my poems and quit writing, when I found my mom had read them. These are the ones my mom had saved by making a copy. This, my second poem was written at the age of almost thirteen in my eighth grade. Social consciousness has no age bar.]

I am dull,
seeing the skull,
of innocent men rolling down,
the sacred town;

because of foolish men,
hearing the evil one,
commit many a sin,
in the name of religion;

is it the will of god,
that makes us sad,
it is the whim of man,
that makes us groan;

does hope remain,
that the hatred and pain,
the never ending tale,
will one day anchor it’s sail.

Selfish Giant

What weird puzzle to try,
a stone or a heart ran dry,
self possessed, deaf to others’ cry,
in a selfish world thoughts fly;

suspicious, self piteous, stupid, shy,
revolting civilization and society’s pry,
frustrated by routine and common fry,
still the need to share strongly weigh;

unheard is the heart’s stammer,
unseen the glow of the new moon,
giggling at the thoughtless murmur,
fun filled invisible shadow at noon;

unable to learn world’s grammar,
is giant’s thoughts thorns in dune.

My Garden

Once we had a nice garden,
flower bushes, fruit trees all around,
everywhere planned greenery surround,
planted by my forefathers then;

in fear of stepping a green someone,
one never walks on the ground,
we children then were astound,
seeing carpet of rose, orange or lemon;

they tamed the wild forest green,
to create the green so mild,
but my brothers and I’ve been,
bent on destroying green world, wild;

now the barren desert seen,
has stolen the smile of my child.

Brave Heart

(All poems in the school day’s rhymes were written between the age of 13 and 16 and were meant to be a secret, a secret which later came to light. The following was written at 13 and isn’t exactly a poem, but the guilty confusions of the shy child about its nature and societal values as recorded by the child at that age. In fact poetry to the child was a code language it used to keep its secret safe from the prying eyes of others.)

The childish heart so tame,
the innocence, ignorance became;
a chink when grown to make lame
once bright enough to play life’s game;

broke all rules, none to blame,
then nothing was ever the same,
grew selfish, evil thoughts came,
conscience gone, never feel shame;

too much evil to frankly proclaim,
sinking in the flood like a dame,
even after death, sins too harsh to name,
not in fear of losing, if so, any fame;

but to prevent falsify love, life’s true claim,
betraying trust of loved one’s sublime,
yielding to pressures, pleasures of crime,
the guilty feeling unhealed by time;

confused possessive feelings, affection to slime,
unique morals and ethics its frame,
chasing mad impossible dream,
yet a brave heart to defy world’s scream;

the romantic ideas about crime,
to the flesh of my blood the flame,
the morals lost in the flooded stream,
alone, solitude, what pain and flame;

cunning and subconscious team,
to defeat nobility for sinister scheme,
to pull others my kind, kill them, affections gleam,
the motions of mind to actions beam;

till then no harm done, proper all seem,
but after that, its ethic couldn’t justify or redeem,
the irresistible evil sweetness of the cream,
when fed up grew bitter like neem;

cowardice,hypocrisy and villainy stem,
from need for love and devil’s whim,
and available true beauty near him,
bleeding heart is with sins to brim;

drowning heart, unable destination, stops swim,
murderous mind with glamour of crime, slim;
loving heart, source of happy and sad days dim,
angry, final march, crime revealed, shame;

strange message, heart more sad, agony’s prime,
felt need to pacify likes of them,
resolved none shall be helpless,
will hedge myself to help them climb.


O ye beautiful rose,
seeing thy charm I froze,
can I never come close,
smelling thy scent I doze;

among flowers more pleasant,
thou reign man’s mind,
thy beauty or beauty thou adorn,
on beautiful beauties thy ascent;

thy heart is never kind,
it makes others torn,
thy skin glows blood red,
the color men dread;

seeing thou gets misled,
not who toils for bread,
does he know thy beauty,
will he hold you in his hands;

you rumpled in rough embrace,
shall be famous for eternity,
he’ll sing your praise in distant lands,
his dirt shall shine your face;

when he tries to hold,
raise your head and chin,
don’t touch, is he told,
by a thorn piercing skin;

you who have a soft petal,
why you have a thorn?
more a curse than a boon,
to nature’s smooth recital;

happy maiden you fair born,
outshine other’s too soon,
sun above and land below,
is all you need to thrive;

with mighty time you mellow,
none surpass till you survive,
when you go buds shall blossom,
finding courage to overcome shyness;

newborns awaken at first light,
go on till they get tiresome,
with all their finesse,
and sleep in peace at night;

the dew over you,
the chill early morn,
when moon bids adieu,
there beauty born;

you lived in all glory,
yet when you fell,
none sheds a tear,
forgotten your story.

Blind World

Blessed to go blind
ugly, beauty, black and white,
patches from a dark night,
fragrance from memories behind;

images formed bright,
beauteous than sight,
helps to remain kind
with lustful eyes nothing gained;

outward skin deep difference
is all that they can see,
in a robot world growing cold,
those who see, see in vain;

free from which happy to be,
yet grief pierces as darkness has its hold.


Empty are the streets,
not a thought to lean,
and nothing new seen,
as far as soul treats;

mind shrouded by wreaths,
hazy in a smoke screen,
wanders where none has been,
in the path devil greets;

silence, trots the one way route,
from darkness’ hold no escape,
dancing to the evil tune of flute,
ahead sets sail in remote landscape;

following noise from shadow’s hoot,
reached peak to don devil’s cape.


I touched that has not known touch,
the cold door squeaked to give way,
the doomed room I survey,
dust in my nostril made me lurch;

dirt collected since time unknown,
bad odor got to the skin and bone,
I shrank from the stinking room,
in despair laid down my broom;

to this day I never cursed fate,
that made the ignominious sweeper,
but instead felt truly great,
to clean the world of dirt and despair;

many a valiant tried to clean it,
dirt still got accumulated,
by their efforts stimulated,
I came but lost hope and wit;

there was some evil shapeless,
but this room was hopeless,
got a bent back sweeping all day long,
can feel something deeply wrong;

cold souls dump their waste,
a curse I should taste,
easy to fight an enemy known,
but how to fight the unknown;

fought waste when none liked its taste,
waste is all I am, I shall soon waste,
then someone else shall sweep,
but not a soul will weep.