Tag Archives: Strings from the Pen

When the Muses Talk

The tip toe of these dripping moments

Have remembered you again

So come, let us breathe in their melody

A little you may,

And a little I would…

The tiredness of those waiting eyes

We have shared a lot

So come let us live their loneliness

Some of it you may live

Some I will….

The thread of emotions has slipped so long back

Today it sways in the markets alone

So come, let us tie it together

A little you may tighten it

A little I would….

The shadow of broken stars

The wails of dropping rain

We have heard a lot

So come, let us embrace their pain

And while sitting under this night’s bow

Let us listen to this silence

A little you can understand it

A little I would….

Continue reading When the Muses Talk

The Ache of Azure

Chaos is in order

The string has broken its chord

As insanity dances freely

the truth is over awed

As rain washes itself in the sea

Mountains dissolve in the sand

Humanity chases itself

While Hand demands a hand

From the last death comes the first cry

Living becomes a panorama of sorrow

If such be the plight today

What comes of ringing tomorrow ?


Life through a dire frame

Captures an image grey,

None so weak to pangs of pain,

As a voluntarily captured prey.

He sits under a dripping shed,

With lost and wanton eyes,

He hears hope drift away,

Through the cold hides.


Drops of rain awake the soul,

The defeated spirit laments,

For a glory not achieved,

For the loss of a flower’s scent.


Crawling nights and escaping days,

The fragile frame rests,

The darkest skies of the world

Can now his mind behest.


Clinging chains and unheard cries,

A thirst which does never suffice,

For he is now only left to see,

Glimpses of life in moments’ spree.

For there is none so taken to ire,

Than he who burns in desire.

A ghastly grasp, an unthinkable fire,

The sunken valley near a mountain pyre.

The Elegy of a Man and Stray

Even though I have never been blessed with a four-legged friend, I felt like dedicating a word to their companionship.

In the cold, all light and grey,

The story of a man and stray.

No thing can give the warm bed

To the one left alone at birth,

Than what he gets from crumbs of bread

And a wooden, shiny hearth.

Owning just a tea shop

The Man himself is not unbound,

Family of four lovely lives

Comfort, though is not profound.

In the world all large and held,

Two lives that strangely dwelled.

Give life to each other at dawn,

And meet daily in a phantom lawn.

Thus, the bodies of godly love,

Chat under the sunshine dove.

Complement each other’s new start,

And all these talks are just in hearts.

Yet the two solitary loons

Tired of life, meet at noons.

Eat food and share with each

In a language no one can teach.

Dawn of the day soon ends,

And as dark, the moon sends

The Man begins to leave for home

His humble place, his only dome.

Funny though how he waits

In the cold that kills and shakes.

To farewell his four-legged friend

As he comes from the farther end.

Giving the crumbs the man proclaims,

“We’ll meet again” to whom he tames.

After dinner they leave again,

To end their life’s new begin.

Thus this way the two stay,

And ponder my pen as dawn’s gay.

For is it only life that lays,

The love between man and strays?

Or is it in the times of need

That men can find stray friends indeed…..

The Roadside Stand (Revisited)

My earnest dedication to my favorite poet, Robert Frost from whom I have borrowed the title of this poem.

Of all the amazing places I see

The roadside stand is just for me!

Girls and boys and poles that stand,

And a crawling marriage band.

Of all the noise and laugh and glee,

The roadside stand is just for me!

Numerous memories made and shared,

With friends and foes and all that cared.

Oh! I also get to see with grace,

Some exquisite, foreign face.

But they can’t seem to fulfill my plight,

More than a roadside gentlemen’s fight.

While riding home I get to see,

Why the roadside stand is just for me!

Life moves on that’s all we know,

But when I’m bad and can’t let go,

The only thing that makes me right,

Is a roadside stand in sight.

Various relations made and torn,

Various voices of glee and groan.

Where all the world’s happiness does gather,

In a soothing pleasant weather.

Just like Robert Frost once said,

To see an adventure, get out of bed.

So that’s when I fold my feet and hand,

And lookout for a roadside stand.

To pass my window pane that’s all

And leave me curious till my Conductor’s Call.


Do let me know how you interpret the roadside stand in the Comments Section!

A Memento

It is often in the most grievous storms

When all the trees lie down

That one little sap, in solitary gloom

Smiles wide above the ground.

It smiles because what winds couldn’t shake

Holds him firmly by its feet

It laughs because what the sun couldn’t break

Protects him while he chuckles his teeth…

In the gush of joy, he wildly sways

For the hopeless has found a hope

Like a drop of dew that wanders to the flower

To hide its bloom and elope.

Little Happy Things

The smallest, merriest things are they

Looking at you, I suppose

Your charm be equal to what words of play

A poem or a goofy prose!

That little squirrel pecking her tail

Slumbers as i look and laugh

I wonder how you changed my pale

When compared to my books you’re half!

I glare at the moon and its mangata

I’m assured like begets like

As it shaky curves upon the water

Draw a curve on my face as a smile!

The swirling wasps and swinging bee

Present a choir that I see

While my nearest neighbour, the ‘mosquito’

Won’t stop buzzing the chords to me!

The giggling tree consoles me

Happiness is but such small

Its ladder grows towards peace

Flourishing at the cusp of pall.

And even though nothing makes sense

Life and its troublesome caricature

But yet it will someday when you know

Only in bedlam is Nature…!!

Thousand Splendid Suns…..

In the damp of night of a colourless garden

Often a wandering firefly flows,

And as it makes it way ahead

The color of the garden, it glows.

It hastens to sit on the red beauty

That tickles and kindles his heart,

It paints my eyes with red to think

If only this colour he could impart.

Then he runs to follow the dandy green

After all, now he hates the grey

But wait there’s the violet waiting for him

Rush! Before comes the day.

He merrily glows on the orange buds

And wobbles about the whites,

To finally sway on the pinks

And glare upon the night.

The night is drenched in hues of blue

But flickers of colours spark,

As his light illuminates the flowers

And spreads, glittering the dark.

From far above as the winds look down

With the stars, then they say for funs

“The garden blooms with twinkles (many)

Like from a thousand splendid suns…”


In the splashes of colours and heap of clay

In the bowers of water, in the rays of day

The only thing you’re bound to see

Is the life and breathe of Beauty!

It wraps itself in the innocence of a child

And resides in the profound silence of the wilds

Smiling as the rain it never seizes to be

The ever so wonderous Beauty!

It lives in the wrinkles of an old face

In the bed of the ocean finding its solace

Shining as the sun, all merry

Dances forever, the soul of Beauty!

Silence of the Lamb

What we hear is not what’s sound
It’s that which renders us numb,
Which does not wriggle the two ears
But makes the thoughts go dumb.

In the darkest hour of the brightest day
Emerging from the darkest door,
He walks the aisle with precious stones
When breaks open the sky’s floor.
In all but a crispy soft silence…

The walls with the colours of sun
Scream with the tolling bells and hymns,
All to be lost in the light as a shade
As the moments spent in dimes.
But along it sits in the dead silence…

It walks with hooves that have lost voice
With wool that has forgot to shield cold,
A tongue which has ceased to move
And ears whom no stories are told.
Musing away in the eternal silence….

Pacing ahead and speaking forth
He speaks of the life transiently made,
How darker side of darkness still
Is born amidst the brightest glade.
Enlightening the marrow silence…

Life awakens from the shrouds
The golden cup of life ever overflows,
He aches when life falls from the brink
As for the petal cries the rose.

But in the end only one voice echoed
Of the Lamb’s silence on the Heaven’s Road…