I listen to the clamor of a broken chime,
Fingers trying to recreate a broken rhyme.
I used to feel the verse I borne,
But words fell dead in their prime.
Living each moment was I, in the past,
A zombie I move in the frozen time.
I trace and retrace the steps I did tread,
Groveling for marks in grunge and grime.
I suffer not from dementia I know,
Stuck up within my own sweet slime.
Too long has “MIRAGE” for limitations argued,
What follows now is some dead dry rime.
DIALECT. left to time, it withered, like a dead corpse hung from wall, after the sentence. no poems to defend, no stories to tell, n...
To ban or not to ban; this is not the question. Wasn’t long back that Wendy Doniger’s book The Hindus; An Alternative History was with...
Ram, why did you kill Ravana, I was dishonored in your palaces by thee. Forced out of the womb, I yearned for a home Janak made me a pr...
इस यतीम रात को मैं कौन सा एक नाम दूँ, क्या राख़ में लपेट कर, इस पाक, कोरे चाँद को, रख दूँ तेरी याद की, गिरह में कहीं. या...