On the gallows of wishful thinking
i redeem my sordid moments and wail
i swing suspended in clouds of wrath
and take a swig of hope to fail
the rites of life in the holy fire
the incantation fickle and frail
as i paint afresh my earth
with blood dried and colored pale
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...
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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...
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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...
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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...
3 comments:
but memories are like forlorn ships
they leave behind an indelible trail
so not point scratching
let nature do it's course
and fill the wounds with love and care..
no theres no pain or sadness its a slow feeling that is everpresent... is part of you
u know what, its like the case of bagal mein doolha, nagar bhar dhindora... itte dino se vikram seth vikram seth kiye ja raha hoon...why do i fail to realize that my love for English language that resurfaces often is a result of reading and re-reading and deciphering and enjoying and living these words of yours!!! spread across so many of ur poems.
i looooooooooooooooove these lines, the music inherent in them, n then this all prevailing sadness that hurts like a mystery unsolved...
u don't write dear, u hurt, u enthrall, u pinch, u make me go weak in the knees, make us lesser writers feel the insignificance of our output and then after all of this comes a wave of proud joy... 'cos of u r and i am and then we are...
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