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...
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...