Bury the Hatchet. (a poem)

I wake up every day only to notice the newspapers citing heinous acts of crime.

weary eyes, wounded soul,
pit of flesh, writhing, falls,
hits the pearl of your eyes,
laughes thee as it drifts by,
pit of flesh, it is naught,
torn, melted, wrought
a gift of nature drifts by
when will I again fly?



THE ROAD NOT TAKEN by Robert Frost.

The title says it all. I don’t remember when I had first read it. I’ve never forgotten it. It is always inspiring to read and know great works!

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

At Other End. (a poem)

with every breath, I wonder,
with every post I gather clue,
I wonder how your life unveiled
and on WordPress, I met you…

with every Follow two lives connect,
with every Like an acknowledgment made,
connects with every comment a subtle path,
we shelter beneath blogging’s shade…

an author you are, or aspire to be,
or a bard; verses spread from thee,
or a blithe traveller echoing your soul,
or a wanderer, searching your goal…

Life will lead to summits you seek
Flow with your thoughts and you will reach…


Acceptance. (a poem)

How can I be free
while dragging the boulders of regretfulness,
while drinking from the goblets of sins,
while soaring in the miasma of pretentiousness…

How can I be free
while moulding my own shackles
of greed, ego,
while bowing down
to the guillotine of deceit…

How long will I be aloof
of my own being,
my death or the patience of eternity,
How long will I take
to muster courage
and extend hands
for my own acceptance…

Curiosity. (a poem)

As I sit and think beyond
What these frontiers might behold,
As I peek and look within,
flames of wrath or bullions of gold…

Unbridled, insatiable, unassailable,
as I bask under the sun,
as I drench in the rain,
my appetite of curiosity grows and grows…


Imposter Within. (a poem)

if I ever could live that way
if I ever could have he possess
if I ever could build a home
plush with gardens and materials, excess…
if it never happened to me
if things had felt another way
if I was not a victim in guise
if every night had grown into a day…
if life had no ebbs but tides
if I was a Captain of my sails
if I was a man and not my possessions
if I could dare, not sit and quail…

A hundred days I can say
In hundred ways I can say
if I was you, if life weren’t blue
if I wasn’t an imposter, night and day…


Life on LEDs.

a second goes, another comes
no tick tocks, nor any bumps
LEDs red, running on a tread
in flocks they head, 60 for a minute
reddening my room beneath a starry night
portent of brightness or signs of gloom

Life or a digital clock, what you say?
as another second goes, and another makes way…