Winters (a haiku)

nature, awakens with the yawn of gushy, cold winds
removes the blanket of darkness
streaks of bright enter my soul…

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Let Go and Live. (a poem)

I remember, it was a cave,
it was my destiny, or I got lost
I don't remember...

I touched my eyes, swollen,
I woke from a long sleep, or wept night long
I don't remember...

I remember, vague faces
whirling around inside; friends or foes,
I don't remember...

I felt scars on my hand, burning,
itching; I put it there, or someone rewarded,
I don't remember...


I heard a cry,
my heart was bleeding, or a cave nearby,
I don't remember...


I crawled out of the cave,
and fell into the chasm of oblivion; did I live?
I don't remember...


I am sitting by the seaside,
embracing winds; where are my fears?
I don't remember...

Breaking down. (a poem)

come, hold my hands
let us drift away to marooned lands,
come, hold my soul
come with me for a stroll…

have you ever thought what you are,
have you ever been to places far
within yourself, have you ever?
have you ever cried when trampled down
have you been made a mere clown
who has lost smile, have you ever?
have you ever lend your heart
to a stranger and got lost,
have you ever?
have you ever cooked the meal of defeat,
have you ever purged your ego,
have you ever?

life is replete with missing bricks,
have you ever found one to build your own?
follow me into the shattered domes,
hold my hand, come home…

Remembering…

A MINOR BIRD by Robert Frost

I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.

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?

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…

~~~