The Drooling Race
The Drooling Race How long before a movement Turns into a race? How long before good sense Becomes disgrace? How long before greed Outruns our race?
Spell
Spell A school of fishes Darting from here to there Casts a spell The net in my hands The hunger in my mind Casts a spell One spell must win Spells look for a bait But I decide to wait.
Spells can also die
Spells can also die From spell to check In a steady flow With one letter gone Another in But the spell is sharp And enters sin One word is missed Let us place it there Or well A spell May stare At death.
Roasted
Roasted The world Floats between What is and what if And we go from one sensation To another Thoroughly roasted.
There is no silence
There is no silence. Not when you hold your lover’s hands and look into her eyes, for these are moments when you can hear your heartbeat distinctly. Not when you are trekking on a mountain and there is no one around with music blaring from some Bluetooth speaker because you can still hear a distant...
Driving along the Ganga
Driving along the Ganga Note: We have just returned from a trek to the Valley of flowers and Hemkund. We had a long conversation with River Pushpavati, River Laxmanganga, and the mighty River Alakhnanda which finally gets to be called The Ganga. This poem is a tribute to these conversations. LaxmanGanga is also called...
Conversation with an influencer
Not every conversation begins with some kind of an affirmation of positive expectations, but this one did. ‘So you fancy you are an influencer?’ I asked. ‘More than that,’ he replied, ‘I am a writer. I draw. I sketch. I handle my DSLR rather adroitly…’ ‘How does all this help?’ ‘You didn’t let me complete,’...
