Showing posts with label English poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label English poems. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 9, 2026

Twenty-One Degrees

Turn off driver's seat warmer.
Set the temperature to twenty-one degrees.
Set fan to face.
Set fan to defrost.
Don't open the door—it's pouring outside.

The loud music keeps playing:

"I never felt the need
to have a hand to hold."

Inside the car lies a family, charred.

A single mom in the driver's seat.
Two children in the back, choked by smoke—
perhaps asleep when it happened.

The airbag hangs deflated,
its brief act of mercy useless against fire.

A teddy bear, the lone survivor,

giving its statement warmly
to the investigating officer.

Outside, the rain falls softly,

and the air is filled
with the fresh scent of petrichor.

Monday, June 8, 2026

Chasing the Pie

I had none of it
yet it wasted
the game was lame
I played hide and seek
to be all through tricked.

It was always about
getting the pie
,

never a blue-eyed,
had a blackout,
but turned a blind eye
.


Though wasn't ever
a baffled fool

never learnt what
wasn't deliberately
taught at school. 

Sunday, June 7, 2026

Times

There was no time
when I was a child.
I had to go to school,
learn this and that;
rest was homework
parents busy running
errands and for other things.

I grew up, fell in love,
started a family

found time still chasing me,
mindless rolling in between
work and home

never knew when I was
reposing in company
or restless alone
;

vacation a check
 in the box to do

the routine I wondered
I ever knew


It rings, it stays,
it chimes

yet it pickpockets everyone
day and night .

Thursday, June 4, 2026

The Knufe


The only instrument I have
Useless, it is useless
With the sharpest of knives
I'm blunt, incapable of understanding
My distress
I can only chop, slice a vegetable into pieces
of education, I miss the grandeur of wffwction

The bonding turns into a bondage
The connection into an absence
The words have fallen silent
The flow into a clot
We breathe death into life
Despite the resplendent, sharp knife.

Saturday, April 4, 2026

Failures Square

 Hey there
You have the guts 
To talk, speak, write 
About us?

Yes, dear
We hail from failed 
Marriages, bankruptcy,
We are physically impaired
Age is not on the arrogant side

We're the sheep that's on the
wrong side of the table 

Yet we survive 
Despite the atrocities 
Life imposed on us

We're tired of listening to the successful stories that had
tasted failures, reading them
from the bestsellers shelves

Our stories should be read,
if not for our resilience,
but as examples
not to follow.

We must have a place
in literature, so people
 know how to survive
failures, failing,
notwithstanding.

Monday, March 30, 2026

Some nameless nothings

I am in a prison
it looks like a garden
--

Artificial intelligence
Natural foolishness
Both lack consciousness
--

'I know I'll die
But I want to live
To the fullest
before I leave'
says a soldier
out of nowhere
--

We know it is bad
Yet we can't stop it
We know it is good
Yet we don't commit
-- 

The war doesn’t stop
noisy words gallop
a Ping-Pong game
shifts the blame
I cannot afford
to keep the ball
in my court

Tuesday, March 17, 2026

Drowned in between

Everyone has the key

I am locked

Everyone's path is free

Mine is blocked.


I am in my prison

Of self punishing thought 

With my logic, my  reason 

I  remain in the rut and rot.


The fear of the other

The terror of everyone

That's the real monster

To defeat, to have won.

Monday, March 16, 2026

An oath

In a day and age
where time and space
have gone beyond grace
where peaceful night,
refreshing dawn
are but oxymoron
I make an oath with you
beside me
despite the difference
in what we hear and see
we’ll be for each other
here and there, everywhere.

I will not be like you,
You won’t be like me,
Yet we can live together
Be fond of one another
In healing harmony.

We may be lovers true,
Or neighbors passing by,
Or family at the table
Beneath the same wide sky. 

Our habits and our tastes,
Our faiths, our ways of speech,
The roads on which we wander
May lie far out of reach.

Yet still we make this promise,
However we may part:
We will not wound each other,
Nor break another’s heart.

We may debate and differ,
Our thoughts may disagree,
But words will not be weapons
Across this human sea. 

We’ll keep the strength within us,
The courage to stay wise,
When anger fills the streets
And madness floods the skies. 

If all the world grows smaller,
If reason fades away,
We will not walk like fools—
We’ll choose a kinder way.


Tuesday, March 10, 2026

This Is the Point

We point

carefully

at the other man.


The neighbour.

The stranger.

The faceless crowd.


The house is called Earth.


Invisible hands

have coloured the walls tonight

red in the lamplight.


Someone is singing

in the square:


Drums.

Sirens.

Boots in procession

Beat in the dark,

Nightmare.


A thin cry travels

under the music—


a child somewhere

without a voice.


They have written a word

on the wall

broken by noise.


Liberty.


The paint has not yet dried.


Morning enters quietly

through shattered glass.


And the wind asks

no one in particular—


What was the point.

Tuesday, March 3, 2026

It looks like that

 It looks like that

Moon in the water
images in a paper
reflected face shattered
in a mirror;

the face intact, unaffected.
The world gets into

a fight, or it runs away
from the fray.

The sun is ever bright,
never in darkness.

No range of foolishness
anger, fear, happiness
despair, a strange colour
a crown that denies
my crown,
masks me as a clown.

Despite the bombings,
the rambling of the rumblings,
the ruckus
peace and war, circles
of a circus.

Take off the hat
even if it looks like that. 

Wednesday, February 18, 2026

Sinister Sense

an inane sinner
sits in sallow silence,
sheltered by self-spun
shadows,
may or may not
sanctify as a saint

softly, a sinister stimulus
seeps in innocence
through the seams
of the sealed soul —
a subtle summons,
serpentine and slow

but sense has sunk;
sanity stands shattered
he salutes the sickness,
smiling at its sting,

and swallows the signal
as though it were salvation 

 

Sunday, December 7, 2025

Take it Easy

We repeat the same
quarrel every time,
every single time
a skirmish, a crime!

Have you noticed
a couple quarreling?
The content is the
same, an insult or
a shame game.

We're not that creative
with the intent, or the name.

A dispute with relatives,
colleagues, neighbours,
countries, friends, or
be it an internal conflict
the type doesn't change
nor the challenge.

It's the same thing
over and over again
in time and space.

We must be crazy
not to take it easy!

Saturday, December 6, 2025

The Bird and The Burden

                    The Bird and the Burden

Time is a bird
its wings flow with
the winds
memories are
grounded they go against
them, don't leave,
they stay young,
aged for ages
eyes closed they let
time pass;
one doesn't live
the other doesn't die

 

L'oiseau et le Fardeau

Le temps est un oiseau
ses ailes glissent avec
les vents
les souvenirs, eux,
sont cloués au sol : ils vont
à rebours, ne s’en vont pas,
restent jeunes,
vieillis depuis des âges
les yeux clos, ils laissent
le temps passer ;
l’un ne demeure pas,
l’autre ne meurt jamais

Wednesday, December 3, 2025

Everyone’s everything

Everybody’s got a sin,
Knows just where to bin,
Still keeps it tucked within,
Oh, everybody’s sin…

Everybody hides a grief,
Holds on to the belief
That if they lock it deep,
It won’t disturb the peace…

But silence has a sound,
It echoes all around,
And what we try to lose
Still finds its way back out…

’Cause everybody’s heart
Has a broken little part,
And everybody walks
With a shadow in the dark.
We cover what we feel,
Pretend it isn’t real—
But everyone, everyone’s
Got a sin they try to heal
It’s everyone’s everything.

Everybody wears a smile,
Carries it awhile,
Though inside every mile
Is a hidden fragile file.

Everybody takes a fall,
Sometimes hits a wall,
But acts like standing tall
Is the only rule for all.

But the truth begins to rise
In the corners of our eyes,
No matter how we hide—
It trembles, then it cries…

’Cause everybody’s heart
Has a broken little part,
And everybody walks
With a shadow in the dark.
We cover what we feel,
Pretend it isn’t real—
But everyone, everyone’s
Got a sin they try to heal
It’s everyone’s everything.

So let your heart unfold,
Let your secrets be told,
You’re human — made of gold
Even with the cracks you hold…

We’re heavier inside
When we try to run and hide,
But lighter when we say
“I’m hurting, but I’ll stay…”

’Cause everybody’s heart
Has a broken little part,
And everybody walks
With a shadow in the dark.
We cover what we feel,
Pretend it isn’t real—
But everyone, everyone’s
Got a sin they try to heal
It’s everyone’s everything.

Everyone, everyone’s
Got a grief they try to seal…
Everybody’s sin
It’s everyone’s everything.

Sunday, November 30, 2025

Compulsion

 

I have no reason to
come to you, none.

Still, like waves rush
to the shore, for plane fun
I find myself moving towards you—
a magic pull older than logic,
a tide with its own stubborn will.

I run unto you as if
a deadline were pursuing me,
as if time itself leaned forward
and whispered your name.

You consume me
with an insane craze,
a gravity I cannot negotiate,
a fever I cannot undo.

With you I don't want to rhyme—
yet you remain my virtue,
you remain my crime.

You are the quiet death
inside me,
and still, you are my life.

Sunday, November 9, 2025

Assimilation

 

With a mirror
I have two faces
I take the mirror away
the face, uneffaced
if I turn to me

in a group of ten
I count nine
unless I look back
at the missing me
the tenth one, I
cannot see

the waves are born
from water, they die
on the shore
yet
the water remains
as the tenth face

if I cannot see the truth
in the table despite the
wood being present
through and through
it’s the knowledge of
wood I cannot behold

I cannot see the sun
covered by the clouds
what I discount is the
light of the sun that
shows me what I see

even when the mind stops
the one that spots
the sound sleep is the same
face that remains uncounted,
the same light that enables
the same wood that pervades.

 

Note: Influenced by the Vedanta philosophy. It's amazing how the easiest truth can be so elusive.

Monday, November 3, 2025

Dehypnotize

 


Hypnotized world,
a mirror within a mirror.
I clean the surface—
but the face beneath
stays opaque.

Hope is a paradox—
the purity of hopelessness.

Essence deserts perception
until awareness
undoes the spell
and we
dehypnotize.

Monday, October 13, 2025

Ambition

There is ambition
in the hearts of humans,
a burning yearning to possess
this and that, a house, a car,
a job, a family
but the world is yet to see
any moral ambition, such
thoughts don’t even cross
the mind, not even in passing
to be a good human being.

The Lines

I pray to God so she gives me
those magic lines that can
stop all wars for good
lines that could eradicate
plastic poverty with the endless
flow of pure water, fresh food.

Then I think of the ego
of writing my lines? Why!
I cannot connect with her
if I beg for those praises,
I can connect with her
only when I am selfless.

Let me pray for a poet instead
from the coming generation
whose lines can break the barriers,
bridge all borders of the earth,
let their astute art make the brain
benevolent, heal the warring heart.

 

Thursday, October 9, 2025

The Flute

The Flute


At twilight,
your tune returns
slipping through the dusk
like breath on glass.

I taste the juice
from your fruit,
sweet,
but never whole.

Still,
another day falls
without your shape beside me.

My eyes 
a river,
the Yamuna* flowing
as I remember
that you are,
but not mine.

I seek,
and still,
you vanish.

The melody reaches me 
but I crave the hands that play it.
I sip what remains,
but hunger for
what never arrives.

I hear the tune.
I want the flute.
I enjoy the juice —
but long for
the fruit.

Yamuna - The Yamuna River is deeply connected to Lord Krishna through numerous religious stories, primarily in the Vaishnavism tradition. According to scripture, the Yamuna river parted to allow baby Krishna to be carried across, and Krishna spent his youth playing and dancing on its banks in the region of Vrindavan. The river is revered as a divine goddess named Kalindi, who is considered the consort of Krishna and symbolizes their sacred bond. 

 

La Flûte

Au crépuscule,
ton air revient,
glissant dans le soir
comme un souffle sur le verre.

Je goûte le jus
de ton fruit,
sucré,
mais jamais entier.

Pourtant,
un autre jour s’éteint
sans ta forme à mes côtés.

Les yeux 
un fleuve,
la Yamuna* qui coule
tandis que je me souviens
que tu es,
mais non à moi.

Je cherche,
et toujours,
tu t’évanouis.

La mélodie m’atteint 
mais je désire les mains qui la jouent.
Je savoure ce qu’il reste,
mais j’ai faim de
ce qui ne vient jamais.

J’entends l’air.
Je veux la flûte.
Je goûte le jus —
mais je languis
du fruit.

Yamuna - La rivière Yamuna est profondément liée au Seigneur Krishna à travers de nombreuses histoires religieuses, principalement dans la tradition du Vaishnavisme. Selon les Écritures, la rivière Yamuna s'est séparée pour permettre au bébé Krishna d'être porté de l'autre côté, et Krishna a passé sa jeunesse à jouer et à danser sur ses rives dans la région de Vrindavan. La rivière est vénérée comme une déesse divine nommée Kalindi, qui est considérée comme l'épouse de Krishna et symbolise leur lien sacré.