Friday, December 21, 2012


Now, imagine
you’re on one end of the phone.
Tapping digits from memory.
Or just scrolling up and down
to find them in your phonebook. 
There; Stop.
You just found them,
neatly tucked;
between your
old irksome boss
and a comforting confidante.   

Now, you dial
to reach them
over the phone.
Possibilities are:
You get them
at the first ring,
Or after a couple of rings.
You hang up
before the last ring;
and they pick right
when you’ve dropped the call.
Now, what if…
The automated voice reverberates
The line or the route is busy
Or, you’ve gotten through.
But all you hear is the white noise.
There’s this stillness in between
Or your voice echoes back at you.
Perhaps, they’ve switched off.
Or in no mood to respond;
But this is an important call for you.
Yet there’s no response.

Now, would you
stop calling?
Even if this call could
trade in a miracle;
Or would you still call
if you missed the miracle?
Now, imagine if…
 this call
is nothing more, nothing less
but a prayer
to the Supernatural.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Garden of Grace

In His garden of grace
that's on the banks
of perennial streams
of love and friendship;
Even a Touch-me-not can
lend its shade to a mighty Banyan; 

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

I see the unseen in thee

I quiver not when I peer
into the dark, eye of the storm.
For I see and hope in the unseen;
Seasons of sun kissed, caramel morns.

Friday, August 31, 2012


At half past seven,
she arose, half asleep.
Only to push the alarm clock
back to deep sleep;

Monday, July 30, 2012

* subject to change

Well, you could have come across,
These three tentative words;
Perhaps, in fine print, on a poster;
Or, a billboard outside a theatre.
A disclaimer on a promotional mailer
A menu card, maybe a dangler.
For that matter,
you might have read it
in some terms and conditions.
All these times,
you might have said to yourself.
Indeed, it’s a chance that needs to be taken;
In a world where no guarantee is given.
But now, let’s look at the flipside.
How would it be
If the same could apply:
To anything and everything
That’s bringing you down in life?
It could be disappointments,
Failures, bitter instances,
which you thought
you never deserved.
Being broke, being jobless;
Being out of love:
Or, waiting to be freed
from this moment
which you feel
 is a Venus fly trap.
Well, this is when
you need to remind yourself;
These seasons
aren’t here to stay but pass.
They’re here to season you
For the good times that are to come.
Those three tentative words
Could be applied here as well.
NOW* is indeed *subject to change.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

I to I

I’m glad you could make it in.
Now, please take your boots off.
Slip into my pair of flip-flops,
I give you now.
We have a lot to talk
But in a few words.
Now, don’t give it
a second thought;
I’m on a break today;
Imagine us
sitting across a table
with a cyanide pill
on a steel plate;
Now here’s the favour
I ask of you.
Just one deed
And this could be
our final deal.
Set me free,
bite the bloody pill.
or, bemused?
Knowing you, I bet
you must be smiling
to yourself.
Thinking how stupid I am
To ask you so easily
to give up on your dear life.
Now that you’re already
slipped into my flip-flops;
I want you to picture this
The way I do now.    
How often you’ve told
that this is just not for me.
How many times you’ve said
to give up on our dream.
After you’ve tried and failed,
time and again. I’ve agreed.
But many a times
I’ve too felt this way
When you easily made me
bite the pill.
Well these were the times
I’ve died and rose again.
Now I only wish you were dead.
Because you gave up
even before you tried.

Monday, June 04, 2012

ant bite sonata

With an ant bite
she pushed the rewind button.
Clenching her fist
and gripping her teeth.
Tearing the ticket
She had just bought.
She travelled now
at the speed of thought
at the end of the needle prick;
as the last drop
gushed into her stream.
She slipped into the skin
When she was seven,
and Innocence faded in.
Now she sat in a corner
With the ceiling, whirling and
staring back at her.
Sandwiched with nothing much
but thin air
above and beneath.
She drifted though stationary.
Suspended yet momentary.
Intoxicated but naturally.
She remembered her blue frock
open up like an umbrella with polka dots.
Hands open, nose up in the air.
She spun around like her
Grandpa’s old vinyl record.
On and on she went
till the world went in circles.
And she almost felt
like she had whipped up a storm.
Eventually, she would plonk herself
and wait till everything
settled at its own pace.
Like the last trip in a merry-go-round.
Back then trance was more than a genre
of music that played in her head.
Now to replay that lost melody,
another ant bite she relentlessly sought. 

Monday, May 28, 2012


After a heavy shower; 
Raindrops, tenants for few minutes
in the tree’s shelter.  

Thursday, May 24, 2012

<|<| Perfect Past, Perturbed Present |>|>

Imagine your fingers
flipping through
a series of faded and printed pictures;
Of days that limited memories
to a postcard or four by six frame;
In B&W, sepia and toned down colours.
Now, let me take you
a few decades ahead in time.
Well, then
you might have holograms
And virtual walkthroughs
that move back and forth.
For that matter,
You could also book tickets
In a time machine;
And take a trip down
To visit that
most cherished minute.
Be it now or then
A phrase
Will certainly play on your lips.
Or you might simply
say that under your breath.
Whether you know it or not;
Intentional or unintentional.
You will surely state
by taking a step back
with a smirk
or eyes hazed with tears.
“Sigh! Those were the good old days“.

Now, for a moment
let’s just return to the present.
Take an account
of the recent times
to analyze:
How many days you’ve taken for granted
without being grateful.
How you missed those hours,
brooding. That these days
don’t resemble those times of yore.
How often you’ve let gone that light drizzle,
the warm 6 am sun
or the soothing moonlight walk.
Blindly, how you’ve always
pitched and dwelt in your past.
And let the present
making a whooshing noise.
How foolish it is
that we only look back
Without pressing forward.  
For, you and I
fail to realize;
That ‘those-good-old-days’
are made of
nothing  but
days like today. 

Monday, April 23, 2012

Try one, today!

Have you ever tried
a cup of green tea?
If not, I recommend
you try one, today.
All you need,
Is a green tea bag,
That’s not really green.
And a cup of boiling water
That as hot as 80 degrees C.
Now dip the bag in
And let it sink deep;
For not more than
two minutes or three.
Lug the bag out
like a pail from the well.
Rub both your palms
As they face each other.
Take a moment
Till the surface goes still.
With a puff and then a sip.
Close your eyes
As you drink it in.
And then, kindly repeat.
Until you’ve reached the deep
And you’ve had the last bit.
Regret not,
it’s indeed a tad bitter.
But that won’t really last.  
It’s very much like a swig
of your tart past.
So, have you tried yet
a cup of green tea?
It’s an unsullied recipe
To reminisce or contemplate,
For it’s like a moment you thought
That was here to stay;
But, before you knew, it passed
Leaving a sweetened aftertaste.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Closed doors and a new found key

On your face.
And you just
can’t take your
eyes off the door.
You don’t want to
turn around and leave.
You knock,
You bang your fist
on its chest;
You cuss and cuss.
Take a few steps
Run into it
And push.
But the door remains closed.
Not letting you
to make it through.
Finally, you give up.
And walk
Down the aisle
of closed doors.
Kicking a crushed tin
till it leaves you alone.
And then
you run into a key in a steel ring.
You pick it up and wonder.
Is it a lost one?
Or is this the key
to the door you ought to find?
Because, somebody once said,
“for every door He closes
He, always does, open another.”

Tuesday, March 27, 2012


The shrill noise of a pin’s drop on the marble floor.
The thunderous echoes of a pebble skimmed on the lake bed.
The explosive dripping of dew from a blade’s tip onto the damp soil.
The loud rumble of a feather as it tumbles down a hay stack.
The earth shattering flutter of dragon fly’s wings.
All these and all the other inaudible things seem to billow.
They seem to resonate and stir a storm out of a zephyr;
When you don’t even let out a Hmmm,
But instead,
You choose to confront me with your deafening silence. 

Friday, March 02, 2012


She saw silence fade
 in a cloud burst;
On a rainy night.
As she stared,
in wait,
at the ceiling;
The rain drops
Invading the marble floor.
And she sat there
With legs folded,
and putting out
her fleet
of paper boats.
Lifting their anchors
and dropping the sails;
They waded slowly.
And she drowned her despair,
In knee deep waters
While the boats stayed afloat.

Friday, February 24, 2012

this or that

Is it your absence
or your presence
that makes me miss myself?

Is it your spoken words
or your silence
that leaves me speechless?

Is it the tight embrace
or the moment we break free to breathe
that binds us as one?

Is it you who asks me to scribble
or is it you on whom I wish to scribble
that makes my scrabble for words worthwhile?

Sunday, February 05, 2012

United. Apart.

Early summer night; 
In distant lands.
Yet, united 
by a moon over head.
And the after taste
of our first kiss.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

The Chronicle of Parallels

The moon had just then taken the exit
After returning its borrowed glow from last night.
The sun reclaimed his stance now and gleamed
Keeping the world from going blind.  

That instant, on the banks of still waters, 
Under an old silver oak, he sat, on dry leaves. 
Skillfully woven and built with the choicest twigs 
He had made his bed of fall and rise.

Alongside, from the pond’s surface arose, 
A total contrast of what he was. 
An ephemeral being who had waited all along
Budding slowly beneath the surface for this dawn;

She freed herself and flapped her short wings. 
Nudged by the breeze to the right and then to the left.  
She got the hang of flying as she glided in a bit. 
Swiftly over the pond she dashed and escaped the preying fish.    

Now onto the banks, she flew so swift that she almost crashed.
But somehow came to a halt by trying not to screech.  
Face to face they stared right into each other’s eyes.
The eternal Phoenix and the ephemeral Mayfly. 

The moment lasted for not more than a minute, perhaps; 
They simply glanced at each other. 
The poised Phoenix batted its eyelids 
And the Mayfly, winked and scooted minding its own business. 

With its telescopic eyes from afar, 
Watched the Owl and archived this occurrence.  
And in its own words it said “This faceoff was extremely rare.
Maybe, just once in my entire lifetime.” 

“And as for you, like every other fool on earth, 
You assumed it was love at first sight. But, NO!” it wrote and chortled. 
“The Phoenix went ablaze to rise again from the ashes. 
The Mayfly didn’t stop and stare; she went about living every moment.”   

Finally, before the old wise Owl took the quill off its chronicles. 
These were the last two lines it scribbled before it decided to put a period. 
 “While one prepared wisely to end and make a new beginning, 
The other soared in glee to begin a worthy ending.”

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


Courtesy: scribblerzeye

Dim that light over your head. 
Come over, get closer
And blindfold my eyes; 
Open up, bloom
Enlighten me slowly. 
Let me read you
between every line.
Together, let’s kill
The stark darkness 
With neon 
Shades of passion.