Disgustingly simple

I struggled to find the truth,
The bruises are too much today,
The knowledge is killing.

Oh, I really battled for my ground,
Now, I am so scared to call it my own.
What I know is my greatest fear.

What I do not know is still comforting.
How I deal with the uncertainties is fabulous,
But how I have struggled against truth,
Is killing me tonight.

Why do I sense guilt, fear and anxiety?
What is wrong?
Is it just a craving for a high?
It's so disgustingly simple.

I got my pi

The biggest question I had,
Was to unearth the answer to why.
Oh and did I not understand it.

The strongest doubt I had,
Was to figure out whom.
Oh and did I not know it after all.


The grave concern I had,
Was to comprehend when,
My greatest fear became what I learnt.

The whole journey has been too much of an enlightenment,
I always wanted to,
The surprising thing is I got what I desired.
And today, that itself is such a burden.

The traveller

Who is there for you?
O traveller!
Where do you seek to go?
Take rest for a while,
Where will you find such repose again?
O traveller.


Those days are over,
Those few days of love,
Those nights are distant dreams now.
She has got over you,
May you forget as well
The love filled meetings.
O those lovely meetings!
The darkness looms large now,
No light at the end of the tunnel.
O traveller, where do you plan to go?
Take rest for a while,
Where will you find such shade again?


No one is there awaiting you,
No one is there eager to receive you!
Of your miseries, no one suffered,
No eyes shed tears.
Whom will you call your own?
Who mourns your absence?
O traveller, where do you seek to go?
Better take a breather here,
Where will you find such comfort again?
Who is there awaiting you, O traveller?

O traveller, you showed path to so many!
How come are you lost in your journey?
You have demystified problems of others!
How come are you entangled by your own?
How can a snake-charmer sway on his own tune?
Where will you go, O traveller?
Who awaits you?
O traveller, where will you go?
Why don't you take some rest?
You may not find such shade again!
No one awaits you, O traveller, no one.

The learned say the world is a mirage,
The writings are in water,
It is seen by all, it is experienced by all,
But no one owns anything,
Nothing is yours or mine,
O traveller, where will you go?
Take rest for a while?
Where will you find such shade gain?
Who awaits you there?

In this sized vessel

When the cold wind blows,
I miss the summer.
When the bright sun glows,
I miss the rains.

When I see so much,
I miss myself.
When I am alone,
I seem to miss everything. 

Sometimes, I don't understand when,
I get a strange contentment.
I try to figure out with my limited senses,
The reasons seem to surprise me today
And fool me tomorrow.

Can I get rid of myself ?
In this sized vessel,
Can I possibly store the ecstasy?

If in acceptance lies the truth,
Where is contentment ?
Is it in fulfillment?
Is it in exuberance?

Is it that I get freed,
Only when I am done?
Is that I have to wait for the ultimate moment,
To experience the true bliss?

Is that the journey is meant to be eventful?
Is that the destination is an end to all of that?
Is reaching, not the idea?
Is hanging around, the objective?

Is purpose, a consolation?
Is destiny, a joke?

Is that the purpose is truly so naive?
Yet, the manifestation so complex?

A train journey and thereafter

I caught the last train.
I was only lazy.
Who wants to leave home?
Who wanted to go back?

I took all the wrong steps.
I took all my time.
I boarded the train,
Struggling my way through the crowd.

She was sitting close by.
I had hardly seen her.
She was shining,
I was my usual.


We sat apart,
Who knew we would talk?
We were born different.
Who knew we would align? 

I remember, when she asked my name.
I remember, I looked out of the window,
Into the darkness past her.
I was my usual cynic.


I never knew of any light.
Until I saw her more.
I saw her a few days more.
I had written the only piece of paper.
That ever made sense to me.

I do not know,
How I slept those nights,
How I lived those days.
Why was it supposed to be?


Ever since, I have experienced life.
I have felt myself.
I have been closer to the reality.
Why did I ride the fateful train?

When there was nothing,
She was there for sometime.
Whenever I had asked myself,
I never got a different answer.

How can my mind colour things
To make them look beautiful ?
Or are they really so fascinating?
Why do I need to know?

One night, it was so cold.
I was shivering.
Only god could be so kind
To put the shawl on me.

I had given her a burning piece of paper,
I had lit a cigarette.
There was a fire in the ground.
Music filled the air.

I probably wont be able to listen
To that song for long now.
I can hardly know anything more sure,
Than that it was supposed to be.

We were separated by walls,
Before we could totally part.
But how I ran to the station,
How I could not look beyond anymore.

She was going back.
I literally ran to the station.
She was scribbling something,
She handed me over a burnt piece of paper.

Who knew that the fire would prolong?
Who knows if it still burns?
Dreams and illusions are as real as
The world that exists besides me.

I sat down with her on the platform,
She said nothing,
We tried to act,
Everything was destined to be over soon.

The train arrived,
It was running through me,
When it stopped at the station,
My heart stopped too.

She moved her suitcase,
She pulled her big handbag,
I was trying to say good-bye,
Her fingers slipped away from mine.
Never have I held a hand stronger.

How was I to know,
That it would make me unhinged?
When I utter my silent prayers,
Can He not intervene again?

Is an individual's faith any less than
The faith of a group?
Why was there a miracle that night?
Why can't it repeat itself tonight?

I have so outgrown myself,
I have become so immersed.
Why do I have to see through the pain?
Why do I have to deal with causality?

Why can't the Architect show me two doors?
Am I so blinded by falsities?
Am I so less ?
I can't see a different culmination.
Why can't the veil be removed again?

Will she come back with Morpheus,
Looking for me?
Will she find the Train-man?
Will she take the trouble?

Everything can't have a causality.
There must be scope for irrationality.
Everything can't be added up.
There must be scope for generosity.

Actions are hardly the projections of human thoughts.
Can a man not succumb to externalities?
Can one journey define a man's life forever?

I immerse myself tonight in prayer.
In the court of Almighty.
In gratitude and pleasure.
A weak bliss and lot of devotion.

My wants are so ruthless,
Feels bad to know they originate from me.
Yet, I ask, if there is a bigger reality?
Is there a bigger reality than
When all that matters is a simple smile from her.

My sins are deep.
My wishes many.
I am as human as I could be.
Why can't she be less divine?

The clock

The clock ticks away,
Calm and meticulous.
The gears engage every moment,
A human endeavor to measure the unthinkable.

The clock ticks away,
Things have remained the same for so long.
The minutes add, the seconds multiply,
The dust accumulates on the edges.

A human superstition to rebel -
Against the silent passage of time ?
The clock just ticks away,
A rational justification of the inexplicable.

A meaningless effort to measure change,
A change in something so surreal.
Something which we can possibly not perceive in absolute,
But difficult to even refute.

A fool's paradise,
A man's world.
The clock - only if it could skip a few moments.
Bound by the gear teeth of the physical reality,
What can it possibly capture?

The beautiful lanes of Krishna Nagar

The road is narrow,
The way is thick and fast.
The houses save each other
From the rays of the tropical sun.

The ice cream vendors drag their frozen boxes
To and fro.
The wheels keep on turning,
People are coming home.

The clothes hang by the balcony,
Curious glances meet each other.
The shops are so full of ingredients of life,
The air smells of love.

The roads are dusty and uneven,
Like the very road of life,
They are half-made and lively,
Unlike the depressing concretes.


The small market lies close by,
Sustains the samsara in the lanes,
The nirvana is of course in the small kothis,
Love is that what bridges the gaps.

The seasons change, 
People move on,
The lanes look ever so beautiful,
On the canvas of life,
The paintings go on.