Give anything you can.

On one day when I was entering the college campus I saw two kids( they were siblings), their age was not more than seven. They were  looking dirty with lots of mud on their cloths but their was a spark in their eye which I certainly noticed.  They asked me for some help and I gave them two five rupee coins. They passed me a sunny smile, a smile full of life which obviously  I will cherish for my whole life. When I walked few steps more another boy of about eight years was standing. He also asked me for help but I didn’t have more coins, so I just smiled and passed. And then suddenly both  that boys whom i helped gave him one of the coin which i gave it to them.


A small, poor, dirty looking boy can understand the  pleasure of giving and the joy of satisfaction in  sharing things  so why can’t we?


In my dream



Sky is a bit clearer now,

Moon is trying to confirm its existence,

by slightly hovering itself from,

behind the veils of cloud.

White compact florescent lights,

from the bulbs repeatedly located at,

the corners of lawn are serving as,

the lodestar of my path in absence of stars.

We both are standing,

in front of each other.

The color of my face is changing,

with every passing second,

the silence is remarkable.

His cheeks are glistened

because of slightly drizzling rain droplets.

Squally wind softened and

converted the intense weather.

into a pacifying one.

I am surprised.

I am dazed.

A subdued voice,


that was enough to halt that choking silence,

And to make me realize,

I can never see you here.

You are within me,


I can’t be with you.










Drifting without a purpose,

roaming in and around the avenues,

feeling the joy of nature,

and singing the song of life,

as mother earth is my home,

and the bluish sky is the limit,

my nights are  singular

with charismatic dreams,

under the billions stars and a placid moon,

my days are shining,

under the flashing sun and sometimes white foamy clouds,

rains are the showers of my happiness,

lightening is of pains,

natives say my life is useless,

without any gains.

I am an itinerant,

filling the color in my canvas,

made up of gravel or paper,

struggling to find a concrete existence.

I am itinerant,

I have nothing except some benediction.

My life is a desultory journey,

without a defined destination.





Voice of victims.

VOICE OF victims

I also desire to capture inches of this world,

In my innocent shining eyes.

Let me expand my wings.

I also want to inscribe about this world,

With my small sharp floral printed pencil.

Let me learn about it.


I also crave to create melodic waves

through my metallic stringed guitar.

Let me perceive the sounds of chirping birds.


Let me sense the sounds of falling water.

Flowing through the edges of precipice.

Let me feel the ripple created on the lake.

Due to the effect of a small bumpy stone.


I am an enclosed bud,

Let me blossom into an enchanting flower,

I will add a new splendor,

in this lovely, graceful world.

I will add my cologne,

In this fragranced world.


Don’t cut my wings.

Don’t crush my petals,

Don’t crack the strings of my guitar,

Don’t break the tip of my pencil.

One day,

I will confront you,

One day,

I will ask you,

What was my fault?

One day, you have to answer.

What was my mistake?





 Dedicated to the innocent children who lost their lives of the  deadly terrorist attacks.

First lesson of life.

First lesson of life.

The moon, the other celestial bodies,

The gorgeously arranged galaxies,

And the fairy tales,

Those white angels,

Magical jinn and mighty lamps,

The first love of every child,

The first dream of every curious eye,

Is out of reach,


That experiment I performed in

My infantile days,

And I comprehended it,




There is dust

And grime on the silver,

Polished glass and on the walls,

Of the room in which it is

Forcefully fitted.

It is saying it’s own story.

I tried to clear that dust,

Which were the proofs of my silent absence,

From the affairs of this world,

But couldn’t.

I stood in front of it,

And now my soul was transparent,

I saw,

All those things, which were inside me.

A very low decibel voice came,

If I can live with so much dirt,

With so much comfort,

Then why can’t this piece of glass?



Here some come to mourn,

And some to look at the conditions,

Of all those,

Who have now no existence.

And are now rested in peace,

After tasting the acrimonious but interesting world,

Selfish but slightly compassionate world.

Here you can feel,

That there is continuity.

There is day after night,

There is night after day.

There is life after death,

There is death after life.

For some this place is a slayer of their happiness

And of their beloved.

And for some who struggled,

It is a place for relief..

But for me,

It is a place, where I can see.

My future and yours too.