Thank You, Mom and Dad

For all that you both do for me,
words aren't enough, to express my gratitude.
Unconditionally Loving me.
To celebrate and embrace life, you taught me.
Raising me in a stable household.
Instilled in me the traditional values, I strongly hold.
I could not have asked for better parents and role-models,
For the continued support and encouragement  you give.
As brother and I grew up with those wonderful memories to cherish,
No matter how far away we are,
in all our happiness, you are always missed.
Although we are grown up to be independent,
we will always remain your little children.

Trans(ce)

To resume another new day,
I call it off, for a reboot to make.

With saved Experiences & processing memories,
I remember the times I've had, least of worries.

A visual poetry starts to weave, as I  fall into a trance.
A smooth wave and a soft breeze, it feels. As if in Trans.

What is this place, I've never been to before?
Like in an adventurous game to play, I adore.

Men so fierce, in a desert unknown. Riding on ursus, as white as snow.

I run for my life, faster than I've ever done,
Until I fell, a labyrinth by a tree under a hidden mansion.

A labyrinth it was like in Rick Riordon's book,
Into a place like the ancient Rome, it got me hooked.

Here I see a battle field, amidst the ruined collosium,
Sitting beside me, with armors and shields, is my husband.

We run for our lives from horses and armed soldiers,
With narrow escape, from heads being chopped by swords, shaped like shear.

Tripped by a debris, I fall into a hole,
It's the labyrinth again. Stop! Behold!

As amazing it seems, so was it thrilling,
Mind cautioned, heart pounding, and rush of adrenaline.

Now in a place I stand, so much like India
But so very quiet, so very clean - this is euphoria.

Huge they are, each like a palace,
People's homes, who to me, were familiar.

I walk past their homes, admiring the architecture.
And greeted by all, who seemed near and dear.

It was the last house that looked so familiar.
Realized it was, home of a friend very dear.

Startled by a noise, I turn back to see,
The fierce men and bears, were there, hunting for me

I run into the house, taken into a room,
Shut to safety, take a deep breadth or two.

With fear of death, my closed eyes pray,
Shook by an old man, who looks scared and dazed.

I tell him I'm chased by the fierce men and bears,
Shocked to life, he tried to escape from here.

Trying to hide, he suddenly disappears,
Probably a opening to the labyrinth was there.

I hear the bears sniffing out the door,
By the time they broke in, I came out of the show.

Dreams they are, that take me beyond,
The world never known for so very long.

diwali ki Hardik shubkamnahein

Har raat taaron Se hoti hai mujhe roshni mehsoos
Par diwali k rangeen raat, taare bhi na lagti mehfooz

An unfair world

Unable to accept the unfair world,
As if I am the newly formed butterfly.
Flutters freely in the sweet smelling meadows,

Until getting a view of the chamoflaged dangers.
 Not minding the threat, & not to lose the freedom,
Flying freely, until getting strangled in a cobweb.

Struggling to get out of the thin yet firm strings,
A painful realization to be a guest of an eight legged
Until the rain drops broke the strings & gave a 2nd chance

Flew to safety with a lesson for a lifetime,
To not always be carefree, be modest a times.
For, the world  can make our life go topsy-turvy

If I were..

If I were a dream,
in someones eyes, like a gleam,
I would impel their minds to achieve me,
See them walk through their destiny.
how they win, with obstacles, so many

If I were a flower,
I'd hug the bees and give'em  nectar
feel the wind and sway with the other,
spread my fragrance across the borders,
and rest in peace, on the day, another

If I were a tree,
I'd take pride in giving shade to thee,
In bearing you fruits that tastes so sweet.
I'd provide wood to built shelter for thee,
and yet not show pain, when you cut me.

If I were the moon,
I'd rise early, for the sun set view.
A visual lullaby, I'd put you to sleep, soon
I'd tell you, if I captured a hare or a goon.
And i'd see the world go quiet, so soon.

If I were the sun,
I'd start a dream for some,
see the sunflowers bloom at once,
admire the trees grow so awesome,
and bid goodbye to the moon, while I go down.

If I were...

Hear it here

sounds of hunger

amidst the class, about food and culture,
with the longing to eat, my mind wanders.
Its been a while, since i had my last meal,
I thought for myself,I can manage, no big deal!

'food' for thoughts, foods we visualize,
'food' for discussions, talks - none otherwise.
Oh my cravings! please don't die,
Don't call ghrelin and make me shy.

a victim to the stares of my neighbor, already,
for the musical notes playing in my tummy.
Ms. Professor too seems like a lead of an orchestra,
listing all the cuisines and restaurants in the area.

For a project it is, to taste test and comment,
I urged to start mine, that very instance
with her cont'd instructions, it grew more intense,
filling me with the utmost embarrassment.

all of a sudden, the class fell quiet,
Ghrr! Grrr!  burrp! now that's my diet.
heads turned, for a view of the culprit,
but the professor laughed in all good spirits

feeling abashed i cupped my face
i was filled with aw, when they all  gazed,
'Relax!' my neighbor said with sympathy
relieved I was, when she knew I was hungry.

my hungry tummy, the sounds it makes
for I thought, a fart, they all would mistake.


Hear it here

My pen

It's so much pleasure to write my thoughts,

Better than sharing with the friend I walk.

Sometimes moody and some very silly,

 Always noting the muses of its lady,

Never will argue, none will question,

Any color of the ink, when chosen.

Heartless indeed, but a quiet listener,

Who never judges on what I ponder.

Sometimes stuck in my occupied mind,

Words don't flow with the emotional mime.

Yet it's tries scribbling, to amuse

It's lady to whom, gives an idea to muse.

Here I tried to personify a pen. Making the pen a private friend with whom I share the most secretive thoughts, for, a pen - a materialistic thing without a heart or soul will not judge me by my thoughts and will always be a quiet listener. The pen would even  try to cheer me with its scribbles, and when words don't flow, these scribbles would even give me ideas to think