Category Archives: Self


If right hand is unfit for the mouse
it can be the left.
The mouse is made ready for this adjustment.

Both right and left fingers play well
on the keyboard
and the mind over the screen.

Thoughts can still be converted into words
and words into a poem.
A plastered hand is no constrain.

But the real problem is somewhere else
and my poem is not finished.


Acts And Pretense

Perhaps, this is the reason why
people in general, learned
believe in practicing keep secret.

Neither I am general nor learned.
So I am having these problems
a lot, a lot.

All my sincere acts
as I believe them to have been
are mercilessly laughed at.

My poems are too good

My poems are too good
but they are in search
of right people to go through.
I wait for them to come
and taste.

Someday, I believe
they’ll come
and read them with love
as much
as I write them with.

They will go through
every sentence and word
and every letter
leaving not even a comma
or a full stop unexamined.

Everything in it
will speak to them.
Everything in it
will make them smile or cry
and reading my poems
they will wonder how
could I know their truth
so true!

The sad part of this story
is only this much
that when they really do
I may not be found
that they can share
their feelings with me.

I don’t think this internet
will ever be so powerful
to carry their feelings to me.
But who there again not rear
a child or a dream
proudly to fill his absence?

poem of poems

Three days have already passed
and no new poem.

Small and big fishes are all around
but none is interested for the hook.

Thoughts moving, slipping, sliding,gliding
almost mocking at the bait.

The patience of an angler
is only comparison to that of a poet.

Got to catch big, wait, wait, wait.
If not today, come tomorrow

or again day after, after, after.
an angler and a poet should have

no time bar.No calendar.
The clock isn’t made for them.

Today will be a memorable day tomorrow

The man broken in the mirror is not me.
Must be the mirror which is broken here.
I know ins and out of this man for ages
who hates breaking for any reason whatsoever.

The man who you call a dreamer or even a loser
(in his absence of course) is not an ordinary man.
He has strong faith on his beliefs who believes
even today can be a memorable day tomorrow.

Don’t believe your eyes even if you see him dying,
A dreamer never dies, nor dies his dreams.
You got to believe if he says he has got a dream new
where he’ll make no mistake and a wonder will happen.

I laugh at me

When my black and white hair
and high power lenses
fail to convince you
my wise thoughts
I laugh at me.

I laugh at me
because I tend to forget
that everyone deals in his own way
as I did it in my past
as I do it right now.

I will laugh more
if my wisdom fails to tell me again
what is really not wise doing.
I will laugh more
if I can not convince even myself.

Hey, I’m the genie

My search ends
when at last I come to know
I’m the genie.
Genie in the bottle.

“I’m deceitfully trapped”
this is how I feel about me.
I have immense power
of doing good, doing great
but you fools
you have blocked me here
almost dead.

For such a long time
I am locked in this bottle
helpless, undone!
I’m not sleeping
I’m not blind, I’m genie
always trying to break away
from my prison of glass.

I’m very worried
for showing you my miracles.
You fools, I’m waiting
I’m waiting to be freed