Tag Archives: poetry

Sensing Time

Today I got some sense about time
how it has changed in last few thousand days.
All windows before seven are now closed.
Even those windows which were new
just ten thousand days ago
are now obsolete!

How many days make a life?
How many days have I lived so far?
Do I represent the computer stone age?
Yes,this is a perfect truth.
I came to this world even before the word
computer had come to exist.

Today I have sensed my ten years old
new computer has become obsolete!
There is almost no hope left but a change
Or I will fail to raech you everyday alive.

Unlike my aged eyes which can still see
unlike my aged mind which now works even better
unlike my heart which is still feeling so young
this computer has lost its game of life to the newbies.

At least seven windows is a must to rhyme with you
in words and graphics,in speed and rhythmn
or I myself will soon become invisible,dead.

But this is not my wish.
Showing great mercy to my old friend
and showing greater sympathy to my pocket
I will keep some organs of this machine
like the cabinet and display
the speakers and mouse
and maybe the keyboard too till it lasts
as memento of our pleasant companionship
for years.

For how many years were my first love alive?
For how many days did live the second?

Hoping no much good news would be pouring
into my pockets even in coming days and years
I have made a detailed plan with the technician
how we will keep many scopes to upgrade
its heart and lungs,eyes and mind
even for better to cope up with the time.

I still wanna dance with the newbies
and dance even better to show it and record
how this man has lived with the time
which has never been too fair to him altogether.



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.

There was no book in the book-fair

Yes,this is true.
There was no book for me in the book-fair.
Though I was attracted to a few
not girls,books
they were very expensive.
My daughter was with me
and my aged look which goes with me
by default.
cigarettes eat a big chunk of my budget
and I have no book shelf at all.
This will be a very tall tale if I go on narrating
my excuses.
I often think I was very rich
when I was unemployed.
I don’t remember now who they were
but certainly there were quite a few ghosts
who would supply me money to buy books
which I wanted to buy.
This time I was prepared to buy some poetry
but I found
the booksellers were not conscious about me.

Writing is my destiny

Says Google
21,700 results in 0.24 seconds
for “writing is my destiny”
and I am sure it will increase.

I will be one of 21,701.
You maybe already there
or appear next to me.

Asking again
“reading is my destiny”
only 0005 results in 0.50 seconds.

You need not be upset.
Readers are not writers
So Google fails to locate.

Explaining absence

Not that I don’t want to go.
Not that.
This is our social obligation that we do
respect invitations.

Let the invitation come
either from your or my
relatives or friends
Let this be an invitation for
a marriage ceremony or betrothal

We need respect every invitation jointly
I don’t care how you explain
my absence
or you don’t care how I do
explain yours.

I have an old complaint
and now I myself am old.
I have explained it so many times
and now I want you go alone
and do it yourself.

via Explaining absence.

life ends with a computer crash

I have recently survived
a massive heartbreak
working overnight in vain
and lastly by changing
an input drive
and upgrading
my random access memory.

Now I own seven windows
to enter into my world
more effectively.
You can not imagine
how blank I felt
when I went to sleep
with the rising sun elsewhere.

You can rightly call me
an internet addict
to whom most of this world exists
within this rectangular screen.
Whether this is too bad
is a different question but to some
life ends with a computer crash.

Where’s money?

But where’s money?
When ultimately
you come to this question
my poetry silently walks away.

No moon, no star
no bird, no flower
no sky, no mountain
can truly make her smile.

Hurt, wounded
disappointed and sad
now she thinks for hours
what is her real value on earth?

For hours and days
sometime even for weeks
she doesn’t feel easy to come near
because she earns no real money for me.


Not even an hour ago
before starting my bike
I looked at the sky.

There I saw the cloud
black and thick moving
slowly dispersing
towards the east.

Surely it will bring rain
I thought kicking
putting headlight on.
The pillion and I
both were without
our raincoats in box.

So, this will be a race
with the dark cloud
and also with the rain
I thought driving my bike.