Another side of my heart is called pain: ever pumping!
I feel frozen holding on to the flame of my own duality..
Mind hates to seep in delusion soaking faintly discolored obsession.
Just a single cord is enough to be tangled
A farewell to my shadow is not my death; it’s my rebirth in darkness.
My pond life with hydra is over; now I’m into the ocean world of poetry to dive deeper..
Home was never a dream for homeless people as they used to have their homes. Living in a home was their reality. Now we need to help them to find the lost-reality again.
You are a cool cemetery.
You have the sinner’s grave
You have the saint’s earth
You have all the beds
narrow as a knife;
as if a rally of tombstones to defend death.
But you can’t really postpone
the inauguration of my burial,
From the poem – Few Words to Cemetery
Never try to lock the virtue’s door with the key of vice
It may lock forever; never to be opened again
Sometimes it is easier to feel the veins wilted and empty than to sense the coldness of blood in fear