A curated cellar of musings.
Squares, they are floating Always in a cozy, crowded group Drifting without a point In a circular sea They’ve no depth, they’re just pieces Bits of flatness Senseless fragments— Their absorptive apparatus, wrecked beyond repair; They yell and bray out shallow nothings, In the language of the visually deaf Kites float in Adorn the air…
Ye hanste huye phool ye mahka hua gulshan ye rang mein aur noor mein dubi huyi raahe ye rang mein aur noor mein dubi huyi raahe ye phoolon ka ras pee ke machalte huye bhanwre ye phulo ka ras pee ke machalte huye bhanwre Mein dhoon bhi to kya dhoon tumhe, e-shokh —nazaro le de…
Disclaimer: My lens aperture got all miotic on me during the old city part of the sojourn. Yet a part of me is sure that a visual encounter with the Qutb-Shahi's city did happen. That dreamy encounter would religiously occupy the contents of another post. A Gentle cauldron of culture— part stone, part water. A…
Stuck in a rathole Crowded, surrounded, strangulated Rats all over Rules are a misstatement Rats crawl, push, prod and exist Am a non-rat Dropped into Ratisthan I will convert... Convert into a Rat But I wait till then Stuck in my alien cubicle.
We occasionally get to know about a person or a deed, which we refer to as “Evil”. These deeds or the people associated with them possess a moral compass, which is in total dissonance with that of ours’s. Though these minorities might be a subset to the society that encompasses them, we often, comfortably, consider…
Lazy Sunday’s idyll—promising yet fragile. A stony path attracts, assures grassy possibilities. The path curves, swerves and entices, repelling the quaint milieu. The unwary drifter meets a dipping stone, The path imbibes him onto the earth. Into an oblivion of reality. Sunday’s gullibility—befittingly exploited. Kannan…
I am a speck, a dot. I am cradled by the warm igneous, Drink off the sea, Feed off the fellow specks, Sully and spawn as I please. Of late, things have gotten hot, The sea's turned tumultuous, My abode has more dots than the sea, now. Lest anyone forget my name, They call me,…
Earth has a way of asserting its presence. Our daily coffee is in a way earth’s emissary to our senses. Have it in the evening, the blend of the bent rays and the earthiness of caffeine is hypnotising rather than invigorating.
Surrounded by honking predators, Hell bent on putting me off my path, I tirelessly meander through the sea. The endlessly zigzagging traffic talks in a hybrid tongue. Part human, part auto: the language is but noise tucked into profanity. A sea of wheeled humanity, More inclined to stop my progress than to move, Yells, “Stay…
