A storm brew behind the closed doors,
the storm was never meant to go by
the storm was never meant to touch you
the storm was never meant to upturn.

It was a storm meant to take me instead
the storm which brew, was there to wash
the storm was there to cleanse and leave
the storm was never meant to kill any.

Neither of us were meant to die
Neither of us were meant to leave
Just sit under the roof outside the storm
And then see it slowly rise and fly by.

How did we come in touch with it
How did we even reach the door
How did we manage to pry it open
And let the storm not take its course.

The storm was maybe an accident
An accident I didn't ever foresee
An accident I wish to erase forever
and bolt the door to that heavy breeze.

We stand on either of the door shafts
Trying hard to close the door shut
Ever time it comes closer to reality
A single gust lets our efforts falter.

And then we are at it again, relentless.

The storm was never meant to upturn
The storm was there to cleanse and leave
The storm was never meant to touch you
And neither of us were meant to die.

If I were a pangolin

If I were a pangolin 

I would slowly curl up in my den.

My den would be with me

Wherever I decide to be.

Curling up would be much easy

And letting it in not compulsory.

My tail would swat those pests,

And I would be along a quest

With the Badger and the Bear

With whom I could truely share

The story of my many scales

And all those kicking around tales.

May I die?

May I die?
The heart wants to know
It is pining and pinning
and it is screaming.


Every scream falls
on my deaf years.
its lived a long life
and also a lie
it refuses to be
my confidant
It wants to walk
walk as it moves
away and away
to a place
far far way.


It reminds me
of all that it
has seen so long
for all that was
there and there not.
what it left behind.
and what
it had never had
of the love and pain
of the words
of all that worth.


for i have died
many ages ago
it says
it is you who
has to let me go.

Falling out of love

The fear of truth
Leaves behind a stance
A need for expression
Leaves its own mask
Speaking of one
Thinking of the other
Keeping aside the love
An expression of hate
Seeing the sparseness
And not the multitude
Seeking the hatred
And not the approval
The expression of
The self in the other.

Pinning him with you
Twisting her around
Showing that face
Which you have seen
The only one you see
Erasing all memory
Of the truth and nice
Hatred for the self
Blamed on the other
The need to hate:
The need to love
Borne without reason
Yet not of much
Writing in solitude
To those who see
The face i portray
The me behind the me.

When I am four,
I am stubborn and I want attention.
I am hidden and I need not mention.
I am looking for what is lost
I am craving for what was past.
I am missing the light of day,
and the time for all that play.
I am calling out to the then
Where I lived not in a den,
Hatched and allowed to grow
Bask in the sun and water flow.
I am looking for the love and care
For that sweet combing of the hair.
I am looking for the lasting smile,
Nights reading books by the pile.
I am remembering of when-
I was simple and I was sleek
I was not "Oh so meek..!"
I was younger and had a voice,
My decisions were by choice.
When I am four,
I forget all that I have lost,
I dont yearn for what was past.
I am standing in the light of day,
and I have all the time to play.
When I am four,
I look back and I know...
Things once lost are never found,
Destiny is not to which I am bound.
I am peeping out of the window such,
Wishing not to be, by myself as much.

Says, the bird:

When it all was behind me,
When it all was yet to come,
When it all came back to me
When I had it all yet none.
I was scared to be free...
I was scared to fly...
I was secretly hoping,
The pond would never dry.
My dreams were short,
My eyes wide shut...
I could hear the pulse go,
In that mad mad rush.
I wanted to walk ahead,
I wanted to look back...
I wanted the skin to shed,
Leave me and let me be okay!

The fire had now expanded, to the world it was not visible.
She hid it well, within the tresses, they mingled slowly.
At-least she thought so, she didn't know yet, if someone saw.
Saw the flames slowly creep in and not exit from the clouds.
She was not sure, which way to look, where to hide them.
No direction so far had held her close, taken care to look.
The proximity was a fear she treasured, her little secret.
She had now known for long the songs were now dying.
She held on to them, they were dry twigs she did know.
Her hands slowly burned, she had foreseen the ash.
The flame brought the songs to ash, songs already dead.
Tears could save not much, for the tresses were longer,
The drops slowly dried, the salt which had remained,
Clung on to her consciousness, stuck to her for life.
What she could do nothing about was now a part of her,
Not her's to take, not her decision to make, not her's
Yet her soul was at stake; for it was her belief,
In life which was dead on the outside yet alive within.
She was blamed for the flame which was not her's to hide.
She was blamed for the water not being enough to ignite.
The dreams were rampant, epidemic love soon struck,
Blinded by fate and residue salt she decided to flee.
Ran as the girl; through the meadow, a wind flew.
Caught in the sudden wind the long tresses unfolded
Out emerged the lion enveloped in the flames,
Free to turn to ash what had been existing since.