10 August 2014


The striking strokes of
Your paintings
Which you never painted
Keep calling me
To the worlds of
My unwritten poems

Oh my sky…
I could not read
The colours now
I could not paint
The words now
I feel so incomplete
Without your art..

Why are you so numb
Can’t you hear
The chords of my poems
Which are the paintings
Of your heart


.Her Innocence.

The wonderous generous
Zesty lust of life
Goes crippled with her

Kills her,fills her with
Sheer wisdom and maturity
Which she wears
Like a pardah against
Her childlike face
When she stands tall

But deep in heart
She is afraid that
Where to bury innocence

She will be called
The wisest amongst all