What Of These Wings

She had wings, wide, majestic
Wings so pretty, they’d catch everyone’s eye
Wings so perfect, bespoke for flight
Wings that wished to soar high
But she lived in fear
Feared she’d fall if she took off
Feared she’d break her wings if she tried
Feared so much, she held her wings close
And just like that, they withered, unused
The most majestic wings ever known
Were lost forever to fear of the unknown.



What the glorious life of Stephen Hawking teaches me, in a nutshell.

The beauty in humanity is endless
The seams of knowledge are boundless
There’s so much to seek, so much more to give
The opportunities for reform are countless
For a lone treader of the path of life
These moments of knowledge are priceless
There’s no knowledge too old, no concept too new
They’re all lessons, regardless
And while uncertainty is the only thing certain
Certainty lies in that, we’re limitless


We’re all part of a system

Flawed humans working towards a flawless world

Broken lives mending the dents in humanity

Tattered pieces, coming together to form a collage

We’re part of a system that runs on faith

We hold the reigns to this society, you and me

Reigns that slip each time with anger and doubt

This masterpiece dismantled each time there is conflict

Each time we run out of chances to give

The onlooker would know, how we’re tearing apart

This universe that we put years into making

For lack of trust, in humanity and humans

We tie ourselves up, as we come undone

City Lights

So they glimmer, the city lights

Hundred different lights, a thousand different stories

Together, they conjure a pretty sight

Lights of hope, happiness and memories


The faintest glimmer comes from the farthest

It talks of the warmth, the comfort of home

And yet it catches your eye the earliest

Patient, welcoming, it holds it’s own


The brightest and the tallest light

That of lure, promises, competition

It shines fiercely, the perfect white

Light for your dreams and their realisation


A string of lights plays mischievously

Many different colours, outlining a house

They celebrate, decorate the atmosphere of glee

Blinking happily as they read wedding vows


The most solemn light stands at the centre of it all

Inviting, calming, it offers protection

The house of prayer, quaint, peaceful, small

Igniting the path for seekers of salvation


City lights, they glimmer, they speak for their own

They bring to life the dark city nights

The skies of the city, they proudly own

The mute storytellers, the city lights.

Vows And Woes

She came in much earlier this year

Breezing past them all, nuzzling in their ear

This time was different though, a friend gave her company

Didn’t go down well, none approved of this matrimony

Little did she care though, for they’d been given their chance

To love her, respect her, to bring in the romance

But they took her for granted, not noticing the magic of her being

The way she cooled them, loved them, was a sight worth seeing

She decided not to wait any longer, all she craved was respect

That’s when he came along, to save the damsel in distress

Aggression in his blood, destruction was in his name

An encounter with him was terminal, bloody was his game

Hand in hand they walked, into the city calm

Set everything afloat, kicked up a literal storm

Finally they kneeled, folded hands, in front of her

Begged for their lives, asked not to make them suffer

Winter sought vindication in this new found godly appeal

Storm, her new mate, had made a deadly reveal

Together they set off seeking justice, everywhere that Winter was wronged

Mother Nature, however subtle, had raised all her children strong.

Step Out

These inhibitions that hold you down

Some, gifts from the society, the others your own

They look sturdy but they’re only silken strings

Tug at them and they snap at once

But step out soon, else they grow back around you

This time stronger, much more sturdier

And they’ll feed on you, and stay silken no more

Then the day will come, you’ll not have known when

Silken strings were replaced by iron shackles….

Road Trips

These are the very roads we traversed in broad daylight

But somehow the silver of the moonlight makes them look pristine

The tree by the roadside we found pretty and calm by day

Roars with might, showcasing strength by night

The stream that glimmered golden this morning

Still glows, only with hues of moonlit silver

With no clear distinction between fog and cloud

We walk right through a blanket of thick white wonder

As nature, in all its majesty changes form over time

She never ceases to amaze, with all the beauty she holds dear

And the million faces on the way, unknown, yet, imparting belonging

And their million smiles, those of gratitude and simple acknowledgment

Road trips are intriguing, to each hungry eye

And with those you hold dear, road trips are important

For the destination then never matters, time is the supreme precious

One such road trip, with roads prettier than the destination…

The Price Of knowing

Is it fair that life can be brutally harsh in more ways than one, all at once? 

Would it be okay to still call it coincidence, and not unnatural as my world gets undone? 

With all that was dear, lost, and all that was life, hurt, is it okay for me to smile yet? 

Will anticipation get the better of me, my fears redeemed, and spirits upset? 

See, that’s the part of growing up that I abhor- that I know and understand more

That the youth in my kin is greying and ageing, the poverty in our pockets not hidden anymore

And then there’s expectation, be an adult, understand, and find a way out

It scares me to tell you, I’m just as lost as you, it scares me to say it aloud

I detest birthdays because each adds a wrinkle to my prematurely ageing brow

Most of all the fear that erupts from all these secrets that I now know

And tell me to be fearless, and I’ll still worry, because believe me, life is trying

With all the courage I have, and all the knowledge you give me,I try, and yet end up crying

For this tunnel we’re walking through seems to have no light at the end at all

And I see you melt, right before my eyes, your dejection the last crack in the wall…


Strolling down the grassland, exploring nature’s raw beauty

I noticed a flower bud, little, but pretty 

Inconspicuous though its location, yet extremely attractive

It caught my attention, held me captive

I decided to watch , as long as time permits

It’s evolution through life, those subtle transits

The tiny green bud now was waking from its slumber

Gently peeking through, were delicate petals, lavender

Over days to come, she stretched out lazily

Bright slender petals fluttered against the wind happily

The sun shone across its being, made it shimmer

Dewdrops at dawn, moonlight, set to glimmer

I saw her through the harshest of sun and worst of breeze

Strong as ever she stood, “You’re invincible, ” I teased

She was so many colours inside, you’d miss if you didn’t care

With utmost subtlety and poise, her stance, she’d bear

But time came, the slender lavender could hold up no more

She curled upon herself, even as wind through her, tore

When tempest did no harm,a silent breeze denuded her centre

All colour lost, shrunken, ready to wither

The lavender turned brown, almost as if by magic

And just like that, she was gone, a sight beyond tragic

For weeks I did mourn, looking at the soil that was her abode

Not noticing her hundred daughters that now lined the road

Just as man mourns the demise of who to him are dear

Not knowing they live on, through deeds, genes and peer

They say life is temporary, but death permanent

I’d argue, life’s temporary, but death, isn’t even a thing.
In memory of Chester Bennington whom I’d only recently begun to know and respect and who continues to live through his music in all of us.

The Pursuit Of Identity

Have you ever observed butterflies, just doing their thing, fluttering their wings? 

Ever wanted to choose which one of them was prettier? 

Ever wondered what they’d be like ,sans all the color? 

Did they, as caterpillars intrigue you just as much? 

Would they ,with broken wings, interest you just as much? 
No. The beautiful wings gave them identity.
Ever placed paper on oil paint and marveled at the random designs?

Ever repaired a tattered shoe until you made it shine? 

Ever noticed a solitary dragonfly in a pack of over a thousand? 

Ever paid attention to a background dancer without reason? 
The paint gave paper identity. Identity to its blank existence

Your effort gave the shoe identity. Identity to its ragged existence

A solitary dragonfly has none whatsoever, unless a wing’s extra, or none at all

Limelight gives the dancer its identity, identity with reason.
Would it be completely wrong then, to say

Identity is identity ,only as long as you hold on to it? 
A baby’s born, and nurtured with “unconditional love”

It grows to become an obedient kid, loved and blessed by all

One fine day, it goes missing, much to everyone’s horror

The description they gave was of a well mannered kid, happy, active and cheerful.

Word gets out and a hunt begins, no yield whatsoever.
Ten years down, at the door he stands, every bit a tramp

Smoking a joint, unruly hair, stinking of alcohol and dirt

Their kid went missing, a boy had returned, not in the slightest their own

Unconditional love seemed a lost cause, not knowing how things had turned
They took him in, fed him well, but only because he was blood

The person in him was no more their own, he felt his soul burn

Went away without saying a word, this time no search ensued

No tears shed, no worries exchanged, none a fan of his identity, new.
He went, only to return, a man of thirty, having figured out his life

His effort to be someone they’d love, wouldn’t go unanswered

This time they took him in, arms wide open, tears of joy were shed

Made him promise he’d never walk away, their boy had finally returned
He went in search of his lost identity, that which appealed to all

Buried the one he carried, instead, that which appealed to him

Lived the rest of his life happy, amid love and respect

The only emotion missing, now, was that of content
At seventy he fell sick, his memory couldn’t keep up

The people faded from his mind, they who were his identity

They walked away from his self, “unconditional love” went down the drain

He lost his real identity for people who didn’t care after all….