We think we tread the solid earth. Yet, the earth itself was but a dream.
In the dream, we burned each other's desires and greed,
Filled with the ecstasy of each other's love, we finally became one—
Only to realize we were each other's roses.
We think we know one another, yet we know nothing.
Even this, in the end, was merely a dream of each other.
We thought we were walking upon a dream.
Only to awaken and find ourselves standing upon real ground,
Holding fast to each other's love and warmth.
I neither awaken nor do I dream.
At this very moment,
With a thundering, restless sound, I am born anew.
Someday, when someone reads these words of mine,
I shall be born within your heart and in your eyes—
Not as a dream, but as reality.
==================================
No more writing!
Until my poem calls me, again!
==================================
From lies in books they set us free
Encyclopedias are redacted
And Satie’s fourth Gymnopedie
Flooded with likes from the attracted
I’m living in the brave new world
It works far freakier than Huxley’s
I’m bought and sold and I download
I get the codes to use them aptly
I’m quite a modern chap these days
No more a fossil left in lurch
Daedalus AI builds new maze
Keeps every Theseus in search
Where is that famous silver thread?
But I just passed the exit gate
I heard the Minotaur is dead
The ambulance arrived too late..
I have no more tears
they all have mixed in my drink
giving a bad taste
As drops of water from the face of sea
Vanish to rise, be pregnant clouds to drain
Down, getting born again raindrops to be,
Many if merge, one with ocean in vain,
Some fall in vales, on hills or on plane lea,
A few as fade in dust or desert sands,
And some as rivers flow farther and free
To ocean, their journey’s cycle as ends.
Some drops, were they to fall on bird’s dropping,
Fertilize it to cause a fresh life’s birth
As a seed sprouts to grow as green sapling
One day to be a tree that gathers girth,
So Death, thou art no more than a mere change,
A device in destiny’s hand deemed strange.
_____________________________
Musings | 11.02.2011 revised July 2026 | change, death, life, rain, Sonnet
Note: continued in Part- II.
How many more graves
must we dig
before we run out of earth
to bury our dead?
How many more mothers
must we watch weep
before sorrow itself
runs out of tears?
How much more blood
must stain our soil
before we learn
nothing grows from war?
Let the last grave we dig
be a grave for rifles.
Let the last tears we shed
be tears of joy
war no more.
.
thuh light goez
on
i wannuh
count yourn
each
purty cutes
'til
tickle sweat
lock
mine yourn
drop
No more white-washing..Or black or green,
We need to engage with reality
For it creates by far and away
The superior lived out scene.'
From henceforth on, I'm a serious bloke.
I'll never take another toke.
For today, I solemnly pledge
I won't say something to drive you off the edge.
I'll never tell another joke.
I won't proceed willy-nilly,
thoughtlessly, with words so silly.
I've turned another page
and learned to act my age.
My reception, I hope, will be less chilly.
I'll never hit your face with pies
or make you roll your pretty eyes.
That's all in the past.
I'm a serious man at last,
though prone to tell some lies.
US WAS OUR FRIEND
WE THOUGHT TO THE VERY END
TO TRUMP WILL NOT BEND
If not you your fragrance, I’m not alone,
Thrives still the old romance, I feel not alone.
The pangs of loneliness do when pain me,
I dance our old dance and feel not alone.
Petals of old memories so fresh still,
Grievance stands no chance, I feel not alone.
Whenever I lapse unto how you left,
Time with you I advance, feel not alone.
Recall, tied you had knots of lifelong love,
To that cloth when I glance, feel not alone.
Hope, as it lives eternal in my heart--
You might return perchance, feel not alone.
Feeling you all so near and never far,
I lapse unto that trance, feel not alone.
_____________________________
Ghazal | 09.05.2026 | dance, forgiveness, fragrance, loneliness, romance
____________________
Most of April I spent, my mind totally switched off from poems, reading nor writing them, and wondered what if poems are penned no more. Pondering over, this poem was born.
________________________________________
What possibly might well happen
If poems are no longer penned?
Would all water bodies go dry?
Rivers flow reverse to mountains
And all Earth’s greenery get gray?
Would oceans go under Earth’s belly?
No, nothing that sort would happen.
Yet, who’d the rain fairies exhort
To come and play strange water sports?
How else heavenly damsels descend down
To bathe free from their gossamer garments?
To venture all over the sky,
Who’d imagine hills would wear wings of wind?
How’d blades of grass shed tears of dew?
No, everything may move as ere
And still seem less than fair.
If poets no more poems were to pen,
What at its worse might well happen?
Things more serious than imagine we can…
Earth, getting dull with shades of gray
Might well seem more so from that day.
___________________________
Musings | 04.05.2026 | ocean/sea, poems, rain, river, free verse
I call on my brothers and sisters in arms
To put down your weapons and raise no alarms.
The children are dying from missiles that fall
And we are to blame one and all.
When will we rise up and finally end
The murder of innocents we should defend?
No matter the war, it's always the same,
Those who suffer are never to blame.
Rich men and greedy men lust for more gold
So poor men fight battles; the story's retold.
Power in the wrong hands is a dangerous tool,
When a nation is ruled by a power-hungry fool.
Silence is complicit so war will remain
Fed by the same tired old campaign:
'Misinformation and terrorist threat'
Excuses abound and the stage is set.
Our people have become numb to most wars.
The violence rarely comes to our shores.
Not since Nam have we been involved
In a long-term conflict, never resolved.
So, listen my people, your voices reclaim.
Let the world hear the same bold refrain:
'No Wars, No Nukes and No Kings'
Peace grows wings when a nation, as one, sings.
My body no longer sways back and forth.
The wind has died down.
The light turned low.
Except for the light of my phone.
The rings are now quiet.
But your name still shows.
The light shines only on my body.
Your roses are still in my chair.
The note lays close by.
waiting.
Waiting.
WAITING.
The phone answers.
All you see is my body.
There's writing on my shirt.
It repeats the line.
“For me, I'm no More”
I no longer wait for you,
Yet I still find myself searching.
There isn’t an ocean’s depth here,
But I still wish to drown in your eyes.
Just once, if I could see you again,
I’d read the lines of the fortunate in my fate.
I don’t know if I could have kept you happy,
But I was happiest just because you existed.
A boy who didn’t even understand what a smile meant,
You taught him how to laugh wholeheartedly.
You untangled the chaos within me,
Removed the thorns from my path,
You gave me everything—
Yet in this war of love, I still lost.
Now there is peace, but you are not here,
My heart still cries, yet it no longer hopes for you.
I wish to be close to you again,
But not as someone special—only to be ignored.
— Lucky
I go to Facebook
for some innocent fun,
and every post,
whether sweet or glum
is commented on
politically,
it’s become rather
parasitically
hypocritically
perniciously
suspiciously
a toxic condition
with no cure,
unfortunately!
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