Raindrops tap on the window,
steam rises from my cup,
and for a moment,
the world feels soft and slow!

-

Nights breathed, between paused memories.
Empty silence,
Two different terraces.

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Life - abyssal voyage 
Yesterday, I went to see a new house—
A beauty in every corner.
A garden, tenderly dressed, in the courtyard,
An open terrace,
A veranda for resting chaos.
The garden carries whispers of spring,
Where birds arrive to play;
The terrace holds a marketplace of moonlight,
And the veranda must greet the most tender dawn.
There is more—
A fountain spilling silver,
A boulevard painted in colors across the street.
Yet—
The old furniture will not remain.
Nor the playhouse of memories,
Where time was never counted
With those childhood companions—
They say such moments
Do not belong in the glittering city of modernity.
And so, I wonder—
Today, I may wear the cloak of modern,
But tomorrow, perhaps even my name
Will be written down
In the ledger of misfits.
No matter—
A big house may hold no shortage of rooms,
But the heart—
The heart carries endless space.
And so—
You are invited.
 

-

The Drifting Mind


It will return,

before the night gathers itself—

tonight, under the full moon.

It knows my unease with the swelling tide,

the quiet panic of losing.

And that old promise— that the ebb will always

bring back what was carried away?

Only a story we tell ourselves.

-

The words and tunes that touch the tired soul…

After a long, weary day, music brings its gentle comfort—

From country-pop to rock, from ‘blue notes’ to Pannalal Ghosh,

From Farida Khanum to Rabindra Sangeet to Lata Mangeshkar…

And the list goes on. The slow, soothing notes after a loud day

Are nothing less than a magical potion.

-

Freedom was won with valor, wrested from the claws of torment.
A nation once dreamt of breathing, beneath an unbound sky.
Now, decades on, the heavens remain wide and generous—
Yet liberty gasps for air, and humanity decays with each passing minute.

-

I plan to sit and reflect on my perspective of what life has to offer—the people, the chaos, the silence, the sorrows, the happiness, and everything in between.
On a bright sunny day, I want to note down on
how many times I smiled and made others smile, unconditionally? How many times I walked barefoot on a sea beach? How many trails I touched, or the moments I surrendered to the strength and calm of the mountains?

I wonder, when I am gone, how would the eulogies sound?

-

Sometimes,
when I think about the moments I was wronged,
or get frustrated with God — “Why again? Why me?” —
I wonder:
Have I never done wrong or hurt anyone, intentionally or unintentionally, where an apology is due?
And then, I genuinely fold my hands to the Universe and say,
“Forgive me and guide me, for I may not remember, but I would want to make amends.”

-

The walls seem closing up,
Into a vacuum;
Gasping for air to breathe, within the tightened chest.

-

On a quiet monsoon night, could you ever hear the hush before your heartbeat, the pause of the wind, or the profound stillness of the stars breathing beneath the sky?

Have you ever looked up, trying to read the stories the heavens have threaded over ages—
stories of wishes cast upon falling stars,
of love that never found a home,
of fathers who wept for their children’s smiles,
of children praying for their parents,
of new beginnings,
of goodbyes,
of all our prayers.

And in the end, you realise—nights don’t judge. They listen to your unsaid, hidden words and quietly help you reconcile the unattended chapters of your journey.

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