Like a whisker of the wind, The clock has turned,
For now rejoice, the melodies out from the life hardly churned,
To all the sweat and blood given,
Here is a cup of warm coffee taken,
The shoulders of you stallions,
Shall now walk tall with heads held high,
Strut around in peace with earned medallions,
No more contemplating at business figures,
The melancholy shall melt to settle on you,
Like the calm mornings fresh dew,
For you have earned this gift from life,
Its time to rejoice the warm tanning,
To go out on long trips without a warning,
Yet sirs do not settle at the bay,
As hairs turn grey,
For old age should burn and rave at close of the day.

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The morning mist that collapses on me,
The silence of the city that engulfs my void.

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With moist eyes I saw the curtains fall,
Without an iota of hope,
For the fallen curtains to be this mesmerizing,
And thus, it was all about the magic of believing.

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बनके रेह गया हे एक टूटा बंजर सपना,
इंतेज़ार करता वो आज भी,
हरा भरा होने को।

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Those memories turn riparian,
Washed away to far forgetting lands,
In that utopian world that I keep imagining,
Beyond all that is physical,
By you, then I shall once again, be taken.

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The brush of a new dawn,
Filling an empty canvas, with a vivid painting,
Thus, a blanket of aesthetic healing.

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हम बस भटकते राही,
लगता है उनके सामने,
अब बस सब सही है।

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The velvet clematis that hangs from my wall,
Have curled it's way,
Yet,
Winter...
Spring...
Summer...
And Fall...
Your memories tumble down,
Only to form a carpet of it's own,
Suffocation and solace,
Walking on it have so blissfully grown.

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In this city lights,
We walk in darkness,
Searching for the fireflies.

~A daily observational Haiku~

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Like a disguised benison,
Many naive, for they enjoy,
Because of it, a walk in the rain,
If only, it wouldnt exist,
The gusto, for living would die,
How could one then rejoice?
A bare foot walk, on the morning grass,
Ask the one, who dont feel it,
Paralyzed not only are they,
But the world around them,
Of parental love, when away,
Or the sweet love stories around us,
The nostalgia, and the soft smile,
All for that benison in disguise,
If only it wasnt for it,
Failure would have no feeling,
Success then would have no meaning,
We revile it, for it's nature,
For the impulse is so strong,
That chemical inside the brain,
A feeling Called Pain.

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