Secret Garden

Hazy and disoriented,

I woke up yet again.

Far away from dream land,

Right in the middle of hell.

Amidst the walls of concrete jungle,

There lay a piece of paradise.

Where birds fly around,

Chirping their summer songs.

Kids play, fearless of moster cars;

And beetles play hide and seek.

That was my safe haven,

My tiny secret space.

For if they were to know,

It would cease to exist.


Happy Father’s Day 

Though today,

You are far away.

I see you here,

In bright spirit today.

Flashing that bright smile,

As you find me stealing

The last scoop of heavenly ice-cream.

I feel a pang of sadness,

Knowing I can’t hug you tight.

But there you are,

Ready with a joke.

To stop my train of sadness, 

Far before the arrival time.

You point to a spot up in the sky,

Where the train fades away.

“To nothingness” you say

And that’s where you fade away to

Right before I whisper,

Happy father’s day.

To nothingness,

Maybe that’s where you’ve gone

Is all that I can now think of.

– Your loving daughter,


Meet Harmony Haiter.

Tired and sick of every thing around

Harmony Haiter took up on a walk

Oh what joy this is!

The blazing sun after the colourful spring,

The dry spell after the cold heartless days,

The dry lifeless saplings planted expecting rains,

The ruthless war after serene nights!

Exclaimed harmony Haiter now by the bridge.

And here I wondered if you were a Misopolemist, said the silhouette.

That’s sarcasm my dear, was her mere reply

The silhouette could now only smile,

Yes, I’m aware. Just didn’t expect it from you she replied before retrearing to the world of impossible.

Hello! This is another attempt at poetry around a small wordplay and yet another late night spark. I may happen to not like it once the sun rises. But none the less, it would be cowardly to not make an attempt.

P.S. Read Harmony Hater if at all you didn’t catch it.

Constructive criticism always welcome. After all  in the words of Philippe Destouches,

Criticism is easy, Art is difficult.

Not The Only Prey.

It felt like just another day

Few months before may,

Years did pass

But still doesn’t sound crass,

The stories she heard

Haven’t really blurred,

The pain persisted

Since no one assited,

Ther’s no way she would know

So she just went with the flow,

Until there came a day

When she learnt to convey,

Time concentrated

The problems never obliviated,

She had to stop the shockwave

But she wasn’t depraved,

They thought she’d forget

Never could they bet,

She had to turn ascetic

Didnt want to be sympathemtic,

So she rhymed it all away,

Hence she wasn’t the only prey.



After It Happened

There she sat in the corner of the room,

The weight of her secret making it gloom.

Look at her and she seems untouched,

For the unsullied soul has thoroughly scathed.

Scared in her own forte,

Not for herself but for the shalom of others around.

Fathom not did she shed a tear,

It toughened her up to blow right back.

Quick and fast she could latch right back.

She tried to let it out, put it out in the open

Scared she was that the confidant would be eaten.

Scared. Exploited; yet not manipulated,

For she’d never for once bury it with herself.

Real Beauty

There she was standing alone,

Amidst the party which was in full swing

People chatting in their own bubbles,

Yet she stood there, in her own bling

Eyes watching,

Her shoes scratching.

She heard them exclaim,”how beautiful you look”,

Insecure and alone with her own thoughts,

Chained and immobile

Unlike diaries and fabels.

There she stood searching and waiting,

Wondering if they really meant it.

For in a flick of a second

They’d be ready to sell out like seconds.

Manipulating and lieing,

Was that the real beauty?

For a moment she was really happy,

Hearing the clock tick she realised.

There was te real beauty my friend, she said quietly to herself,

It’s what you have and don’t see,

It’s what loose and then repent.

Time my friend, is the real beauty,


Not fraternal.

Hello! Hope it was worth a read.

Constructive criticism shall always be welcomed.

The Ritual

Years ago, he’d narrate me bed time stories,

About men and beasts living on saplings and berries.

They all ended with the good ol’ morale,

Be nice and kind, never mean and cruel.

He’d say, Dreams are yours and yours alone,

Don’t let them dictate and make you the clown.

Choose what you’d like on your platter

For they are not to flatter.

Choose what you wish carefully he’d say

Because then, they shall make you pay,

They won’t go back once they come

The one way ticket is in your net income.

Wonder To Ponder

During the gloom, the saddest time, it lifts me up slow and fine,

From the glum to the vivacious;

For when I am daunted by the light;

Provides solace though the silent road;

Makes the journey gleam with hopes,

Just so that I won’t elope.

For it will never thwart,

Without a single thought;

It makes me optimistic,

Now that I’m not pessimistic;

Makes the journey gleam with hopes,

Just so that I won’t elope.

It gives happiness to one and all,

To cancel the sadness before the fall;

Through the rocky or the plain,

It is everything but to slay;

Makes the journey gleam with hopes,

Just so that I won’t elope.

For in the dark and scary night,

Now I see it all so bright;

Against the shady moments of grave danger,

Now I am the greatest ranger;

Makes the journey gleam with hopes,

Just so that I won’t elope.

For it teaches me with little things,

That would make you see the blings,

I got from it;

What it is you might wonder?

It’s just a smile for you to ponder.

I wonder why I’ve liked this particular one for the longest time. But, it look like I’ll just have to keep wondering why.

Constructive criticism shall always be welcomed.

The Little Bunny

I prance around,
Lush green grass surrounds me,
Engulfing away from the ferocious beast
Make no sound,
For the monsters are out to get me,
My little steps no match in front of its gigantic leaps,
Life is sweet yet sour,
For It’s either death or being caged for life,
Entertainment is what I am.

Constructive criticism is more than welcome.

P.S. Months after publishing this, I realised it wasn’t a good idea.

I wrote this for my cousin a year or two ago,when he was being lazy to complete his homework and decided it would be a better idea to get me to do his homework by butter-ring me and “letting me know” how much he likes the poems I write or rather scribble.