The Word I carry for you….

Sharing my thoughts with you,

Face a barrier……………..sometimes,

Perhaps! Always.

This world pursue only virtuality,

And we are part of it.



I too wander sometimes for “Why?”

But Answer always denied.

I might say, I am not to accept,

This all in the same way.


I modified myself a bit,

And turned myself in a hard rock.


You know rocks either get broken or get sculpt.

But true behaviour remains the same.


This is a hard truth to believe,

The point differs from where I see.

Just because I am living the same,

Life must not the same.


Sorry! I just went a step ahead.

Well! I don’t want to resemble anybody in this world,

I am who I am,

And wish to be same in future.



Being a Sketch Artist with Poetic Heart

Fantasy of my ‘ART’,

Invented like  drizzling,  through the deep,

Consciousness of dreaming ‘HEART’,

One leg down and another over my head,

Did I sit in ‘Yoga’ over my sweet bed?

No no! It was finger, direct from the heart,

pointed that what just I ‘SKETCHED’ in my palm,

Oh…Yes! I dreamed it,

Once it was here, but now where?

That ‘FLOWER’ and ‘POT’, of childhood

Which just I wrote….

One line over other line,

Sliding over and over,

meshing and crashing their own face,

Look like a jungle of ‘HAIR’.

Up up up,

Down down down,

Bisect that wooden boat,

Second before hanged with base,

Now flowing in position like wave.

Centered that rounded plate,

Keep it with grounded face.

Oh! look its watching us,

My art, into a ‘EYE’….Imagine

Imagine it high…..

I did, I amused..

You do you will….

It keeps people alive, in depression,

Or in a time when tension so high.

A pen inside your finger,

Don’t play,

Let it slide on paper…..


try it, to see insight,

What you did, on paper’s thigh,

I did it, when depressed

But in the end

I find a new ‘RACE’

Being a ‘POET’ it’s simple,

But being ‘ARTIST’, looks like

everything is Mingle.