I Write It… — Whenever I write a poem, I bid adieu to worries. My poem becomes a pellucid elixir through which I see happiness. Whenever I write a poem, I feel blithe and shine inwardly. The brume of doubts fades away as it should. Whenever I write a poem, I feel I have…

Prose Poem — Evenings and nights are quiet, like some silent and dark forests that you don’t want to venture into. Perhaps, you want to venture into them, but must put up with the quiet and the dread along the way. The quiet and the dread plod with you along the way as…

Shadorma — Gratitude is being happy with what you have with you, be it a cup of coffee or a tiny crumb. Savoring moments, small or big that may be may not be, with a heart full of content beholden, grateful. Life is fair or unfair to me is a brief thought that would pass off…

A Poem — Sometimes… You are vulnerable. Even a straw seems a lifeline. You reach out and catch hold of it. You aim for the moon and the stars. Ofttimes… Because of the temporary lifeline you’ve got, you consider yourself essential and important. You have this phantasy and false pride about yourself. Then… You…

Prose Poem — That day, I remember… very accurately, I was down and out, with no clarity on life… I was sitting in a dark room, as a failed person… ruminating, contemplating, tormenting myself and then something happened — like some enlightenment, something nudging me to write down my thoughts. …

Candid Expressions — When difficulties frame us from all sides and we experience awful things, we become insecure about ourselves doubt our goodness and abilities… Is insecurity just about being uncertain and having vulnerabilities and doubting oneself? No… Insecurity is more than just these charming words. When you stop trusting people, to stop…

Prose Poem — As I take gentle strides on my modest terrace to give some time to myself and get some fresh air, I see tall edifices around me … I sense suppressed voices in these structures. …

Prose Poem — That early morning enters my consciousness time and again. I was feeling uneasy. There was a strange silence surrounding me even with people’s presence. Despite the gentle breeze being a gentle breeze, I feel it is a ball of fire raging toward me. I am in meditation but not able…

Poem — Pristine stoic mountains bathed in pure white, almost converge with the light blue sky, but the sky is not always light blue. The sky has a multitude of colors — it is sometimes white, like an innocent expression of a heart broken and a mind stolen; it is sometimes purple, like a…