poem
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When We Pack Our Life Into Two Days A Week, My Love…
When we pack our life into 2 days a week,we’re not just folding clothes into a bag.We’re creating memories – with the people we love,and for the people we love. A little bit of pamperingwith food, laughter, and love.A little bit of funplaying around like kids with badminton rackets in hand.A little bit of rest and relaxationjust lying down, letting the world slow. A little bit of staring at the sky,singing your favorite song,watching your favorite shows.Skimming through a comfort bookas the sun tans your skin further.And later, staring at the stars,wishing for a life with ease. And then you…
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Ladders Never Touch Mud
The ladder gleams, but never rustsit’s never met the soil. From polished heights, they summon contracted ghosts, specters in suits, hollow hands that sign but never build. Greed wears a tie, apathy seals the deal. We, the handlers, catch the crumbs of their lazy feasttardy briefs, half-baked decks, pixels that scream “we didn’t care.” You never want to call out the rot. You want silence, compliance, a nod that costs us sleep. Are youyou hypocritethe one who preaches excellence while outsourcing mediocrity? They say you’re vile. They whisper bribes. They count the favors you never earned. But a corner of…
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The More More More
Why don’t you go easy on me, Life… why don’t you? It’s the same old Sunday night, and my chest grows tighter, tighter. The same old Sunday night— but I’m not hoping for a Monday on the other end of my blink. Work stacks up— a weight beyond what even a camel can bear. Capitalism never bothers. Corporate never flinches. I stand in the center, bound by threads pulling me apart, day by day. I shed my skin, showed my bones. But all eyes turned blind— because I’m known as the camel built to carry and wither. They said: You’re…
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Being the living
It’s always the living that has to carry the brunt left by the dead… It’s always the living that has to live the rest of the life staring that the vacuum left by the dead… It’s always the living that has to pull themselves together and move on… Is that the cost that comes with being the living? –A Solivagant’s Shoes
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Nothing Can Be Hidden
Two years tomorrow,Since the day we first met.One year, eleven months—A lifetime of regret. You spun your web so carefully,Web with the sharpest blade.It ripped open the fragile mind,While you hid yours instead. I didn’t know your story,Or the shadows in your past.I didn’t know the truth of you—How long could the act last? But fate has a funny way,Of tearing down the lies.One month after you were gone,The truth fell in my eyes. A stranger came and handed me,The pieces of your life.Your history, your family,The chaos and the strife. I saw your youth right in front of my…
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The Echo of Discourse
It lingers still,those fractured frames of memory,etched in the static of my thoughts.Your cursed cryptic wordsencrypted, fragmented, staying alive in me… Through me…still haunt the algorithm of my discourse. Some nights,the void stares back harder,a black hole swallowing the lastof my certainties.But I know,it’s just my past reflection fracturing,a glitch in my solitude. How often have I scrolled,paused at your pixelated silhouette,searching for proof of existence,a breadcrumb of your now,as if that image could patch the cracks. What ache,what unbearable ache,a virus in the system,a loop of trust corrupted. And then the whispers came,warnings disguised as wisdom:“Never trust shadows that…
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Never an Admirer of a Pot
Never an admirer of a pot,Pots on the street or pot on the gallery,Never bothered by its presence either.Pots are of types…The outcome of the clay and the potter.Either sits as a show-off,Speaks with a deformed voice,Or ends up storage of the needs of human kind. I came across one such pot,Never an admirer of this pot.Looked neat… Looked clean…Looked spotless… Looked as if it could hold on to the waterI seldom poured in any before.Everything on the outsideWell and fine. She thought, he thought, and I thoughtThe pot is bought.It lays on that table idle.Should I use it to…
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Echoes of Liberation
The one who beheld the true beauty of darkness knows the vanity of the moth. The one who feels the pain of self and the pain of others knows the true depth of suffering. The one who succumbed to the allure of flight has seen the terror of fright. And the one who has nothing to lose is honored with the strength of the fight. The one who felt the depth of affection knows the emptiness it leaves behind. And the one who can sense the soil beneath their feet knows the essence of freedom. If this is what it…
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Reclaiming My Garden
I removed the rose beds,Cleared away the weeds,I never wanted them to begin with.There was no one to help,It was just me,With bare hands.I dipped my fingers into the hardened soil,Plucking them one by one.The thorns cut my skin,Blood droplets painting the soil red.I put them in a box,Asked the mailman to send it to those women out there…Women who deserve those roses,Women who want those rose beds.I burnt the weeds to ashes.“Alone? Didn’t it take too much time?”They asked me…Yes, alone.While the sun rose and set…Fifteen moons passed by…I got drenched in the drizzles,Drizzles that swept from the darkest…
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The Passing Breeze and Silent Mountain
There was a time when winter settled in,A mountain stood, untouched by warmth or spring,Content beneath the sky’s indifferent gaze,No need for change, no promise of new days. But then a breeze, soft as a distant hum,Wandered through the valleys, gentle, numb,A fleeting warmth, felt like a whisper through the frost,Not much, but enough to feel and show what had been lost so far. The mountain let the cold begin to melt,Not knowing yet the trick the breeze had dealt…For winds, they never stay, they only pass,Like sunlight flickering on broken glass. Pebbles in a stream, touched once, then left…
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Colosseum of Time
I am aliveBreathing, laughing, loving,After years spent in shadowsAs a sick child clinging fear, and fight.Grateful for this fragile heartbeat,For the sunrise I never thought I’d see. I no longer chase the world,Nor care to please its fickle crowd.It’s okay to be oblivious,To stand alone inside truth.Let me be free from the weight of others,Their opinions, their fleeting praise. But still, things often makes me crossThe career, the grind,Responsibility that demand to protect who I love.We inherit no riches, no legacies,Only dreams of distant lands,Where I long to roam but need to earn.In this world, in this culture,The work is…
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The Mountain’s Whisper – Poem
He says that Mountain never excites him,But he savors the views as he reaches the mountain’s peak.He always says he never love that Mountain,But he feels his best while exploring its thickest terrain,Amidst the echo of murmuring beasts. He says he never falls in love with that Mountain,But he always returns, drawn by an irresistible pull when loneliness knocks at his door.He says he is never meant to be a mountain person,But he always comes back broken,And leaves like a golden vase, whole again,As if that Mountain is his true home. He says he never loves that Mountain,But he cherishes…
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A Kid with No Soul And Dogs That Were Soulful – Poem
A kid shunned and stoned by peers her age, Her name, a poet’s, who wished a world without outcasting cage.She spoke of kindness, yet was always shunned, But two four-legged angels, her heart they won. In 2007, they met as pups, their destinies intertwined from the start. One dark and beige, with coarse hair tufts. The kindest dog, she grew to be, and the favourite of god indeed… Another a round white fluff, like a polar bear, you see.With one blind eye, she stole her heart. She chose them to give her love so pure, And they returned it threefold,…
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The Jade Vine & Bee – A Poem
In emerald depths of tropic’s gleam,A Jade Vine, rare and pure, bloomed in silence. Her claws unfurled, a turquoise hue,Awaiting life, a moment of grace. A bee, attracted to her ethereal light,Drifted closer, a mesmerizing sight. He promised nectar, sweet and deep,As she opened her petals from slumber’s sleep. But his love was fleeting, a summer’s breeze,Leaving her heart adrift on restless seas. For in her heart, a world unknown,She bloomed for him, and him alone. Her emerald tears, a silent plea,For love that was, yet ceased to be. Oh, bee, obsessed with beauty and riches, Chasing his new honeyed…
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Flickering Flame
Raindrops whisper on my windowpane,Each tear echoed my silent pain.Across the street, a candle’s gentle sway,Teasing shadows, secrets in its play. My heart ignites, an unyielding fire,Seeking sparks in your eyes that never tire.But you? A distant star, aloof and free,Lost in desire’s labyrinth, just like me. Is this life’s cruel jest, our fate to burn?Bright flames in emptiness, thoughts yearn.I watch your play from the shadows afar,A silent spectator, guided by a bizarre. The night holds our breath, rain’s soft refrain,Melancholic melody, our sweet pain.Someday, I’ll unravel this mystery,Tending my flickering flame, a testament to me. Defiance in the…
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The Crux Of Time (Poem)
The crux of time, the bleak disaster!When everything is weighed on a broken scaleOne always gives more than the other,While the other grows cold and frail…The scale has never been in equilibrium.The low tide hits hard, a harsh reminderOf how the sea can ebb and flow.One always waits for the other’s returnWhile the other seeks new shores to know.The light that shines only in the darkA faint and flickering star;One always hopes for the other’s sparkWhile the other drifts too far…That’s the timeline of starsLongest in your eyes… The shortest in the space…The crux of time, the bleak disasterWhen your emotions…
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Poem: Back To My Shell
The author reflects on their return to poetry after a long absence, citing personal brokenness as the impetus. Themes of loneliness and introversion are likely explored.
A Solivagant's Shoes 