The song...

"Give me a song..."



Pen. Paper. Pablo.

They were all there.



The words were there.





It was all there, but


The song.....

The unusual lullaby...

"I'm gonna tell God everything", he said.


The life of three summers

Walked the grave...



A hundred corpses

A thousand rubble...





With love, Dylan.....

The hero...

He was a hero, they said.



A brave hero

A valiant hero

Alive from the jaws of death.



A glorious hero, he was

A true hero...





War had no heroes, though


The perished, and the remnants.....

The obituary...

The sliced rainbow across the burnt skies

Inexpensive bone china, the poetry of a stale coffee

Your glass, drenched in my rains

The monochrome city streets arrested...





A midnight dream, napalm wrapped, forgotten in


The jihad of a crimsoned Quran.....

Coleslaw...

Spoilt sandwich. Leftover coffee.

Lettuce crumbs...





John Lennon. Bob Dylan.

Papyrus love...





You. Me. Aesop.


Maroon myth.....

Fairytale...

Dry leaves. Crumpled paper.

Cigarette ends...





Dead night. Singular rains.

The soliloquy...





Life. No life. Love. No love.


Make believe.....

Confessions...

You are the poetry.





I could write...





Over and over.







Again.....

Salad...

Broken glasses. Minus power.


A filthy yesterday.





Rusted roses...









Lost pages. Spoilt ink.


A commonplace novel.





Dirty desires.....

Melange...

Chequered skies. Spent clouds.


A listless sunshine.





The runaway...









Monochromed rainbows. Stale rains.


A forgotten star.





Let go.....

Fly poster...

Rusted railings.


Glass penned time.





Lost meanings...









Midnight cigarette.


Dead stories.





Exiled words.....

Excerpts...

The empty rains.


The cornered streets.





The first kiss...









The drenched canvas.


The broken pencil.





The last goodbye.....

Outlaw...

The King. The Queen.


They lived happily.





Ever after...









The Man. The Lady.


They dwelt happily.





Never again.....

Threadbare...

The first rains.


The untamed curls.





The scent...







The empty bus stop.


The rusted radio.





Bob Dylan.....

Habit...

A brittle yesterday.

The inexpensive dreams.





Pieces... Crumbs...







A spent love song.


The half-priced minutes.





Nickels... Dimes.....

Crumbs...

Black coffee. Dead cigarette.


Good morning...







Spent city. Mistaken dreams.


Good day...







Overdone words. Tic-tac-toe.


Good night.....

Dictates...

The eyes said.



What the lips couldn't...





Fairytale...







The eyes said.



What the heart didn't...





Everyday.....

The first chapter...

He was twenty four.



She was thirty two.





Strange worlds.





Coupled by a desire.


To be...







Enter.



The Joker.....

Looking glass...

Thoughts. Dreams. Reality.

Misconception...





The cup. The lip.

The space...





Black. White. Shadows.

Everyday...





Long drives. Empty walks.

Fallacies...







You. Me. Us.


Snakes... Ladders.....

Bestseller...

Dusty night. Faulty stars.

Love song...





Roses. Violets. Orchids.

Short stories.





Held hands. Spent kisses.

Missed call...





Smoked tyre. Dead cigarette.

Bob Dylan...







Changed passwords. Changed statuses.


Checkmate.....

The lone skies...

The day Disha was born, Parvati was happy in her own way.










Away from the crowd of watchful eyes.








She wasn't a usual mother.






And, with Disha's newly found existence, she had her own reasons to smile.



To live...
















Parvati doesn't quite well remember how long she's been here.




She had grown a bit too familiar to the damp walls, that had many a story to tell, and the fragile, singular halogen, severely lacking character.












Every time, little  Disha stumbled at her door, trying hard to stand up, on her tender feet, Parvati drew her close to her inexpensive, sweaty saree-clad chest, at the cost of a few silent tears.










Parvati's days were pretty measured between watching her little Disha grow, and a few filthy notes of her routine income.






She had never been this happy, but somewhere, deep down, there was a thick, black cloud...



Questions... She didn't want to answer...









She just wished, against all hopes that, her daughter would never have to answer them.




That, the hypocrisy and double standards of the society, the fake people around, wouldn't turn thorns for her daughter.














The sky wasn't cloudy.




And yet, clearly enough, it lacked the sunshine.






The entire length of it, was pretty confused, a mass. Time hadn't stopped as the clock had ticked along another day.





Little Disha had learnt to walk, nervously though, on her tender feet.










Parvati couldn't help smiling to herself.















Somewhere, in the same city, yet another child grew up, to the thousand dreams of his "learned" parents...

Chronicle...

Acquainted words. Fresh meanings.

Blackhead...





Jam packed bus. Singular dream.

Bob Dylan...





Inexpensive smoke. Burnt ends.

Love letter...





Pen. Paper. Poetry.

Juliet...







Salt. Sugar. Pepper.


Of age.....

Clouds...

Rented sleep. Second hand dreams.

Good morning...





Lipstick. Nail polish. Mascara.

Missed call...





Frank Sinatra. John Lennon.

Cafe Coffee Day...





Empty classroom. Lone canteen.

Long drive...







Stale inbox. A yesterday.


Night sleep.....

Monologue...

Myna couple. Brittle roses.

Love letter...





Twain hands. A decade fingers.

Distance...





Gita. Quran. Bible.

Fairytale...





Wall clock. Rented poetry.

Cobweb...







Cityscape. Black. White.


Love... No love.....

Doodle...

Empty spaces. Half priced ink.

Gibberish...





Shelley. Keats. Wordsworth.

Dreams...





Debris. Fish bones. Leftovers.

Screenplay...





Pizza. Pasta. Burger.

Poetry...







You. Me. Aesop.


Storyteller.....

Portrait...

Dead eyelashes. Overdone mascara.

Sleepless...





Drenched fabric. Bleached bedsheet.

ICU...





Crimson saree. Wild curls.

Yesterday...





Scissors. Knives. Scalpels.

Mona Lisa...







Lone skies. Last leaflet.


Cancer.....

Crossword...

Flocked pigeons. Half priced paradise.

Footpath...





Bricks. Pebbles. Concrete.

Citylife...





Fish market. Handful dreams.

Bargains...





Canvas. Palette. Easel.

Short story...







Restaurant. Black. White.


Portrait.....

Medley...

Guitar. Six strings.

Everyday...





A myna couple, four wheels

Unnoticed...





Wall clock, stale whiskey

Tram lines...





King. Queen. Jack.

Memoir...







You. Me. Tagore.


Nickels... Dimes.....

Love song...

Forlorn daybreak, misspelt spelling

Aesop's fables...





Red roses, inexpensive dreams

Poetry...





Shelley. Keats. Wordsworth.

Needless...





Black. White. Shadows.

Rainbow...







First rains, wild curls


Snakes... Ladders.....

Poison...

Middle class dreams, bread butter

Anonymous...





Christ's tale, spent night

City parasite...





Drowned eyelashes, spoilt mascara

Full stop...





Needless horde, solitary rushlight

Jihad...







Pen. Paper. Past.


Inexpensive.....

Catastrophe...

Overcast mirror, inexpensive myth

Democracy...





Drenched eyelashes, ripped kameez

Independence...





Christ. Muhammad. Shiva.

9/11...





Black. White. Grey.

Ashes...







Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi


Fairytale.....

Crochet...

Quiet eyes, moth eaten dreams

Hushed morning...





Outcast cluster, commonplace traffic

Biopic...





Chalk. Duster. Blackboard.

Dry leaves...





Bus. Tram. Auto.

Rainbow...







Wristwatch. Bedsheet. Midnight.


Mildew.....

Shades...

Handful words, a fourth happiness

Short stories...





Filthy days, make believe tire

Cityscape...





Packed buses, deserted tramline

Everyday...





Dry palette, ripped fabric

Mona Lisa...







Pablo. Picasso. Neruda.


Et cetera.....

Gibberish...

Dead hour, outcast night

Habit...





Careless locks, drenched saree

Charulata...





Spent slippers, fish market

Spoilt poetry...





Cigarette. Smoke. Burnt ends.

Being...







You. Me. Aesop.


Rock. Paper. Scissors.....

Epithet...

Red roses, a guitar

House of cards...





Familiar disguise, dying posters

Footpath...





Sweated walls, woodlice

Coffee house...





Black. White. Shadows.

Post mortem...







Empty window, quiet eyes


Flying letter.....

Crosstalk...

Fullscape pages. Pencil. Ashtray.

A novel...





Moth eaten history, drenched bullet

Lies...





Stale halogen, mistaken walks

Checkmate...





Salt. Sugar. Pepper.

Seven vows...







The solitary moon, polka dots


Snakes. Ladders.....

Commonplace...

Wilted sun, the myna couple

The half cigarette...





Cut throat streets, half priced spring

Banalata Sen...





The rusted tram, cockcrow

Desires, needless...





The organic traffic, dried petals

A singular poetry...







Splashed dreams. Scales.


A day. Everyday.....

Mildew...

The stale, mistaken spelling

Rusts of time...





Bricks. Sands. Cement.

A love satire...





Inexpensive brew, drenched biscuit

Rabindranath...





The overdone traffic, the spent city

The alleys of Dalhousie...







Drugged eyes, dead of night...


King...Queen.....

Fallacies...

A spring, off the minute

A handful, overdone blur...





The city, pastel smeared

My canvas, washed out...





The hour, penned in crystal

The rusted railing...





An autumn, greyed

The toothless grin...







The lone rains...



A drop... two.....

Misgivings...

A couple of pillows

A slice of fabric, drenched...





Dreams, a few, dried

The lengths of difference...





The mud and filth of yesterday

Leftovers, fish bones...





A handful of poetry, unpenned

The new moon, wrapped in...









Droplets of a drizzle...



Crumbs of pastel.....

Patchwork...

Your shores, unbound

The ripples, untamed...



I rest...


A cornered clutcher...









The leftover coffee, all of it

Feeds within...



The words unsaid, needless...









The busy cityscape, crowded bus, inexpensive life


Wears, what remained of






You...  Me.....

A...

A dry leaf, walks by

Wearing the filthy traffic...







A tale, lies forgotten, in

The rusted, yellowed envelope...







A life lives, amidst

The few nickels and dimes...







A desire remains, at
The length of a cup and the lips...











A poetry is penned, in




The fragrance of the first rains.....