the doors

Once told the wind

with its silent words,

'I am indeed keen to live

in the space between

those two doors,

but not when they are shut...'

inequals

You pretended to love.
I loved to pretend.
And we never met each other.

on the way

I felt I reached home.
From there I called this friend,
who once told me,
'Travels take you to nowhere
but make you to be stable in yourself'.

He was supposed to meet me then.
I thus asked his whereabouts.
He replied like a cool devil,
'I am on the way', and
he added, 'as usual'...

...

Was that blood in my veins?

Why don't you ask your knife
and tell me now?

...

...and you told me
to read between the lines
by sending your message
as a blank page.

zen?

Once told my master that

only empty cups get filled.

But strangely,

my cup is filled with emptiness. 

Beyond'less'...

Pointing to a distant green land,

beyond the river,

I remember once you told,

that's where you reside.

In that mid summer,

the river was just a dry sand path.

We then naturally parted.

I was again reminded of you,

when the south west monsoon started.

I rushed to get to see you.

By reaching the place of our parting,

I got to see an overflowing river,

having no banks.

Drenched under the pouring sky,

I was ought to think

one of my friends asking me a question,

'How far a lizard can run?',

without letting me to think

he answered it himself,

'Not beyond the fence...'

...

The poet is dead ...

It is now impossible to resurrect

even the common man out of him...

...

Bigger dreams

and a shorter night.

Nothing much could be done

before the dawn.

I saw the poet's spirit dead

on the morning bed.

...

It was my sole search...
Just for a word.
At last, when I found it,
It was just void...

...

Creation is beyond all judgments...
Everyone has the right to be different
in creative ways...

...

it's not the content
which makes the play interesting
but the process of staging it

...

... but not all the actors
deliver dialogues
according to the script.
there are some words
they utter differently
every time the play is on ...

...

... and that was a wet evening,
no drenched bird can rest in its nest,
it's better to fly around
as the sky would be a little warm ...

...

Even a single stone,
if thrown at me,
can make thousand ripples.
I was just a pond,
standing still...

But it's not that easy
to wait relentlessly,
just for a single stone.

I don't want to be flawless
and I either can't be 'flow'less...