The Runaway Vagabond

 

In the calm core of my wind-lashed, stormed self,

some unmovable shadow

defines the substance of my being.

I but have been running miles after miles,

chasing mirages to seek my identity.

The Angels of Duality

 

We hatch our own agonies and ecstasies

in the workshop of our mind,

Deep in a little corner

of our private space.

Grand Illusions

 

With sand-grains grasped in my hands,

fleeting clouds in my heart

and enforced philosophies in my head,

I set out to win the kingdom

that never existed!

Awakening

 

In the mist-veiled silence of a dream,

I sleep-walked into the crazy grasp

of a thorny bush.

All we just need is a prickly bite

to see the reality!

A Normal Grip

 

If there is a storm around you,

I mean nasty, leering sea-storm

churned out by the incurable circumstances,

Whining like a dog won't help,

Nor will the majestically brave lion's roar

to tame the storm help you.

It's better that we try to swim

to the best of our humble capacity,

Leave then the rest to the unknown forces.

Believe me,

even the burning core of the nastiest storm,

ultimately embraces

the cool ice block of a genuine effort!

A Pure Religionist

 

Religion mine isn't that weak,

So as to cripple me

to condemn and hate some other religion.

I don't have to hate others

to prove love for my own.

Sugar-coated Hook

 

Was it your love?

Or the fishing hook of some winning, crushing trait,

On which you had expertly put

smart, suave, attractive and beautiful bait.