Echoing exhilarations

In the morn, I notice
a vine of cucumber
growing in my garden
as creeper and climber,
of youthful nature
in early September,
blooming out of nowhere
like a secret chamber.

I really do like
the hues of December,
calm and serene
yet often somber,
enlivened by the birds
with soothing timbre,
their voices freshened
just before slumber.

Those dusky twilights
I do remember,
in shades of purple
or reddish-amber,
with flickering lights
like dying embers,
of vibrant stars
that can't be numbered.


Tears and Rain

Teardrops of the sky,
beautifully round,
fall all around,
on the leaves, the houses
and on the ground.

The sky cries profusely,
seems as if it is hurt,
cleansing all the dirt
from its heart,
leaving itself inert.

Like the sky, I cry too,
with unbearable pain
exploding my brain,
hopes and dreams
difficult to explain.

I then ask myself
if the sky is my twin.
Each time I cry, it pours in.
Resemblance of some sort
lies within.


Yay…it’s me time…..

‘How do I look?’…’What am I gonna wear?’…’What are they going to think about me?’…and so on. Have you ever questioned yourself these? You definitely must have, at some point or the other. It’s basic human instinct, the urge to be recognised as a distinct personality, and not be ashamed of yourself. You really need to showcase your so-called “social status”, don’t you?

Well, technically, does this make any sense? I guess not. I do believe that if people don’t accept you just the way you are, then they are not worth your time. So you need to stop fooling around and focus on genuine people, people who really care. Let’s say, you don’t find any such person who is worthy of your presence. Then it’s the best time for self-love. You could do whatever you wish, without any exclusion. You don’t actually need ten people to make you happy. You don’t need to feel abandoned. You yourself can be your own healer. And when you don’t see anything or anyone important but yourself, then that’s the most beautiful feeling in the world. You’ll feel liberated just like a bird, flying high up in the sky.

For those who are still struggling with this, here’s one free tip. Just stand in front of a mirror and look at what you see. You’d see a free person. Ah yes, you could add a million dollar smile, because that would be the cherry on the cake. And it costs just the contraction of a few facial muscles to grin ear to ear. So what are you waiting for? I think it’s already “me-time o’ clock”.

Shackles don't hold me,
I'm just where I wanna be,
I don't need nobody
who would change me,
or the way I wanna see.

Keep shining.✨


Sounds of the Night

Hooting owls,
clucking fowls,
chirping crickets,
rustling thickets,
croaking frogs,
howling dogs,
pattering rain,
honkings down the lane,
whispering air,
creaking armchair,
fluttering of sheets,
pulsating heartbeats,
leaking tap,
fresh thunderclap
resonate with all their might,
and don't let me sleep at night.


Hey guys. Do share other sounds which you hear at night. Happy blogging! ❤️

The Silver Lining

© 2021 The Poetry Hub. All Rights Reserved.
I look at the silver
lining of the cloud,
a cumulonimbus,
at times, so loud.
I keep on wondering,
What's there to feel so proud?
Hiding the haloed orb,
covering like a shroud.
The hidden sun knows when
to emerge from the crowd.
Till then it remains calm,
enveloped and bowed.
And when the sun comes out
from the thundercloud,
it shines like a gem,
just the way it vowed.



Never had she hated them,
or talked behind their backs,
'cause their faces
always glittered
with a so-called thick coating
of warmth, love and honesty.
She had thought,
they wouldn't ever leave her,
or plot against her,
their innocent friend.

But that's the world,
the real selfish world.
The bad people out there
just use timid lambs
to move further ahead,
and then dump them
like used paper.

Well now she realises
who is real and who is not.
Shattered by the thoughts,
she still waits
for those heartless morons
to return
and break her heart
once again.


My poem in a government magazine🥰…..

Lord Balabhadra, Devi Subhadra and Lord Jagannath

Hi. Hope all are doing great. I just wanted to share with y’all one of my poems published in the Rath Yatra edition of our state Government Magazine, Odisha Review. The poem is basically an invocation to Lord Jagannath. Happy reading.😇

Published in Odisha Review, June-July – 2021

Ode to my Father

For all your patience day to day
and every time a word you say,
and words that turn into memories we bind
have forever left an imprint on my mind.

To prepare me for the life I choose,
you have always given your point of views.
A life with learning, growing and falling,
caring and inspiring is your calling.

You have a consoling tender heart,
and all the wisdom you impart,
and all the sweet things you do
have encouraged me all year through.

And through your support and guidance,
hope one day I'll bring good tidings.
For being there every time with me,
I'm grateful, and I'll always be.


United we stand : A Sonnet

We became aliens in our own land
with waters and foreign sand,
imprisoned by our own hands,
solely on nature's command.

A virus, on the other hand,
proclaims its entry so grand
that everywhere, solitude stands,
a threat that was pre-planned.

Although it's hard to understand,
our insight needs to expand.
We just need to wave a wand
and until then, walk hand in hand.

Then only we can withstand
what destiny has planned.


Memories Lost and Found

I look at the ground
so dead, not a sound,
the surface truly browned
by the sun, finely round.

There's no one around,
just vague thoughts surround,
and memories lost and found,
leave an impact, utterly profound.

Musings of the past resound,
that are blurrily gowned,
only obscure sentiments abound
in my mind's compound.

The soil gets drowned
by my tears, unbound,
as if the earth is crowned,
like pearls on the beach mound.

Why do thoughts rebound,
barking like the hound?
With gloomy figures in the background,
they continue to astound.



Tides clashing on the rocky shore,
louder than a lion's roar,
agitating the ocean floor,
echoing like a devil's snore,
knocking on her mind's door,
rumbling aloud, more and more.
Her, trying hard to ignore,
'cause they always find a pore
through her soul, that's terribly sore.
These tides that she used to adore,
are nothing now like they were before.
It all sounded like a folklore
when she said,"they robbed me of mi amor"(my love).


The Birth of a Poem

I put my pen to paper,
scribbling, doodling,
trying some line art,
then scratching them all.
Now this is where
the magic happens,
when all of a sudden,
my clouded emotions
cascade down the nib,
gracefully flowing,
just as free as a bird,
with limitless boundaries.
It may take any route,
be it peaks or valleys,
so long it's in motion.
It may be paused momentarily
by traffic of thoughts,
but then I drive past
and arrive at the endgame,
thus awakening the newborn,
the so-called 'Poem'.

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