Let it remain untitled

Words are defense mechanism,

Such that;

They come to combat

Silence within;

To win a war

And create what they call a poem

The Narrow By-lanes of Amsterdam

In Bruges, In Brussels

A part of me is still there

And will be;

Where I traveled

Cycling

And walking

On the cobbled roads

Weaving imaginations

With the real

On a moonlit night

With open tresses,

Dancing along the wind,

With bated breath

And eyes closed

I could see the city

And walk on its history

Back and forth in time

With you

Before sunrise…

Old Mazgaon

Learning from Milind Mulick's book...

Hexagonal Thoughts

Building Blocks

Lillette

My first Madhubani

Outside my balcony

Nature strokes

A distant serenity of a chaotic Mumbai!

A smile to behold

A rickshaw ride

Trrr… Trrr..
The yellow rickshaw goes
On an Indian road
That is noisy yet silent
Amidst the honking horns
swaying leaves
and a habitual hurry
every where
Trrr...Trrr…
As it goes
A cool breeze hits
And strands of hair flutter
iPod melodies sing along
Abstract swirls
Splash the unconscious
Rolling numbers on the meter
Distill the consciousness
The red light of the traffic signal
Catches your attention
Trr…trrr…stops
The driver spits
A fury of red splatters
The strong aroma of paan
Fills the air
Men on bikes
peep, bend, stare
To get a glimpse of you
You look away
Shuffle
Notice the half bitten apple
As you feel the glossy silver of your pod
You smile
Take a silent sideway look
At the men
You stare back
“%^#$%%&”
Green
Trrr…trr…
The rickshaw goes again
Along the bumpy roads
Stops.
Rs. 93
Meter was fast
Cheater
“$##%&%”
Whatever!

And sometimes...

Flying strands of hair,
Compete with,
The curtains dancing,
In the whoosh whoosh air.
Silence within,
Tells a tale.

When they look...