SECRETS
SECRETS I should have notBut I have had, alas!Held secrets, enshrouded…… Deep within my heart… … Seeping downThe dark they bore… They relentlessly devourMy forfeited life,And shall wryly devourMy fleeting soul.
author-work
CALAMITY
CALAMITY In the preface of my muleibrityI serenade maxims to eternal sleepI knot in the fixtures of our loveAnd grieve my forlorn jocundity Sitting cross-legged on the tip of my senseMy words shape a garrulous fantasyAs I try end the story of my beingAll I write is but a calamity
FIASCO
FIASCO in the hour that struck my sorry demiseMy friends laughed, my foes crackledStocks bloomed where daisies diedAnd saints bled in my debacleThe only eyes I still believedWere the two God made in my name.My asters withered in the breezeBewailing at my constant painA tale of loss in a free-willed life;A flooding chaos in a
Prose
Prose I have written many stories over the years but one of favorite is “A Bitter Cup of Memory” where a story is narrated by a girl who is reminising a distant childhood memory of a story told by her mother who believed she had once encoutered Hazrat Khizr (A.S), the Immortal, bound to roam
The Eroded goddess
The Eroded goddess In the lands of OlympusLived that princessHer beauty was boundlessHer attributes; countless Nature created her in leisureCarving her perfectly using all of its pearlsKnowing there aren’t any left for othersBut for her even Nature grew proofound love Then Nature prepared the world for her birthLike a Goddess, she descended to earthHer guardians
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Of Love
Of Love Of LoveA feeling that seeps through you,Searching—For, as people claim, the heart.But don’t you feelIt’s shackled, chained, and bound?But—People.People.These puppets of fate,These endless masses of the mindless,Perhaps minds reckless,Amorphous devotees—yet worthless.How can theyKnow of somethingSo rare, yet so sublime?A feeling—For which God HimselfCreated the universes.A feeling so rich,A feeling so powerful,A feeling so
A Gift I Owe
A Gift I Owe Through your eyes, I seeThe world of imaginations,The hope within meWhich decree,Perhaps my poetry.What good you did to me?Unshackled my thoughts,Revived my essence,Transformed my ability,Discovered a young poet within me.But also instilled subsequent fear:What if I ever lost my creativity?It wouldn’t be a miracle,As rust casts on iron,Making it all dull
Prose
Prose Life has imparted upon me a profound lesson: that each individual harbors their own unique sentiments when ensnared by the throes of love. Some posit that love does not necessitate an exclusive claim, contending that if a person is not fated to be mine, then what accounts for my affection towards them? In truth,
Poetry
Poetry I yearn for one who cherishes my soul,Whose empathy pours forth, deep and whole.A heart that beats in rhythm with mine,Whose gaze reflects only love’s design. In this kingdom, I am his domain,His sovereign right, my heart’s refrain.May this bond endure beyond time’s span,Even death’s cruel hand shall not undo our plan. What is
Poetry
Poetry Life, a philosophy that dares to deceive,How can I declare this life as mine, so naive?It holds no essence, no grounding or base,How does it endure the weight of your trace? Moments, fleeting, drift like the tide,Though we seek to grasp them, they swiftly slide.For them, existence ceases, the world takes its stage,A realm