Banks of time…

Banks of time just stopped by
Like the last grain of passing sands
Like the waters of foregoing waves
They stopped by to let me know…

“Those dreams that you saw once
That music they played then,
Those hues they brushed once,
Those moves they danced around…

You dropped those dreams
Lying on the back yard of your sleep
I watch them scuffle in cold
Fainting in the zone of stench.”

Answers…there aren’t
Lost and glum, I am.
I know no more,
For never I visit that lane again.

I’ve locked the back yard
Have lost the keys,
To a bunch of nomadic desires,
To some heaps of worldly feats,
To the hope of finding a bigger me…

And yet I have
even less of me…

Banks of time…
Urge me again…
“Free those dreams
Don’t let them go.
You’ll choke them
To win some lame game.
Yet again, you’ll misplace them,
Estrange them for strangers.”

I squabble in a rush
To free those dreams
From the dungeons and scum,
I place them on the mantle
of my mindless whims
I let them breathe,
Sing to me and unleash
Spurts of madness and
Dance of life,
Some scoops of naïve spirit,
Splashed colours and
Unabashed rythms.
The backyard is empty,
My sleeps cleaned,
Scrubs of time…
I thank thee.

Life, her whim

A little birdie-she sat alone,
Nestled in her roost,
Weaving a dream of spreading her wings,
Flying was her only whim.

Timidly she opened her eyes,
Coy, she was while gaping at the sky.
Trembling at every wind pat
Often wondering if,
She would ever swing.

A little birdie, she did sway,
In the arms of her haven-the sky.
Gliding amidst the clouds,
Prancing in the winds,
Weeping through the thunders,
Staging at every stance
Her own dance.

This little birdie but, just couldn’t see,
Pats were gearing into wafts,
The unruly winds were swamping her thirst.
She did see though…
Her heavenly mansion crumbling,
She did feel though…
Her music fading.

Estranged and aghast she looked for her stage,
No longer though, she pranced,
No longer she danced.
Somewhere in that sin, I think,
She had lost her wings.


Sitting by the sea of silence,
Gazing at the brushes of time,
She groped for something.
Past- a robber, Future-a stranger,
She befriended the present and
“Yes” to life was her only whim.

“I may not dance but
A new song I shall sing.
I may not prance but
A new play I shall win.
I may have lost my notes but
A new music I shall bring.”

This little birdie, she smiled again.
Her moments had changed their path.
Her laughters did sound dark,
Somewhere she had also misplaced her sheen.
But did she really lose her dream?

An epitome of hope,
She found a new castle, the earth.
Saluting the sky, I see her speak,
“I’m doing fine, breathing fresher winds,
Today, loving life is my only whim.”

Elf’s Symphony

The night breathes softly in its darkness.
As if, trying to whisper
A quaint lullaby of wet thoughts.
On the couch of a numb sky.

Innocent dreams, timid desires
Speak through prolonged silence,
See through the blindness it beholds
Engulfing my world in tickles of anxiety.

There…I meet despair,
Clouds of be wilderness and stress,
Challenging, threatening, alarming me,
A cacophony entraps and questions.
“Will you be able to
Reach out to the grandeur?
A mere vision in the black.”
Yes a mere black vision.
Unseasoned tickles fade amidst
Fables of disparities.
Just when…
A twinkling elf meets my eye.

Rendering music to the deaf night
This gaiety, this company,
Sings to me- its symphony!

“I belong to the mother
Who never speaks, yet reveals
An epic of the glimmering hours.
She chaperons me to let you know,
There is scope for the night
too, to glow.”

He braces me and no more,
No more I feel- a waif.
There he goes sprinkling behind
Litters of hope, of valour, of strength.
He’d hushed it in my ears,

“Your vision is bleak but your own.
Nurture it to your tomb.
Till then breathe what you dream.”
A mystic pause and he crooned.
“That’s how child, dreams come true.”

Shveta Vashist