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My poetry is something I take great pride in, as it is one of the most expressive forms of art in my opinion. I try to stay true to my beliefs and feelings when writing, and I feel that this adds more depth to the lines, allowing the reader to understand some small part of me when they look upon my work.
I also write shayari, as I feel that some emotions can be expressed in a much more intimate sense when writing in a different language. I feel that instead of detaching me from my works, different languages of expression allow me to understand words from a different perspective.
Ishq
Ishq
ek badal sa aawara hu maibhatakta hua banjaara hu maijo iss samundar me ter na paayejo apne gham me ghut ke mar jaayeaisa ishq ka man-maara hu mai
dhundhta hu tujhe taaron mechamakti hai hazaaron mena heere na moti sajaye tujheakela husn tera bhagaye mujhetu farishta, dikhe tere ishaaron me
abh tu sataye neend merimai dhundh na saka raahein terijahan gali- gali me tera naam pukarunaur teri yaadon me mai waqt guzaarunmujhe chhod ke kyun gayi akeli?
dhundhta hu tujhe taaron mechamakti hai hazaaron mena heere na moti sajaye tujheakela husn tera bhagaye mujhetu farishta, dikhe tere ishaaron me
abh tu sataye neend merimai dhundh na saka raahein terijahan gali- gali me tera naam pukarunaur teri yaadon me mai waqt guzaarunmujhe chhod ke kyun gayi akeli?
The Flow of Time
The Flow of Time
Time.Trickling like a tap,Dripping through crevices,Collecting at the foot of the mountain.Time.Flowing like a stream,Etching out rivets,Through caves of cold stone.Time.Rushing like a river,Rapid and churning,Stealing away at the riverbank.Time.Still as a lake,Cold and unmoving,Decay collecting at the bed.Time.Unruly as the sea,Unrelenting and powerful,Capsizing unwary travellers.Time
Powers of Ink
Powers of Ink
Ink pours like blood,Drips like life-force onto paperCarving the writerLike a jewel among mud.
Ink pours like gold,Reduced inside a crucibleFrom raw savageryTo the imprint of a mould.
Ink pours like wine,Spills with greed when overflowedDrowning the victimUnder his own proud design.
Ink pours like gold,Reduced inside a crucibleFrom raw savageryTo the imprint of a mould.
Ink pours like wine,Spills with greed when overflowedDrowning the victimUnder his own proud design.
An Honourable Warrior
An Honourable Warrior
He walks the path of thornsstained with blood and gloryAnd yet he still mournsbrethren lost to purgatory. He bathes in streams of sorrowtries to wash away his despairHopes not to face the ‘morrowfor Death might greet him there. He sings in the moonlit nightmay some lost soul hearthe broken ballads of his plightand offer to hold him near. He dies with his blade in handembraces it like his childno honour in his last standjust a name, left defiled.
I see
I see
I see eyes drunk on longing.I see eyes drowning in fatigue.I see eyes fearful of not belonging.I see eyes wild with fury.
I see hands cut with scars.I see hands calloused with pain.I see hands reaching for stars.I see hands trembling in fear.
I see a body bearing a burden.I see a body free of true suffering.I see a body continue to worsen.I sweep away the pieces of the mirror.
I see hands cut with scars.I see hands calloused with pain.I see hands reaching for stars.I see hands trembling in fear.
I see a body bearing a burden.I see a body free of true suffering.I see a body continue to worsen.I sweep away the pieces of the mirror.
Hoax of Exile
Hoax of Exile
Exiled from my mind;Teeters on the edge of sanity.Trying to see what I’d findin the chasm of hurtThat I once left behind.Search the shadowy crevasses,For without them I’d be blind.I sit at the templeof my chaos enshrined,prayed for my home,and forgotten peace of mind.
Her Eyes
Her Eyes
Those eyes,Those hazel eyes,Seem so sincere,When they tell you lies,And a bit too late,You realise,That you’d be a foolTo trust those eyes.
But you still do,And you don’t rueThose moments,When it seems blue,Since the shade of those eyes,Is never that hue,But warm like sunlight,Shining through forest dew.
But you still do,And you don’t rueThose moments,When it seems blue,Since the shade of those eyes,Is never that hue,But warm like sunlight,Shining through forest dew.
A Woman in the Waters
A Woman in the Waters
Creaking as the gentle waves,lapping against grumbling wood,bob the boat back and forthand up and down, where a man stoodat the stern. so blissfully ignorant ashis sinking boat becomes driftwood.
His lake is such a wonder,snuggles in its blanket of mistSurrounded by that dark, green thicket,where shadowy horrors could persist.But he cares only for what is submerged;That deep deep water, where other worlds exist.
Gazing into the gloom, too curious,his eyes - for a moment - hesitate.Then he sights that sorrowful visage,drowning, such wistful eyes that resonate,Curves of her cheekbone, and soft lips; Her lamenting beauty leaves the lakebed desolate.
Tranquillity fades with the fog ashe dives in, chasing his sunken spectre.Vision blurry, but his vision clear, heswims deeper still, like some destined defector,sinking to rock bottom, he sees her stony figure;Flesh of marble and jewel - feelings cannot affect her.
White arms embrace him, surface fading,bubbles escape, lungs must be burning.But she cares not, and holds him closerThose crystal eyes, reflecting such yearningThat he forgets the world, seals his fateFingers of her statue sense his solace returning.
His lake is such a wonder,snuggles in its blanket of mistSurrounded by that dark, green thicket,where shadowy horrors could persist.But he cares only for what is submerged;That deep deep water, where other worlds exist.
Gazing into the gloom, too curious,his eyes - for a moment - hesitate.Then he sights that sorrowful visage,drowning, such wistful eyes that resonate,Curves of her cheekbone, and soft lips; Her lamenting beauty leaves the lakebed desolate.
Tranquillity fades with the fog ashe dives in, chasing his sunken spectre.Vision blurry, but his vision clear, heswims deeper still, like some destined defector,sinking to rock bottom, he sees her stony figure;Flesh of marble and jewel - feelings cannot affect her.
White arms embrace him, surface fading,bubbles escape, lungs must be burning.But she cares not, and holds him closerThose crystal eyes, reflecting such yearningThat he forgets the world, seals his fateFingers of her statue sense his solace returning.
Mask
Mask
See my breath in the airthrough the eye-holesa slit for an icy exhale.face is framed with blood asit digs into my frozen flesh, the mask of despair
Grey vision through the freezing chill, the icy cold.Devoid of all -Sharp lights glare at the eyes. Why so blinding?- colours.My frost bitten face feels the fluttering of feathers in the skies,so far away.
I see her,Glowing with sunlight.Warm hazel eyes - only colour can seeHer visage of Hope, so so bright.Hands outstretched, caress this shattered portrait.
Her touch feels warm,the care, abundant, dripping through cracks.Tears can flow - outside this icy maskas it shatters.There she stands, the ray of light thatFreed me of that cowardly mask - mask of stone, mask of ice.Such warmth! In her touch - and that lovely gaze.
Grey vision through the freezing chill, the icy cold.Devoid of all -Sharp lights glare at the eyes. Why so blinding?- colours.My frost bitten face feels the fluttering of feathers in the skies,so far away.
I see her,Glowing with sunlight.Warm hazel eyes - only colour can seeHer visage of Hope, so so bright.Hands outstretched, caress this shattered portrait.
Her touch feels warm,the care, abundant, dripping through cracks.Tears can flow - outside this icy maskas it shatters.There she stands, the ray of light thatFreed me of that cowardly mask - mask of stone, mask of ice.Such warmth! In her touch - and that lovely gaze.
Coloured Leaves
Coloured Leaves
These winter leaves,so flaked with forgotten frost,start to witherlike better days that are lost.
These spring buds,still coated in snowy dew,begin to bloom,trying to start anew.
These summer flowersthat even Mother nature adornsblossom with beauty,casting shadows on deadly thorns.
These autumn leavesfall gracefully on my path,looking like wingsthat have incurred the Sun's wrath.
These spring buds,still coated in snowy dew,begin to bloom,trying to start anew.
These summer flowersthat even Mother nature adornsblossom with beauty,casting shadows on deadly thorns.
These autumn leavesfall gracefully on my path,looking like wingsthat have incurred the Sun's wrath.
What god?
What god?
What merciful god lets medrown in love,riddled with grief;a fallen dove,as he watches from so far above?
What loving god lets mewrithe in pain,numbing my mindjust to keep sane,as he hammers us with rain?
What peaceful god lets meturn and run,from these vicious trialsthat he sees as fun,as he blocks out the sun?
What loving god lets mewrithe in pain,numbing my mindjust to keep sane,as he hammers us with rain?
What peaceful god lets meturn and run,from these vicious trialsthat he sees as fun,as he blocks out the sun?
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