• The Old Mother Smiled

    Now the spheres are sooty sable,
    Man has adulterated Nature with His murky works,
    Black rains pour down from the heavy clouds,
    And rain-drops fall down not to wash... more »

  • The Open Eyes

    How often a thought of unfair deeds,
    Terribly haunt my vain guilty mind,
    Shaking inner self, core of conscience,
    The wanton pleasures of indelible past,... more »

  • The Pain Of Night

    The monsoon came, the days dispersed,
    But there had been load upon my chest,
    As snow becomes a load on the mountains,
    The load that does not permit stones to breathe,... more »

  • The Painted Figure

    Look! Who stands forlorn,
    Absorbed, staring into the vacancy,
    Of spheres with tearful eyes,
    That blur the whole world,... more »

  • The Pansies

    The beads we count, the words we speak,
    The wrongs we commit, the deeds we perform,
    Assume the shapes pleasing or shocking,
    Of flames and fangs, or fruit palatable,... more »

  • The Paragon (Mother)

    A paragon of patience,
    A model of sacrifice,
    Clad in clothes,
    Rough, drab and dull.... more »

  • The Pieces Of Velvet

    O! Friend you departed form us
    Very soon,... more »

  • The Pigeon

    The dreams are not merely dreams,
    Though they are often considered the fantasies,
    And futile vain imaginings of the mind;
    Yet they portend the stuff for the future.... more »

  • The Poem Inscribes You

    I don’t do,
    My poem inscribes you in her lines,
    It inscribes the delicacy of candles of your hands,
    Prudence and farsightedness of your symphonic beauty.... more »

  • The Poems Flutter

    Along each river in thousands are the ditches,
    And the dungeons that conceals the objects,
    Thousands of things hidden to the human eyes.... more »

  • The Prayers

    The rocking hands swayed me back,
    The centuries full four and ten behind;
    Placed me on the cold wet sandy bank,
    At the time of dawn, half light, half night.... more »

  • The Prison

    I was beaten with a stick,
    Long, thin and wet,
    For doing nothing ill.
    As the coach-man does,... more »

  • The Prisoner

    I am big,
    Small is my cage,... more »

  • The Prolonged Noons Of Loneliness

    In the prolonged noons of loneliness,
    And in the scorching sun,
    Are the melting roads,
    And two loathsome tired eyes.... more »

  • The Queen Nightingale

    The Queen Nightingale, Ah! At last,
    Flew from the fragrant flowery land,... more »

  • The Rain Of Memories

    The rain of memories,
    Rains incessantly,
    Even though leaves of dream,
    Break, crack creakingly;... more »

  • The Real Game

    Uninvited frequent gluttonous guest,
    Visited and picked up one by one,
    The elder and younger of the family,
    Making each time the house desolate.... more »

  • The Real Trouble

    Moving statues with heads brainless,
    Clean cloaks, and dresses stainless,
    With heavy drooping sleepy eyelids,
    And heartless flesh, bulky bodies,... more »

  • The Real Victory

    The Real Victory

    Victory and defeat in war,
    Are the childish justifications.... more »

  • The Resembling Shadow

    The creaking sounds did make me wake,
    Fetched me back from the dream lake
    Of peaceful sleep, profound and deep,
    Again did bring me to the world fake.... more »

  • The Rider-Moments Wait

    The night has spread a sheet
    On the shrine of silence,
    The falling fruit of neem is producing the Raag of Bhatyar while hitting the roof of clay-tiles;
    On the camps of moonlight,... more »

  • The Robots (An Observation At The Centralized Marking)

    Human robots, men of mechanical age,
    Bending the heads cast down the eyes,
    Seek; sort out the errors of others,
    Shutting eyes to the plagues of their own.... more »

  • The Rustling Leave

    In the cold wintry evening,
    When it was gloam and twilight,
    Covering myself with thick blanket of wool,
    I used to go to a small garden,... more »

  • The Scattering Dreams

    Melodious voices of the blowing lute,
    Resound at the calm hour of midnight,
    Vibrating echoes return many folds,
    And sway nodding the bushes and trees,... more »

  • The Scent Of Love

    Who forgets tumbling gait of the bare feet,
    With timid heart, holding breath in silence,
    And meeting in the dark thick grove,
    Our secrets only the moon did steal,... more »