ancient atlas

our motherland called

Pangea

The Mainichi News, 13 June  2012

Searching the Size

It is the evening hour of cloudy summer in Doon Valley, Dehradun. The children are busy collecting pebbles from the river bank. The rock pebbles record the long journey to reach the moon-like shape. Out of joy, I also start picking a few and return home. My tiny daughter, Rupa, posts an eager look and smiles.

cut out of moon

the child reconfirms

looking up

The Notes from the Gean, Vol.3, Issue 4, March 2012

museum hall—

bullets sound

in silence

*****

between breathes—

smiling Buddha’s

incarnation

*****

 A Hundred Gourds, 1:3 June 2012

Spring Poetry Rain Anthology

We Divide

Threads of confusion

We weave ourselves.

The birth defines

The sectarian pigeon holes.

The skin, the colour

And the decorated body

Win the position

Of the confused kingdom.

We  prefer to stay on the piles

Of the garbage of arguments

And design our society  

Of a fragmented  mirror.

At a distant corner

The dog reviews the civilization:

It is better to born as animal

And be proud to live

In a natural naked form.

***************

The Mad Ghost

The turmoil is whirled

Like a wild storm

Overflowing the width

Of the treasured river.

Value of culture is washed away

To destination unknown  

And the noise injured

The serene silence.

Rushing against the wind,

The brightness of virtue struggles

With the extinguished strength.

The war is lost

On the fractured  ground and

Lightning of the last scream

Is fired behind the bituminous cloud.

******************