Saturday, January 22, 2011


This piece is for future poets who want to carve a niche for themselves on this planet. 

Poetry is the flow of intense thoughts— otherwise it is NOT poetry.  

It need not rhyme , unless you are writing it as a nursery rhyme for little children to sing along.  

Once you start reading poetry you will NOT be able to stop.  And finally when you do stop, you will feel something inside your heart— if it is good poetry.  

Love and nostalgia take very little effort to make that impact. 

Gone are the days of Victorian bombardment. An ordinary man on the street can write good poetry. Good poetry means 90% of the people both erudite and illiterate who read it will be impressed. 

The remaining 10% misanthropes of this planet , who need something other than poetry to get impressed, please excuse.


The last time we bid adieu, your pupils dilated

time stood still as we stood forlorn

feeling the distance grow, feeling so empty

this sight etched on the canvas of my mind

i painted our portraits in the great blue sky

i have waited with a myriad of rainbow dreams

my poor heart needing, waiting, hoping, aching

backin' and sidling , hurting my ribs-- dying

how quickly you have made me just another face

a someone to be taken for granted, an old shoe

darling my heart refuses to believe my head

that our romance was meticulously planned

unlike the fickle bee , who sucks honey

and flies away to rape another-- only at random

every time i remember the only girl i ever loved

i add one more, fresh gaping whip wound

searing me mind at mach3 , spurting blood

my senses numbed i am unable to write sense

when once my pen was that gushing fountainhead

my subconscious mind, the proud trident you knew

lies unharnessed, crushed, unable to help or heal

now, that i have learnt to package love from you

time is not far when i must set myself free

with steady resolute fingers remove and discard

a treasured heart shaped pendant from my chest

usher in by the hundreds all pretty women i had kept at bay

allow them to feel the passion which i had kept aside

for you-- the girl who had looked into my eyes

and promised to love me for ever and for ever!



  1. I can guess the censored part but it would be a guess at its best.

    you may know or not.
    But My heart knows even your thoughts.
    people may love to hate
    But My heart hates to hate even when you give it bleeding pain.
    Its My heart synonym with My love and My life.
    But it beats for you even in loneliness of nights.
    The mind may dream of you. poor heart it has only felt you.
    Envious of The eyes which see you.
    Jealous of The ears for they hear you.
    its burning walls you may smell.
    Many a times it has tried to come out.
    to show you that you are in it.
    to make its beats louder that they reach you.
    But you left it for another after you become omniscient about it.

    The depths of My heart is unknown.
    If it is hurt it has no cure.
    Only the resonance of love may make it sing.
    But the broken strings are missing.

    I feel you dear and empathise.
    As I have been blind in what they call as love.

    but for My heart it was all.
    All means all.
    (lemme stop it here itself)

    hari OM _/\_

  2. Vladimir Putin Voted Jerusalem Post’s Person of the Year