Look at you

Had you any inkling, of how original you were

How your curvy tresses, unkempt, were the cascades of Eden

And how you uttered words of supposed cacophony that launched ships

Did you know

That it did not matter how they looked at you

But it does matter how you see yourself

Look at you, rising from the wreckage, embracing storms…

Look at your threshold

At the Aurora you became, and the Sun in his chariot, seeking your aproval…

to ascend.

Just –

Look at you…

How could we know…

Little did we know,

That the green sea was limitless

Before we even set sail.

We were warned about the gales…

The more we were ‘told’

The less we saw;

The more we were ‘shown’

The less we could fathom.

The deep sea had more wonders

And less of dangers

But, before we set sail,

We grew weary of imaginary storms

That brewed in coward minds

And paralysed

The strongest of chimes

The Inchcape Rock, the bell for instance,

Was not defined………..

Your day…

So when your day arrives,

go floating by the Sun.

Cool it with your unfazed smile.

Tell him to sleep awhile.

For you’ve taken over the dawn,

And the warm Twilight

Is yours to claim…


Tell the birds –

You can also sing along

And the beaches must know

That you are the one,

Why waves have danced all night…

Go tell the stars,

That they twinkle…

Because you have been all


Along with the

Morning Sun.

You be you; I be ME

Take for instance,

your life…

beautiful as it is –

It cannot define

What my life “should” be like.

Take for instance,

your tree…

leafy as it is,

It cannot replace

The roses in my terrain.

Take for instance,

the rain in your tracks –

It cannot be similar,

to the hailstorm in my shacks.

So you be you;

And i be me.

Lest it all dissolves,

Into eternity.


It is true that,

She is her own messiah….

That she has purged her own self,

Of plagues and despair

That threatend to take her breath away…..


It is true that,

She is her own divinity.

That she has uplifted her soul

When all belief and love

Was challenged and abused every day…..


It is true that

She is her own messiah,

And has taken the highest wave….

That most men were scared

To ride upon lest they should sway…..


It is true that

She is her own Sun,

Who has, with deliberate ease,

Hovered  through the darkest dungeon,

Dazzling it with a blinding ray…….


It is true that

She is her own reason,

To smile, love and be merry,

And has learnt it hard…..

That nothing can forever stay…..




When did I say I needed the Sun

It was just a while, that the rays would thaw

Whatever was frozen inside….

Little did I know

That my own blaze

Was enough

To melt glaciers of hurt

And mounds of century old ice.



It is March,

The month of her Spring,

When a soothing cold breeze…

Whiffs away the demons within.


It is March,

The season of her smile,

When every flower beckons at her with…

A promise divine.


It is March,

The return of her being,

When gushing daisies…..

Rustle and bespeak perforce,

Words of true love.


It is March,

The echo of her soul,

When valleys smile…

Enamoured by her will,

And demure persistence.


— Shalini.

From what we see…

Some of the things
we see,
are not what
they are meant to be…

The drooping bough
laden with ice,
maybe warm inside.

Warmer than hearts,
seemingly welcoming otherwise…

If ever you are,
to stop and see-
the begging bowls…
from hungry eyes,
the wealth in them,
could take you
by surprise.

The horizon

Whenever you breathe,

And smell the fog

Does it not become clear

That every breath counts, that every morning is a miracle

And that love abounds…


Worthlessness may be dreary 

And may seep in everyday

But then,

Wait for the morning,

It may 


What the mirror couldn’t-

Ever betray…


One fine day,

Love will find a way

Of revealing who you truly are

And if that is not convincing enough

Just see…

How the earth 

Kissed the sky today…

The Legend is no more…

My drive to and fro to work day before was pleasant and had me singing aloud. It was because somebody died.

No, I am not insensitive, just that the someone who died is still alive.

Amongst us.

Shaking our senses with melodies that will never die. Lata Mangeshkar left us.

Huge, big, big, loss we say.

But look at the FM channels, they kept playing such heart wrenching beautiful numbers.

I almost cried listening to songs of ‘Rudaali’

“….O more chandramaa…Teri Chaandni ang jalaye
Unchi tor ataari
Maine pankh liye katwaaye….

Dil hum hum kare….
Ghabraaye… ek boond kabhi paani ki

Meri ankhiyon se barsaaye…”

It took a demise to shake things in such a magnanimous way. Why is it so with the world?

That when loss is evident, the gathering starts.
That when distance is clear, we start moving forward.

Why is it, when fire consumes all, a soothing shade lifts the pall…

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