IF You do not care that I slipped and fell, What’s up with me, you cannot tell, It matters not if I am treated well, Then I don’t count as a friend. IF You do not care what I do for you, All your ‘support’ is not that true, It matters not to know… Continue reading A lot of poems are written on friendship. This one’s a… deviation.
It is not possible to stop Time. It has to fly at its own pace, and as we run the rat race, Time pauses and watches. They say It heals, but they forget; It also hurts, in disguise, and however may we be wise, Time frequently triumphs. It gives us those we love, then takes… Continue reading Time
दुपारचे अचूक बारा, स्थळ अप्पा बळवंत चौक. ढगाळलेलं आकाश, ऊन कुठे, कोणास ठाऊक. बाजार ऐन भरात, खास गुरुवारची वर्दळ, तेवढ्यात जोराचा पाऊस, सर्वांचीच धावपळ. एक रिकामा कोपरा, बाजूला एक-दोन झाडी, मागे एक दुकान, पुढे शेंगदण्याची गाडी. गरम खारे दाणे, काही काळवंडलेले, जळून. काही तिखट लावलेले, मस्त लिंबू पिळून. गळक्या छताखाली दाणे… Continue reading पुण्यातला पाऊस
प्रत्येकाच्या खिशात एक कविता लपली असते शब्दांत मावत नसली तरी मनात जपली असते. कवितेस कवीमनाची गरजच भासत नाही, तिने आयुष्याची सारी पाटीच व्यापली असते. दिवस असले बेचव तरी तिचं अडत नसतं; सुंदर क्षण शिजवायला ती चवीनं टपली असते. श्रोता, वाचक, किर्ती, यांची ती झाली तरीही, आपल्याच खिशातली कविता, अंतिमतः आपलीच असते. … Continue reading कविता
Someone knocked this afternoon, I rose, opened the door. He tripped in and said “Sorry!” And vanished as before. I looked out, flabbergasted; No one beyond the wall. It was still a little shocking; Wasn’t expecting his call. He left pretty abruptly, Yet left a little trace: The earth, perfumed just slightly, A… Continue reading Mistake
We all learn. From books, texts and journals, from quick notes and study guides, from private tutors and distinguished faculties, and spoon-feeding technologies. From friends and TV and Internet, from newspapers and pamphlets, and, not to mention, the last pages of people’s notebooks. From old women and bus drivers, the watchman and the housemaid, the… Continue reading Learning
Every time I glance up, The sky’s never just blue. There has to be a speck Or just a cloud or two. And clouds that are so murky, Not what I thought they might. All brimming with much greyness, Not pure cottony white. Every time I look, it seems, They have to float… Continue reading Clear Sky
A floating cloud signaling twilight. A trickling cascade of lukewarm light. The fiery sand, now heartless and cold. The horizon blurred with a fading gold. The boisterous wind, now drowsy and dull. The lively sounds are nursing a lull. The trees look on with a furtive gaze. A path unravels in a misty haze.… Continue reading Dusk.
You cannot make me happy cannot touch me on the inside you cannot make me cry. Nor provoke any hatred nor ambitions of revenge; I do not wish to try To make you suffer, or give you a chance, to make things alright. I do not think of you in my bleak, dull times, nor… Continue reading Cold Ignorance
Cracks. They are everywhere: in windows and glasses, in whips and nuts, in hearts and minds, in lives. They come with a variety of meanings, yet everyone of them has essentially the same characteristics- rawness, boldness, frankness. A whip cracks with horrifying brutality, a window cracks with speedy carelessness, a young heart “craque”s at the… Continue reading Cracks