Thursday, May 7, 2015



I belong to a land

where there is nothing

just water and sand.



On the sand stands

a mythical tree

under which we

toil and boil,

love and live

without counting its roots:


because at its roots

lies our golden past

of which centuries old glitter

blinds our vision

making us unable to see

our present and future;


because in the vast shade of the tree,

on the cemented roof

and in the sandy yard

little plants rise fast

and flowers bloom in plenty

but their fragrance remains un-smelled;


because here rules are ruled by un-ruled,

life is led by misled ones, 

in the knowledge halls

civilized are uncivilized

and muggers and beggars

decide the routes;


because here in the graves

lie many alive

counting stars,

watching the waning moon

and enjoying the peace

they  got by bartering their souls.



And in the water

lie golden fishes

waiting for us-

the net-less

and clueless



because we sit on the bank

and watch blue water

and our desired hunts

moving  away to a zone,
from where it is impossible
to bring them back;


 because the water, for which we wait,

comes and hides us from the world,

forcing us to live a crab’s life,

to listen to frogs’ melodies

and we forget our desire to meet Raja Janak

and to request him for a golden net.