I wrote these poems between late-teens and mid-twenties. An age when everyone feels that what one is going through are the most original things that no one else before him has experienced or will experience in future. I wonder if I was bit late in going through such a phase in life, as everything else happened a bit late in my life then it is supposed to be. In the those days there was a heady cocktail of Ghazals of Pankaj Udhas, Jagjit Singh etc. and literature and discourses of Osho pushing me. Above all, I was buoyed by the fact that a couple of my ‘Letters to the Editor’ and a couple of amateur film reviews had been published in newspapers and magazines.
Your Eyes
Your deep brown eyes
The depiction of truth and honesty
Whenever they look into me
They reach the depth of my soul
And come out with treasures hidden in it
I feel like a fool
Searching for words
To describe Creator’s creativity
But I need steam of words
For the feelings boiling in the kettle of my heart.
Memories
There is corner in my heart
Which I keep as a locker
To store my past
Its memories sweet and sour and bitter
Present a kaleidoscopic picture of my past
And tell me how well I fared with my lot
The way memories dominate my mind
It helps me to run away from ambiguity of my future.
Lost
Dreams are lost with the sweet slumber.
Wishes are buried deep inside the heart.
The vulnerability to love,
The courage to hate,
Is lost.
Hopes for the future,
Memories of the past,
Are lost as I pass through the present.
Futility of existence pierces the soul.
Now I wish my life to be lost in the oblivion of eternity.
