Stories that I’ll remind you

I want to be the feeling that stays on your tongue after eating a chocolate which makes you want more.

I want to be the gentle light that enters through your window which wakes you up in the morning.

I want to be the peace you get while you lay down on the bed with hands and legs wide open, looking at the ceiling fan as it gives you breeze, it’s the only sky that you own. 

I want to be the dust that stays on your book shelf who knows your secrets more than anyone.

I want to be the coffee stain on your table which reminds you of the sleepless nights you’ve had thinking of someone you barely knew. 

I want to be a part. I want to be the very reason which will never let you forget that you’re still a child who wants to cuddle in his mother’s arms, a child who wants to make his parents proud, a child who doesn’t like spinach, a child who’s not afraid. 

I know. And I’ll meet you soon while you’re struck in disbelief, I’ll remind you all the stories.

I’ll remind you, I’m still there for you. 


One fine night. 

Something scratching in the back,

Something got her laughing while sitting up straight on her bed,

May be a familiar story in the old book rack. 
The blanket was lying as she left it in the morning, 

Twirled like a mermaid taking rest over a rock, 

Waiting for the next wave dining. 
The spoon just fell over the cup,

Like a huge star, shooting in the infinities of the sky, 

While ceramic did talk and made hupp.
She just leaned back on the backside of her bed, 

And just like that she held the music in the room, 

And she saw the lower corner of the curtain waving to her but she wondered if it was all in her head.

The race

​This to the day when you just want to be happy, and get relieved of the race. 

Yes, it’s the same race you’re running everyday. 
You think you’re running towards a goal. Are you sure that you’re not running from yourself? 

When the herd is proving what they are not, and you still figuring out what you are,

Day by day, the web catches it’s prey, one at a time, and you know you’re next. 

Often you feel like giving up to the web, pray let it happen soon, as early as you could get caught, you could atleast stop running.
Never did any creature show such desperation. Or may be they did. 

Like when the mouse is lured by the cheese inside the cage. 

Or the profound happiness the goat gets before getting plated. 

But you don’t know this.
You don’t even understand this.

You just want to be as happy as you were 7 and won your first match and made your mom proud. 

But you didn’t know that this want for winning will come along so badly that it will put a curtain on your dreams. 
You don’t want to run everyday.
You just want to be home.

You just want to be happy.

But as the rule of survival says, you need to be fit for it, for it’s a war. Not between people, but with you,  yes yourself. 

You need to get up, and BURN yourself if you want to shine.

Stairs to the moon

When you help them build stairs to the moon,
And you think you all are going together and reach up soon.
But you forget one important thing,
The wooden staircase could take only one person at a time.

So they climb up, leaving you behind.

You thought we’ll all stand together, once we reach.
But a lesson did they teach?

But momma said always help people, be kind and generous,
Don’t say I, but worry about the  ‘Us’.
But momma didn’t know that people no longer care,
They get what what they want, and do not do fair.
They forget your help or the days they needed you,
The one who made the stairs and was left behind by you.

I laugh in despair, that momma when they had reached up,
At least they didn’t break the stairs,
I should have believed they never cared.

But momma you never told me that I had to be little selfish,
All I did was share and share until things got finished.

I should have kept some things for myself in this world,
Days after days things got more swirled.
I got infuriated by all this muddle,
I was left alone, with no one to cuddle.

I cried, I shouted, I screamed.
For God, what bad have I done,
that I could not get to my dream.

I vowed to not help people anymore,
Not be kind or generous, or helping a sore.
I saw the world through a broken glass,
I was drawing myself away from the mean class.

But deep in my heart, I believed,
That the one who’s the strongest, and kindest,
Then success, happiness all you achieve!
I knew how to build those stairs, so I did it again,
I learnt from experience, I grew from that pain.

I reached even higher than they can imagine ever,
And they were back in news telling me clever.
Oh fools, I thought, what have you done,
You never knew there’s a difference between a planet and the sun!

But one thing all we must learn from now,
Look for real people, because it’s a fake town.
Share only with those who’re worthy of that gift,
The people, who are there and never split.

And you need to give yourself, is your help first,
So that you climb up the moon, with the stairs you trust.

Be kind, sincere and fearless,
Because you’re special, and you’re no less!


Hey guys, I’ve written this poem on my personal experience, it’s straight from the heart, and it’s my present story, if you liked it,share and help spread the word, thanks!

May be it doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s all, about you.
So many sad eyes on happy faces.

Why are you allowing to wither in your self?
Do you still have those bits and pieces of who you were?
I believe, they are yours.

Because you let fairy tales; you grew up reading in books, to be true.
The whole point of being with someone is so you can talk your heart out with them, without feeling being judged, who smiles at your best and stays with you at your worst.

But may be you’re too late.
You no more know how to talk.

May be it doesn’t matter anymore.
I’ve seen it through you.
You held it long enough to let go.
Stop holding those bits and pieces
of where you no longer belong.

Close your eyes to old ends
and open your heart,
to new beginnings.

You are brave, you know;
I’ve seen you dance
through the flames that ramble against you
when you set yourself
on fire.

You’re kind, you know;
I’ve seen you soothe those
who never bothered
to know
the ache inside you.

You’re more, you know;
more than this,
more than you ever were,
more than anyone could ever be.

You’re made up of thunder, fireworks and sunlight.
So, rise like the sun, and burn.

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First steps

You have a story.
There are words, waiting to be written.

Everything begins small.
Your little first steps, to climb up to her.
Mother, from where all your stories begin.

You are trying to climb up to her.
With her open arms, she gently, smiles.
Doubtless, you rise up.
Remember, those were your first steps.

Now, you’re all old, and strong,
Yet, you fear to climb the stairs of life.
Why don’t you trust?

Life is a book.
Why don’t you travel?
Why are you struck at the first few pages?

Let the chaos within burst out.
Even if you can’t see it, the story is weaving.
Thread by thread, into the tapestry of life.

And if words fail, hope remains.
For years to come, hope whispers, it’ll be better.
Better, sweeter, happier. Any more?

You leap through the dark mountains,
Follow storms. Yet, reach up to the stars.
Your first steps again. Do they taste the same?

Soaked in memories, happiness hails.
While sorrows make a wiser tale.
Mistakes, faults  — the chapters you accept,
And do not wish to visit again.

The story of the fool you were, the story of the fool you are.
Wrapped up in few words,
One Adventure, called life.

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Have you ever heard silence?

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.”
― Rumi said.

“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn?
Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends?
Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked,
Or the hush of a country road at night,
Or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak,
Or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house?

Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.”

Lately I’ve begun to realize that one can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension of it’s own.
When words are empty, equations doesn’t matter anymore. But it’s always difficult to keep shut or use the right amount of words.

  • First theory.

    The biggest challenge after success is shutting up about it. There are two secrets to success, one choose your words wisely, second I won’t tell you. Successful people tend to speak the right amount of words required, for only people intelligent enough can identify what’s relevant to be said and what’s not. Giving more information is not only harmful but might communicate a wrong idea.

    Say, if I’m chatting too much with my boss, he might think I’m interested in him beyond work. Or a cheesy salesperson may blabber out too much information, in a way nagging out the customer.

    Also in relationships, it’s important to understand the other person’s silence more than only words. Sometimes, in the middle of a disagreement with her husband or to avoid one, she’ll call time out. If she don’t pause long enough for a walk or a sitting meditation to reflect on what’s really going on, she’s likely to keep blundering with hurtful speech. In silence one has a chance to cool down, assess the situation, examine one’s own motivations, and consider what words will help heal the rift.

  • Second Theory.

    Speech pauses are the finest tricks of oratory since time immemorial. And the If you do it right, nobody is conscious of your pauses, but your ideas are more persuasively delivered. As white spaces add breathe to a paper full of words, speech pauses are necessary for verbal communication.

    For example:

    We were married ten years ago [pause] I still remember my first look at her coming up the aisle.Speech pause is an excellent way of delivering emotions. Isn’t it?

  • There’s another theory.

    Would you find it uncomfortable to go on a date and sit in silence for an hour because you had only recently met your companion? What would you think if after returning home from several months’ absence your parents and relative didn’t speak to you for several days? Can you imagine working on a four-person cattle crew for several days without being introduced to or speaking with one of the other members, who you did not know?

    Although these situations seem unusual to us, they are considered appropriate among the Apache. Although it seems natural to us that when people first meet introductions are in order and that when friends and relative reunite greeting and catching up will immediately follow, this is not the case for all cultures. There’s a study which investigates certain aspects of silence in the culture of the Western Apache of east-central Arizona.It is not the case that a man who is silent says nothing. – the Apache culture believes.

  • Finally I’d like to highlight the importance silence holds, spiritually. Silence soothes the harried soul.

    Maybe because I can talk up a storm, I love, even crave, silence. I feel safe in it. I know I won’t blurt out something foolish or harmful, something I’ll be sorry for. She said.

    It is in the womb of silence that we can grow ideas for the best course of action to take. They say it helps us use our personal resources judiciously. Talking expends energy and takes up time. One requires to identify inner knowledge one has, rather than looking for places to go for. The way in is through inside.

You can surely fool people by your words, but not by your silence. In fact, silent is one’s loudest cry.


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India’s trouble mantra: It’s complacency with mediocrity

A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing
Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring,
Began to complain when he found that, at home,
His cupboard was empty, and winter had come.

Corruption. Pollution. Unemployment. Illiteracy. Women Empowerment.
No. The biggest trouble India’s facing is the deep rooted mediocrity among her people.

People have a chalta h attitude, which means let it be, whatever’s happening, let it happen.
We are a country with a glorious past. Our battle for freedom proves the inherent never giving up attitude with our souls.

We were like ants:
1. Not intimidated by the sheer size of the objects that they need to carry
2. Value Teamwork, they help each other making it possible for them to achieve their goals
3. Organized in how they carry out their tasks that they are able to accomplish it no matter how big the task is
4. Having your reserves-up to cope with unforeseen things

But things have changed.

Non-performing citizens, our governance system is paralyzed. People have lost the required motivation to carry forward the legacy of our glorious past.  As this culture of mediocrity has perpetuated meticulously by the socio-political-cultural systems, it has deeply percolated into the psyche of an average Indian. Not only that, we all configure the major trouble is the missing elements of “excellence and self- discipline/regulation” in socio-cultural spheres of India. The common man has become the symbol of bad self- discipline and non-performance.

Today’s youth and it’s false ambitions, the verbal fluency of our intellectuals, and the fickle-mindedness of our politicians- all this leave little but a gnawing incompleteness in the frequency of the oscillation of our nation. The mindless demonstrations by youth and it’s representatives and the personal opinion of the common man: all are critical of the present malfunctioning system of governance and shout for collective desire for change.

In the bleached atmosphere of the new century, it is hard to tear apart the mediocrity from the fabric of our nation, the equation hardly matters. What matters is that it’s people are believers, and they expect life to change. Something good is bound to rise from ashes. Far away in the rumbling foundation, a seed of hope is silently spreading it’s roots and the sirens will soon sing the melody of a coming transformation.

In a small town, a village teacher is giving lessons to the future torch bearers of our nation, the little hope, though faint, gives hope for a remake. The fruit of the tamped earth must rise and bring back the zeal to get over with our complacency with mediocrity.

Do you miss your childhood?

Do you miss your childhood?
I miss the way we took pleasure in small things.
Balloons, candies and cookies.
Even as great things crumbled.

We did hide-n-seek,
And peeped through the bushes,
And danced gaily at celebrations.
Or laughed away when the other fell.
Chased away mum for that glass of milk,
And fancy dad’s return for chocolates.

To chitter, chatter.
And be the teacher’s pet.
Party on getting ten on ten.
Or those birthday treats.
Running fast to get the front seat,
Or take hours to finish the last spoon of mum’s best dish.

Neither we could control the world around,
Nor felt the need for it.
There was not a search for happiness.
Or hiding away from crying.

We took the world as it is and smiled.

Could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt,Yet took joy in the things that made us happy.

If you still miss your childhood,
It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.

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A traveler’s muse

In city, my heart was spread so thin that I wasn’t feeling much of anything.
But there on the cliffs, I realized I was near the end.
My heart swelled and then hurt.

A traveler.
Another city.
A fresh chapter begins.
A new community ebbs and flows around.

It’s people.
Their dreams. And hopes.
The strains of Mozart’s music swim in the air,
Gliding through countryside’s many cafes,
Glistening shores where children play,
Cobbled streets, merging with the silhouette of the 0ld fort.

Time rolls.

Then the new friend became a speck on horizon,
The traveler felt a familiar sadness.

Not a story of enemies.
Not a story of friends.
Just a story of strangers, with some memories.

You know a time when you seek happiness, truth?

Not because you’re lost.
But you’re closer to where you’re meant to be.
That time, you’ll be, your own sun.
You’ll know that you’re made up of sunlight, thunder and fireworks.

No matter how far you travel, you can never run away from home.

You’ve got — roots of innovation and wings of imagination!
Let them grow.

“This is a not-so-obligatory present, wrapped up in 500 words.”
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Poetry for peace