death the Leveler

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
   Sceptre and Crown
   Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
   Early or late
   They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuriong breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death’s purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
   Your heads must come
   To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

–James Shirley–



Where is this deliverance to be found?
Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation
he is bound with us all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense!
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained?
Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.

+Rabindranath Tagore+

The Building


There is no worker,
but in the building,
the worker’s face is drenched in sweat.
The worker’s face is drenched in sweat,
So, the walls of the building
are damp.
The worker’s body has wounds
festering in various places,
so, the walls of the building
are now full of cracks.
Termites gnaw at the foundations.
The worker is now old,
his bald pate clearly shows,
inside the rooms, the paint is peeling off the walls.
The worker has become quite old,
the building is aging too.
One day, the owner brings the engineer along
to take stock of the building.
The engineer looks around, asking—
‘Where, where, where is the worker?
Call the worker!
The building is shaking badly.’
The engineer screams.
The engineer is unaware
or perhaps he knows
that the building shakes
because three hundred miles away
on an unsteady charpoy,
in the village, the worker,
is coughing.


-Uday Prakash-

Fat Neeti wasn’t Ugly

bindi bottoms

I was fat and I did not like it. By the age of 8, I had been called almost all the names that overweight people have to bear – Moti, Bhains, Hathini and so on. I hated those names. While I did have a great support system in my very loving parents who did not care about my body type, my perception of my size and looks created a downward spiral which sucked me in.

I don’t know why but my confidence did take a hit because of being fat. Being known and perceived as beautiful mattered. I would have given anything to even a stranger if they called me ‘beautiful’; that would have been the greatest expression of love. I truly believed that no one loved me. I wasn’t beautiful. I wasn’t intelligent. I was just a misfit in the world. I couldn’t stand those who even as much as noticed or hinted about my weight.

Then, while still a child, I decided to change – quietly, ensuring no one knew. I controlled my diet, played basketball and cycled.

Today, I am independent, love my work, and..READ >>Neeti Sudha’s Story

Only For Me

 kabhi-kabhi Movie

Sometimes this thought enters my heart
That you were created only for me
Before now you lived somewhere among the stars
You were called to earth only for me

Sometimes this thought enters my heart
That this body and these eyes belong to me
These dark shadows of your hair are for me alone
These lips and these arms belong to me

Sometimes this thought enters my heart
As if wedding music is being played in the streets

It is our wedding night, I am lifting your veil
You shyly blush as I wrap you in my arms

Sometimes this thought enters my heart
That you will love me forever like this
That you will always lift this loving gaze to me

I know you are still a stranger, however
Sometimes this thought enters my heart.



I will be waiting


I will be waiting here
For the grey sky to cry
For your suspicions to die
For you to really try

…I will be waiting here
For the white snow to melt
For the roses to be smelt
For you to feel what I felt

I will be waiting here
For the moments to pass
For the memories to last
For you to break that glass

I will be waiting here
For the ships to sail on the sea
For the clock to strike three
For you to believe in me

I will be waiting here
For your silence to break
For your soul to shake
For your love to wake


Rhetoric dreams

kashmir was heaven not now


Where mountains ring the city

dreams are dead

dreams born to fight the ethos of Dark Ages

Steeped in an impish conflict

Elaborate arpeggios of assertions

Unnerved in

Sizeable slices of the sun

Coaxed into life – unscathed

Cupped by sinewy walnut orchards and saffron fields

Or razor wires and bunkers, sandbags, tanks and guns?

A roaring fire

Or hum of a love song

Sung on the banks of sloshing Lidder River

Knock-kneed beneath crimson Chinars

When horizon is bleeding red

And bullets fired across Jehlum

Injuring Zabarwan’s aghast voices

Where moon doesn’t lift veil

Where dark nights confuse dreams with absolute nightmares

Sun doesn’t shine

Dreams as Trojan Horses

Take over nightmares in a home

Where there was little food and charcoal

But dreams.

-Muhammad Nadeem-

Pure and simple Thing


A life without Love is no account,
don’t ask yourself what kind of Love you should seek,
spiritual or material, divine or mundane..
Eastern or Western..
Divisions leads to more divisions. Love has no labels
or definitions..
It is what it is, pure and simple.
Either you are in the center……
or you’re out yearning of it…….

❤️Shams Tabriz❤️

Tomorrow at dawn


Tomorrow, at dawn
Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens,
I will depart. You see, I know you wait for me.
I will go through the forest and over the mountains.

I cannot stay far from you any longer.
I will trudge on, my eyes fixed on my thoughts,

Ignoring everything around me, without hearing a sound,

Alone, unknown, back stooped, hands crossed,

Saddened, and the day will be like night for me.
I will neither see the golden glow of the falling evening,

Nor the sails going down to Harfleur in the distance,

And when I arrive, I will place on
your tomb

A bouquet of green holly and flowering heather.


Let there be Change


Let there be sunshine

Let there be hope

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be the morning glory

Let there be the clarity of the day

Let there be you

Let there be me


Let there be the warmth of the evening sun

Let there be the serenity of the soothing night

Let there be you

Let there be me


Let there be the tenderness of the dew

Let there be the stiffness of the rocks

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be the fragility of the flowers

Let there be the twitter of the birds

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be the elegance of the flowing water

Let there be the symphony of the cool breeze

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be kindness

Let there be benevolence

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be silence

Let there be calmness

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be peace

Let there be humanity

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be love

Let there be happiness

Let there be you

Let there be me

Let there be us

Let there be all

Let there be the world

Let there be the universe. 



Nida Zakaria-


difficult times

days, weeks and months pass,
Repaying a lifelong debt, in a trance.
A chance encounter with one’s own reflection,
Is reassuring knowledge of another acquaintance,
Perhaps the fruit has ripened in its branch,
That it hath become a target to stones,
The echoes of silence take their time in ringing,
As though someone called out in afterthought.



Sound of the Trees


I WONDER about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone.



-Robert Frost-