Tag Archives: creative

beauty structure…


look at those shoes

some unexpected lines

in the defined form

look at her…


plus some flowing belly lines

look at that car

some utilitarian curve

plus some curves which defined scale of utility

that tree is so humble

sky is so vibrant

this song is so structural

her voice has grains

the writing is so modest

his life was zero

that food was so delicious

why this hunger brings happiness

are we searching beauty still…

layered beauty

that tree of car in the shoe print of the girl

who sings that deep song with her grainy voice

is it beautiful?

is layering tangible?

so deep grainy voice…

like water flowing behind the hills…


intelligence of frills on his face

of a decade…


blues of greens, yellows of whites

pink in blacks…when lights falls on them…

travelling far from moon…


does burning of a oil lantern creates prettier light

than burning of coil…

is it because it accompanies smell…


so would you like to watch full moon

with “full moon sonata” playing

accompanied with drinks…


does beauty belongs to occasion

or it was always true

it only lies in our vision…

whatever way…does beauty beholds

a cynical mind?

does beauty has form?


dead man


he speaks loud


says nothing

they called him


and i named him  “noan”

noan is a bearded man

petaled eyes

netted face

exists nowhere

in the sprawl

meets lost people

halted in the travel

missed by all

noan is a record keeper

and speaks in mumblings

his sentences are jumbled

meanings are lost

living in a tent…you see him in dark

when relativity is lost

images are blurred

and middleton prevails

everything looks like trace

symbolic existence

and “noan” is same

he lives where symbols only prevail



he is a dead man

living on a high ground

do one thing to find him

sleep when you are tired

underneath a tree

and make sure you wake up

when darkness prevails

look around and no one is there

be confused and move fast

in any direction as you may

and you will see

fire crackles

yellow radiance

go nearby and there will be

dark silhouette


he is a sweet man

he’ll offer you a pungent supper

and then talk to him

since you are lost

tell him all your stories

he’ll listen

and then ask your confusion

about his existence

and yours


he’ll speak loud

and will say nothing

you wont realize that

but you’ll some how choose your direction

he wont travel with you

as he knows…its not preferable to travel with a dead man

and then one day someone will write a story

and it’ll start with you

slapping a boy coz he plucked your beloved



and then the story teller will realize

you still didn’t understood

rose was nothing

if not plucked

as it would have died anyways

boy at least provided it

due momentous love


and more “noan”

will be found

who speak loud and say nothing…

as boy was the dead man…

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“when” it never came by…



when i was comfortable last time…

when i wasn’t moving…if time did

or i was (un) conciously blind…

when i could snap the moments

in laziness


when day was the colours

passed by

and people were yellow and flies

buzzing around


when was last time

my house was spotless clean

with me lonely

politically unsound


when was last time

i rejoiced

its done…

and celebrated the excellence


when i felt intelligent

and steady like an old

last time




i was not the student

and knew…the naivity

of all others around….


when did i…if did anything…

was like…as if

creativity and intelligence

are mine…only mine


when i failed to understand

said the monotone

and detailing went by

and no excuses…as all the other dimensions

except mine

were lies



when was i, the saint…

and did everything right…

well i hope this “when”

only comes for the moments

just before my extreme joys…

love is like that…


Love is like that

Its when you fall

In dark

And leave yourself

Somewhere aside


Love resides

Beneath the footsteps of a visitor

It comes with 

And never goes back

you keep hearing

That rustling inside


Love resides

Beneath your couch

It comes as dust

With wind blowing


And we sweep it

But whenever you see next day

Its beneath your couch


Love is found in dark

our eyes struggle to see

light a candle

It makes a circle

Complimenting the twinkle



love is failure


and lost

love is for losers

enjoy the free fall…


don’t try too hard…



What to write


And the space in between

Lets say

Space is spelling mistake

And time is correction


My life has become


And spelling mistakes




There is always

Little bit conscience

And spelling mistake can wait

What I can utilize

Is the flow

Of experience


But I wont do that

I am inbuilt with


And in education

As there is always

Chapter ends

And always

There is you see


Look back

Try hard



and do not look back

and ya conscience

like me

not needed

as you’ll realize

the shit I am writing

is plagiarized


educating the change


to be (not) pretentious

i pretend to be not

but moreover

it spills, as much i hide

guess, i am listening

trying hard to learn

but always slips

as words always hide…

maybe i know

but invest

to educate myself

and pretend

that others also got


but you know, its always short

and ends up at the most brilliant idea

when i assume, i can change

but change, changing, changed

seems continuous and baring

and then the ink dies

the time i was sure

could have written the change…