Beyond this interval life awaits on the other side

Beyond all that is wrong awaits what is right

Beyond this great divide awaits a reunion

Beyond this indoors confinement await the great outdoors

Beyond being stranded awaits the final homecoming

Beyond this caliginosity awaits a sunny dawn

Till then let’s not let dreams turn into nightmares

Till then let’s not turn against each other

Till then let’s not be misguided by anyone

Till then let’s be patiently patient

Till then let’s light a lamp for all is not lost

And let no calamity, no tyrant, no fear,

no rabble rousing kill this flame

The night maybe dark but a tiny hope glimmers in every heart

The night maybe darkest tonight, this is what keeps us alive.

What do you see # 31 -25 May 2020



The vortex of living sucks me in feet first

though I duck, I still bump my head

feeling giddy and sometimes bewildered

trying to catch my out of breath, breath

I wish, at least for a while,

everything would come to a standstill

frozen, suspended in time

for me to hold life in my palms

to bask in the sunlight

to soak in the moonbeams

to gather nebulae in my arms

to plant dreams next to the lilies and not the roses

to save them from being snagged by the thorns

and then check my manual

on how to surpass obstacles strewn around

but life like a circle in a spiral, spins relentlessly

all notions of stability are turned upside down

whether I keep pace or fall by the wayside

I resign myself to being led by it

for life has a deadline to meet

‘cos if it were to stop, so would renewal!

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Renewal” May 25, 2020

The kitchen goddess

The domestic diva will not settle for anything less,

no shoddy shortcuts for her

she is almost maniacal in her perfection quest!

however tedious the classic recipe maybe

she will reference all old forgotten ones

to create a totally new entrèe!

gossamer like spun sugar decorations

just right acidic tones in the fruit tart

cooking, her true vocation!

her ability to nose around for new cuisines is journalistic

magic with a twist of her wrist

culinary experiments so cathartic!

My poem in the Indian Periodical

Grateful that poem was accepted by the Indian Periodical. Please read my poem “सड़क” here.

देखा है मैंने वाहनों को सर्र से निकलते हुए

पहियों को आग उगलते हुए

और अकसर चालकों की गलती से

कई गाड़ियों को उलटते हुए

कई दिनों के सन्नाटे के बाद

पदचाप सुनी

साइकिल की चेन की आवाज सुनी

कुछ तेज कदम

कुछ भारी कदम

नन्हे कदमों की कोमल थाप

नंगे पैरों की सकपकाई चाप

मेरी गरम सतह पर कुलबुलाते

पनीली आँखों से आँसू छलकाते

पर लगातार चलते पाँव

रिसते छालों वाले पाँव

रात को भूख से सुबकते सोते

सुबह फिर चल पड़ते, न रुकते

फिर कभी खून यहाँ छिटका तो कभी वहाँ

हौसला न कम हुआ, ऐसा कारवाँ !

लहूलुहान पैर चलते ही रहे

मेरा सीना रंगते ही गए

न मौत का डर न जान की फिक्र

तुम शायद भूल जाओ उनका जिक्र

मैं तो सड़क मात्र हूँ

गूँगी हूँ, निरंतर हूँ

चिरकाल तक यूहीं रहूँगी

गाँव को शहर, शहर को गाँव से जोड़ती रहूँगी

पर अपने काले सीने से

इन रक्त रंजित पैरों के निशान न मिटने दूँगी।

I am sharing the English translation below. It is about the daily wage earners’ exodus from the cities to their villages during the lockdown.

The Road

I have seen vehicles whizzing past

burning rubber as they race

sometimes overturned vehicles too

‘cos the driver was rash!

silence ensued for a longish period

then the pattering of footsteps I heard

some fast steps

some heavy dragging steps

little feet treading softly

barefeet’s startled walk

hopping from one to another on my hot surface

tears streaming from the eyes,

steaming as they fell on me

the feet continue to walk though

swollen, fetid, tired feet

at night they sob empty stomached

but nothing stops them in the morning

then droplets of blood here and there

their morale not dimmed a whit

bloodied feet keep walking

painting my chest a deep crimson

neither death nor fear of death can stop them

you may not have heard of them

I am just a road

mute and continuing forever

connecting villages to cities and cities to villages

yet these blood-stained footsteps

will forever be imprinted on me.

The blues

I dressed my blues prettily

and sent it out for fresh air

but it looked pensive in pink

standing all alone

where once blossoms bloomed

an empty bench,

(where loneliness sat alone)

invited it for company

but it trudged back home

lodging deep down inside me

content to curl quietly

dripping drop by drop,

painting my pained soul

I am learning to live with it

too tired to look for metaphors

I delve deep, cladding myself
in the darkest hue

revelling in the pleasures of darkness

bottling and imprisoning light

for it hurts my eyes and blinds me

blackness envelopes me comfortingly.

"you revel in pleasures of darkness
bottling and imprisoning light"

What do you see # 30 – 18 May 2020

For you

“Smile”, said the photographer

and on his call

I smiled only for you

I had to overcome the last minute panic

but had to do it, for you

it is not the understated kind

I gave it all I had

as you hold the photograph

I hope that my arresting smile

will stop you from looking further

I don’t want you to notice

that that smile doesn’t reach my eyes

that my long sleeved dress hides my bruises

that the scars on my soul are invisible

that the constant pain I am in

is camouflaged by

the smile

you will cherish this photo forever, I know

thus don’t want you to have an inkling

of what I am put through everyday

so I smile.

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Cherish” – May 18, 2020

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge–May 19, 2020


Some days I shun news

(like the plague or should I say covid 19 now)

on others, I am a news junkie

zombie like watching the flickering screen

letting the incessant babble attack me from all sides

getting teary-eyed and raging by turns

being a willing puppet

to the machinations of paid media

carried away by the insincere rhetoric

And yet there are days

when I watch the daily tamasha* for amusement

like a bystander

same information disseminated differently

by those who support the official policies and the opposition

the righteous table thumping and fist pumping

criticism cutting to the quick

and conveniently legacy issues raised

it is a challenge to separate the truth from the gobbledygook

no one really bothered about the real affairs

scoring points, projecting concerned persona

more pronounced now than ever

my amusement turns to distaste

when the unfolding tragedy of migrants

fails to stir anyone to action

so many killed everyday, this way or that…who cares!

we are eventually just statistics

to be either bandied about

or pushed under the proverbial carpet.

*tamasha : a fuss or commotion.

Love, is it!

Snatched suddenly from a languid dream

thrown unceremoniously into a living nightmare

raven black darkness engulfs me

its gritty edges leave me bruised and fragmented

the iron chains of helplessness keeping me immobile

predator opinions circle my segmented mind, looking for a weak spot

I can see the skeletons of fantasies lying in diffused despair

trapped within the synapses of time

the eyes forget whether they are open or shut

reality and make- believe teasingly merging

lips twist bitterly maybe to smile or cry

love can often do that.

Corvid-2020 Weekly Challenge #8