CURSE

To be a poet to weave words -

To be a poet lover to weave

Sad words.

Melancholy hid in my sleeve

Each second hit a thousand swords.

Maiden of sorrow

More beautiful

Than the angel joy

Beauty backside of it curse

Poetry lives in the nostrils

Of death.

MY WAY

I’ll lay my own way

To walk my journey

I’m neither self-conscious when I toddle

Nor downbeat when I tumble

I don’t care a paisa when you jeer

Seeing the way I walk

My every step keeps me in progress

Bark at my tail I won’t give ears

When I lay my way as I walk,

How can you get ahead of me?

So you can only beat after I’ve beaten

Since I lay my own way,

I won’t erect any obstacle

I know I can walk alone

Unhurried, unhampered

In my way

I might lie dead,

But I won’t lie defeated!

I WAITED AND WAITED

I waited and waited

All my days

Expecting his bell

At my door