some cells lost their way

i know some cells in your life
have lost their way

will they be tamed
i don’t know but we are trying

some day
somewhere
we will tell these cells
they need not have walked away
like thsi
after all bring together with
the rest
they were whole
all of you
now, they will be excised, silenced, may be squeezed dry

but to what purpose
is getting lost is alays for
purpose
cells replied

——
on cancer, serious stage, of a dear friend

what is the point

what was the point
you asked repeatedly
what was the point
the point was not to be found in words
it was a touch
of affirmation
of drawing your attention
to certain beautiful truth
but u kept on asking what is the point
actually
the point got lost
it is not even a line
it is just a blank page, now

misty shawl


someday
our paths will cross
again
all the purity
reflected on the brim of a lake
overflowing with love
will engulf
me
like a misty shawl

road repair

when the roads did not pretend any more
who is the walker and who is a bystander
i paused
hoping you will catch up
but you were not walking
you were waiting for someone
who had long gone to afar away planet
i am repairing the road thus

may be the flowers
on the roadside
will tell
what you can not say

a note to aarav

aaraav

when some springs will not flow any longer
when the stones from the bed of dry river
will have become pebbles for paving the path
on which you walk
in your new house
when stars in teh sky will be witness
of all the tears that flew to wash the stains
on your curtains
which were put
to prevent light inside mingling with the light outside
you will recall
that the sand yard in which you had played once
still has the same sand
unblemished
unmixed with any impurity
pure
sublime
and subtle reminder
of the yearnings for
your promising, meaningful future, sustain it

dont ask why

dont ask why
he stood there
when you moved away
far, very far away

dont stare and ask
why did he kept quiet when you shouted at him
loudly, very loudly

dont ask why
he still hopes that pages will be turned
of the diary which you threw away
in the river with waves so high
dont ask why

some colours stolen


some
colours were stolen last night
did you find them
in your eyes
or hairs
or on my keyboard
somewhere
where stars cannot grow
but sky can descend
to sip a drink
from broken colourless cup
you painted it
other day
when many colours had walked away
u did not trust them
or did they lose trust
in themselves