The environment as such
only few trees in bunch
no other greenery around
trees too very old in the round
proposebrook without water a sordid outlook
by the side of a brook
with very little water
no birds to chatter
looks so desolate and dull
seems like a murder in all
with no life around in the call.


The Home Where She Grew.

Passing through the house
where she was born in a close
where she was brought up
and the place where she spent her childhood
and the formative years all in great strides
were practically over there in a slide.
She halted a moment looked at the aisle she used to stand and watch
saw the bedroom where she slept all the years nothing to match.
Turned a little away got a glimpse of her study
where she had her lessons, and her music and dance classes
She, as if in a flash saw the garden
where she jumped and hopped and played
and over and above all the verandah
where she spent her time talking with her parents
who are now dead and gone
The home bore such thoughts and memories
now looks desolate shedding its pomp and splendour
which once was its valuable possession.
Gathering strength and brushing aside her tears
she moved slowly from the place
with a heavy heart and a sadness untold.old-dark-4


A Day In Life.

As the day advances there sets in an exhaustion
The freshness diffuses into a dullness
The fatigue results in a let go attitude
winding up the work to a finish full or half done.

With that trepidation one gets home
With the desire to get a refreshment
On days most there he finds the same monotony
making him desperate and disturbed.

The wife also from work gets back home
Physically tired she walks in
Finding the low-spirited husband
falls into desolation and anger.

The evening outside is pleasant and cool
while in the inside fire has set in
as there is exchange of rudeness
and the voices rise in decibel

The husband and wife then retire
while the dinner remains untouched
The next day dawns with a bright sun shining
Off the go to the office with anger lurking.

The life moving thus for years
with no love and pleasure to match
where money takes the priority
while all others move to the back.
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The Joy of Freedom

bird in a cageRunning through the pages
found a lovely image
of a bird in a cage.
whose big eyes looked sad.

The bird seemed to be desolate with fear
as it had no freedom to relish and cheer
seemed to curl itself in the rear
The image brought tears.

Perhaps the bird was thinking
of its friends in the trees flying
hopping, pecking and singing
enjoying every minute of their life.

The joy of freedom is infinitive
The little bird held as a fugitive
in the cage would get a feed remunerative
but has lost the rejoice of being free.

With a heavy heart turned the pages
recollecting the freedom movement in stages.
wondering how did the fighters survived the outrage
Heaving a sigh threw the book in disgust.

Actions Economy Swindle thoughts turmoil

A Swindle Over There.

A large swindle was up there,

Looking above it was sparkling,

The eyes  lost its power of seeing,

It was a powerful wind up  over there.


A great swindle was going on a little away,

Espying keenly it was amazing

The eyes got stuck up to a fixing

It was a gigantic sweep over there.


A top swindle was going on right before,

Reviewing the progress it was tantalizing,

The eyes closed  itself  to a  shooting,

It was a thorough plunder over there.



An entire swindle  was going down below,

Noticing the preemptive it was shocking,

The eyes opened itself to a  cracking,

It was an absolute devastation over there.


All these were enacted in the exchequer,

The nation’s reserve was looted,

Scams in various forms erupted,

Putting the nation to a desolate laugh forever.











Architecture Bubble Care Environment Nature thoughts turmoil

Grass Grows

The stretch of grass over there,

Beautifully cut  and tended with care,

Where the sparrows descend in pair,

Chirping and chattering in a lovely fair.


Grass grows say some with disdain,

They know not the pleasure we gain,

Speak lowly of Nature’s fine  train,

Unaware that the grass looks like a shrine.


The tired eyes see  structures of concrete,

Massive and monstrous revealing a mistreat,

Sending a sensation of nauseated beat,

Signalling a direction of regretful greet.


The greenish hue  amidst the concrete jungle  is invisible

Stones and mortar have overwhelmed the  preamble,

The artificial  landscape is but a poor cousin to natural ramble,

Letting out a desolate morbidity in a shamble.


Yet grass grows in whatever space possible,

Only to be uprooted to make way for skyscrapers reliable,

Sealing the fate of the environment to a trouble,

Ensuing a crash of the equilibrium in a loud decibel


subscriptions thoughts

The Other Side Of The Bridge

The bridge over a river is steep and high,

The newly laid tar shimmer over the fly,

Vehicles big and small get ahead in a ply,

As the bright sun descends into the sky



This side of the bridge is gay and merry,

The  prospects of growth are too many,

Traders heap penny over penny,

As there arises an enrichment sunny.


That side of the bridge is too desolate,

The lack lustre trends cause a violate,

The shrill cries of the famished is articulate,

As there emanates a frustration isolate.


Amazing to see a difference in so short awhile,

Delighted by the mirth  experienced in great style,

Dejected by the misery felt in  a deprived travail,

Tears gush up  thwarting the feigned veil.