Lost Crusade

Crimson as passion
Blood of rebels
Love not of roses
And burgundy wine
But dense and strong
With the spirit of strife.
Will it change the course
Of our human history?
See, how we remain trapped
In the power corridors
Every drop shed, evaporates
Without leaving a trace!
All efforts, a lost crusade!


My broken heart, an artifact
In a spectacular box intact
Lying in tarnished pieces
With crumbling petals of roses
A Babushka doll, now faded
Holding a ring, long discarded
Stale memories wrapped
In tissue paper yellowed
Bury them all with me
When my tired soul flees!

Being Different

In the darkest hearth of my soul
It rears it’s ugly head again
This despondency of
Being different;
Burning realms of loneliness
Engulf me in flames
I blister, bleed;
Sweat, tears of memories
Deeply impressed lies
Like an intricately coiled
Venomous snake in my bed!


It will not hurt
What you don’t know?
Truth wrapped in muslin
Pulsates gently
Waiting to birth
To sound the death knell
Of sweet ignorance
Blissful innocence
As the soul soaks in
Lies and tales
Appeasing the mind
But stealing the heart
Of the pure joy of knowing!

Book lover

You are the book
Nestled on my chest
Heaving in deep sleep
A story embedded
In my thoughts, as I go
About daily chores
Impatient to trace
Inquisitive finger tips
On gravely carved scripts
Turning over pages
Revealing secrets
That made me shudder
In anticipation of none other
But the distant momen when
I will curl up with you in bed

Morning in the kitchen

Sleep, hurriedly escapes
Sliding down gossamer drapes
Hearing the kettle whistle
Gentle tinkering in the kitchen
I wake up knowing you are there
Letting the glorious sunrise flirt
With the gray in your temples
Smiling, I slowly shuffle my feet
Step into fuzzy warm slippers
To join you in the blissful blaze
Of another day of togetherness

My Corner

The quiet I usually crave
Patiently waits for me
At the corner of my bed
Pillows carry perfume
Of freshly washed hair
Mildly stained with sweat
Of long summer nights;
Wrinkled sheets beckon
Hiding a half-open book
A peeping bookmark hints
It may well be time to rest

Shameless Dreams

Shameless dreams spill
Sprinting over a window sill
Plucked from my eyelids
By naughty night angels
Who revel at my expense
Chuckle with exuberance
At how innocently I believe
In visions true only in sleep!

Book Review: Bloodstone: Legend of the Last Engraving


Book: Bloodstone: Legend of the Last Engraving

Author: Rashmi Narzary

Genre: Mythology, Historical Fiction, Fiction

Review Copy: Himalayan Book Club

Available at: Amazon.in

Recommended: Loved it!

Author Rashmi Narzary entwines the fascinating customs of the Kamakhya temple in the Nilachal hills of Assam, India, with the spectacular tradition of the Kumari Goddess in Tilibham, Nepal. In a fictional story that blends mythology and history, legends and existing beliefs, she creates an intriguing narrative centered around the Mother Goddess in South Asian culture. Across the snowy climes of Tilibham, a story blossoms out of loss and yearning, and like any tale of utmost passion and longing, it stretches beyond time and space to remind of the power of sadness to change destinies. The plot arc curves over this canvas. Conflict brims even after 3/4rth of the narration. Anticipation of the resolution makes the book unputdownable.

Continue reading “Book Review: Bloodstone: Legend of the Last Engraving”

Cadavers of love

Warped lies embedded
In the nucleus of your being
Tilted fantasia
Twisted mockery
Of ethereal tenderness
For it was never real

Silken trail of togetherness
Sodden with maggots
Carcass of words
Infested with falsehood
Almost sounding true
Under the dying moon

Raven-eyed, the lost prowl
For cadavers of love
Scavenging in ribcages
For a heart beating
Still yearning with desire
To find true intimacy

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