life, Love


These slanted lines of

the decayed love,

make one final cry

before the final death.

As these crooked lines,

move backwards;

they first wriggle,

and then die a slow death.

Leaving no pain, but mouldy

ashes of unspoken words.

Greenish speckled spots,

imposed on the last

love lines.


Humour, life, Nature, poetry, satire, wit,

Mr. Fly

Mr. Fly I know you have a story too,

but forgive I’ve some things to pursue.

For once raven nights are no time my

friend to buzz and tell me why?

So Mr. Fly flutter , flap and fly away

go suck the nectar of a flower,

request you to never hover;

mistaking whiff of attar, for a floret.

I can’t tolerate and ignore it anymore.

Reminds of the Nash who spoke the

truth ,“ God in his wisdom made the

fly and then forgot to tell us why.”