Half of my poems belongs to the pain and fate.
Skin and bones surrendered to red page, wet with blood and collagen
Met with Inks and notion.
How letters look red and art in the archived,
As they need not to be cherished by the biblio .
If they need to be
the poet must be anonymed
Feeling should be preserved
Untouched incensed as preserved in the grave .
सुंदर से इक फूल ने ….! कल जैसा था वह आज नहीं, कल कैसा होगा पता नहीं, है आज अलग इन दोनों से, हर दिन…
I soaked in the silky smooth light, Everything around,beautiful and bright, People moving around freely, Everyone looked so blissfully Happy and serene, Everybody so lovable…
Am I really free? Then why am I tied to thee My husband, my father, My son, my brother? Why are my wings clipped? Why…
Once upon a time there were two destined lovers, but there fate never let them met. They still care for each other, still try to…
The rivers furious and roaring, In their fury they are snatching Everything, on both sides,cutting Away their own banks,trees,eliminating Lives and all that came in…
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