Submerged in the fantasy

If I had the heart of a lioness

I would have fought my way through life

And would have killed


Just to allow me to sustain myself

And to keep on walking!


If I had the heart of a bird

I would have shattered my chains

And I would have allowed myself

To roam, free and carefree

Over seas and lands


Vulnerable to my new found freedom

I would succumb to it

And disintegrate into it!


If I had the heart of a fawn

I would have walked my way through life


Always expecting love from those I meet

Always expecting to be treated well

And never even dreaming

Of meeting with danger!


If I had the heart of a shark

I would have hesitated not to stride at high speed

To kill and destroy

To think of myself as one so mighty

That when faced with life

Life itself becomes as frail as shattered glass


I would have ventured into every nook and crook

Of Earth

Knowing that the rest of the world

Fears me!


But then, I can help not to smile

I have the heart of a maiden

One so frail and so prone to the whims of life

I have the heart of a child

One so needy

One who sees life as being so scary


At the same time

One who sees life as being made of beauty

Yes, both the maiden and the child inhabiting me

Relish the soothing tunes of the violin

Tucked warm,

They both close their eyes

Giggle stealthily

And make it a must

To build their dream world

One in which they have the hearts of

Lionesses, birds, fawns, sharks

And of course,


Autistic divine beings

When I see some people’s indifference

To autistic divine beings,

It makes my head reel.

Therefore I make of the healing

Power of Arts, poetry, more precisely

To act as Archmedes’ fulcrum

To move those immovable hearts.


The world cannot forever be lost

I celebrations exultant in

An explosion of multidimensional emotions

Leaving certain equations of life unsolved.


Look at those autistic divine beings,

Arms stretching out for cuddles,

Without judging you by your creed or color.

They need you, your love, not your pity.

They may not be great painters

And yet, they are miniaturists producing

Small works of Art and musicians

Creating mellifluous music in tones sweet.


Take those sacred beings into your folds,

Comprehending their minds and their hearts

Like a sonata melting, enrapturing you.

Just think for a while

That our bodies are made

As of similar material and our souls

Related with unbreakable strands.


Kiss them, hug them, touch them,

Let their positive energy flow to you,

Altruistic and friendly, they lead you

To groundbreaking discoveries,

Unfurling your wings to fly

To those heights where love,

The law of life reigns.


pramila khadun

The trap of life

Life has caught me in its trap

Yes, with its net of elevated notes

I feel intoxicated

So much

That I can only sit back

Close my eyes


And let the mystery of existence

Overwhelm my senses!


Pray, like the great queen of devotion

I seek to allow my heart to become

A bird of paradise

Such a one which would chirp

Only notes of mystical happiness

And reciprocal appreciation!


Pray, like a seer lost in a trance

I seek to have my soul

Enchanted, yet,

Pining for more of the mystical

So that it feeds upon such

And blooms into a most

Juicy fruit!


Pray, like a blinded one

I seek to complete my need

For the mundane and the senses

So that my mortal self feels fulfilled!


And then, someday

When I shall sit in the magical garden

Where life is fair, stable and safe

I shall look back

With warmth and with a drool

And I shall say

Yes, I lived

I lived as one in love with life

I lived

And bear no regrets of any sort!


I lived

And did allow Life to catch me in its trap

Made of a net of elevated notes!

The Sheaffer Pen

Ah, papa that Sheaffer pen!
“I will write my novel with it.
I will have all the time in the world
After my retirement,” you had said.
Every now and then, you would pull out your table drawer,
Look admiringly at that Sheaffer pen
A gift from your Ph. D student, accepted reluctantly
Lying between stacks of papers and Morton toffees
That you gave us every now and then
When we did something good.
But I was a good – for- nothing. Did nothing good.
I remember, after a sound tongue –lashing
When my ego came down crashing
And I spent a day, sobbing and thrashing around on my bed
You tiptoed to my bedside with a piece of paper.
I feigned sleep. Deep.
You kept that piece of paper under my pillow.
You had written in bold letters with that Sheaffer pen.
Papa, you never got to write a novel with that Sheaffer pen
You had hoped you would have all the time in the world.
But no, you did not!
In that ‘Relic’ of a house in Kashmir, you breathed your last
[Ah wasn’t it your dream to go back to your roots?]
With a truckful of books, a trunkful of clothes
A heart full of dreams, and that Sheaffer pen
You shifted base from Jaipur to Kashmir.
I would often glimpse you standing near your study window
Twirling that Sheaffer pen
Looking down thoughtfully at the houseboat –dotted Jhelum.
Your mind whirring, an idea stirring in your mind.
But before you could put it on paper, with your Sheaffer pen
The words left you, and we, the bereft ones were left
Clutching to your memories, and that precious relic
That Sheaffer pen.


Time stretches

taut as

a drumskin,

each passing syllable

a vibrating membrane

with the,

longed for

hoped for

prayed for..

Time stretches

beyond the horizon

each immeasurable step

further from

the vanishing point

of the,

longed for

hoped for

prayed for..

Time stretches



looping in

on itself

deus ex machina

the longed for

the hoped for

the prayed for..


In May 1940, Germany advanced into France, trapping Allied troops on the beaches of Dunkirk. Under air and ground cover from British and French forces, troops were slowly and methodically evacuated from the beach using every serviceable naval and civilian vessel that could be found. At the end of this heroic mission, 330,000 French, British, Belgian and Dutch soldiers were safely evacuated.

Deeper Root

You ran fast
to steal the show
An applause from the pavilion;
I limped last
to gain an understanding
A deeper root to my swollen feet

You are rich
by hoarding your money
A bank to sign in your account;
I bank
on my only faith
A hidden treasure to guide me through


what we own is not ours,

what is given will return,

what is gifted will be taken –

possessions last but a while.

if your station crumbles,

is it not returned?

if your wealth fizzles,

is it not returned?

if your breath ceases,

is it not returned?

life that stops breathing

is but returned.


The camera clicks you smiling, standing at the edge,
Flirting with danger and with the photographer,
In your plaited hair and pleated skirt
Your teeth-embracing braces and with beads
Of sweat decorating your forehead.
This was long before our palms accidentally touched
In a library where you came to borrow books
And I to catch your eye.This was long before
Laughter slipped out of our lives
Unnoticed like an uninvited wedding guest.
Now you look back at the album
Like a child peering through barbed wire
And your eyes reflect an innocence
I last saw when grandmother, bent double
With age and wisdom, holding a broom
In the background of your snap
Shouting at you to move away from death,
Moved on herself with her memories–
And all the neighboring homes huddled together
Sharing a common sorrow and you sobbed.

Finding my Guru

Hovering between Known and unknown
Judging what is right and wrong
Whether all is just a Maya
Or a science of facts

Juggling between dreams and real,
Virtual world’s lure or calmness surreal
To tighten which rope, to follow whom

I discover a world of my own
Somewhere in between
Where I am free to ride on a swing
One leap inside, in the arena of ecstasy
Where I float like a cloud
Become One with all that is

And this power of being nothing
Declutters, makes my luggage light
Thrusts me to take a leap with greater push
To reach to a greater height

In this swing, I find a light
In the valley of my own darkness
I become my own Guru
When I become nothing

Power of Life

Life swivels all around me

Sometimes suffocating me with its negativity

Sometimes choking me up with its load of evil

Some other times lifting me up on pink clouds


Being so like a violin symphony

Is powerful enough to bring me to my end

Since faith becomes life’s musician

Why should I be scared of life

Why should I let myself be overcome


Arming my heart with bravery

And securing my sensitivity with stoicism

I do wear a smile

And face life

After having dumped my sword!

If only

If only the rest of humanity could do same

Pray, we would all have swayed in a group dance

Swaying and caring never

About what life throws on us

Rather, we would have learnt to use the melodies of life

So that we do complement these

By singing words of glory!

Why, life swivels all around me

And I, mere puppet of life

Succumb to the exalt of it

Allowing myself to grow wings when need be

And to be crushed to pieces when life wills it!