Tag Archives: soulful poetry

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

I write to die

I write to die,

To die after pouring life on the paper,

To let the creation be alive

And float, stay or fly

It’s a process of consumption

Emotion, resurrection, consummation

But I get reborn, anew, lighter

It’s a compulsive murder

Killing of the wrath or exuberant joy

A constant tussle between the heart and the pen

The pen pulling out the words like mining something

It’s a fight and my being looks forward to this struggle

To get churned, and after it flows entirely

I feel dead, neutral as if

That poem never belonged to me

I forget the words

And read it like a narrator reciting someone else’s words

I belong till its birth

And cut off the umbilical just after it

The baby gets raised in other nests

Other hearts

And I enjoy to die

And my epitaph says

And she kept dying happily everafter

There Is A Thrill In The Frills Of Poetry

There is a thrill in the frills of poetry

Emotional fragrance is the ultimate lyric

Spilling feelings on the verses throughout poetry.


Downhill flows a stream of dreamy poetry

Twilight drop moonlight in the forms of limerick

And words of pebbles transpire into pearls of poetry.


Beneath in dusky water, star dust of poetry

Shimmers in misty mood tossing joy of a Marverick

Celestial hails chimes in the summer rain of poetry


There is a thrill in the frills of poetry

The quill that writes ballad, an epic

On the ocean bed of a poetry


© Maaya Dev



Even breathing seems to be such a burden.

How do I unburden myself from this deep sense of worthlessness.

Innumerable times have I fought this upsurge of negative emotions,

Battled a thousand waves of despair,

Is this turbulence forever?

The more I discard it from within me the more it wraps me,

Oh! how many times should  I shed you?

How many times do you seep deep into my mind?

I collapse famished,

But, my soul you cannot touch,

Each time you attack me, my soul stays untouched,

It remains a source of energy and everything positive,

It lifts my body and gives the energy to battle everything that you pose with all your might.

You stand destroyed and my soul remains a constant companion to this weary body.