Author Archives: Kamlesh Acharya

About Kamlesh Acharya

An MBA by qualification, a former consultant by profession, a poet by ramification, a writer by passion, a thinker through introspection, a seeker through meditation

The Paradox of Nobility

One morning in my portico,
as I sat on my swing,
enjoying the breeze,
hearing the birds sing.

Up on a wall crevice I found,
a spider had cast its web.
An ant struggled to escape from it;
of urgent succour, it was in need.

As the wily spider crept to its prey,
the ant struggled harder, seeing its end.
A bout of nobility struck my head;
I broke the web and saved the ant.

The free ant scampered away.
I went back happily to my swing.
The starving spider, too old
to re-spin, ended up dying.

The ‘web’ of nature is so intricate,
here one’s death is other’s life.
My smug nobility lay rebuffed;
in saving the ant, I took spider’s life.

I always carry a first aid kit
to help anyone in need.
Keen to salve others’ injury:
a small bruise or a mild bleed.

One day in a bus
a man got injured.
Out came my kit to soothe;
he was relieved and I pleased.

But a shocking epiphany
came to me like a flash of light.
Should I be credited for helping
or be blamed for his plight?

The seed of desire carries with it
the hidden tree of its fulfillment.
That man’s injury was just a symptom,
my desire for nobility caused his predicament.

In our current reality,
a doctor is a noble man.
But in a healthy society,
he is a nonentity.

The nobility of curing is
but a consequence of disorder.
It would meet its obsolescence
in neverland and its innate order.

Nobility is extinct in utopia.
It’s born with utopia’s death.
It needs suffering to survive,
and ironically, calamities to thrive.

My Love

When I’m with you,
I’m totally with you.
Nobody else seems to exist but you.
The world looks like a distant maze.
People appear like unclear haze.
Voices other than yours
feel as if coming from the horizon.
You capture my thought
and seize every moment.
You subordinate everything else.
You become my sole existence.

I know I’m ruined
because the attention
I shower on you
makes even God jealous,
and he will have his vengeance
on me.
But it’s all worth it for you,
my love.

My dear, my dearest
mobile phone.

Fork Along the Path

A long time ago, I went for
a walk to nowhere in particular.
In some time, I reached a fork.
One sign said ‘Accept’,
the other said ‘Deny’.
Since curious I was to check out,
I took the path of denial.
Then came another fork
with the same options;
and I repeated my choice.

Then came another, and another
And then many more
I took the same choice again,
and then even more.
First it was fun, this denial thing.
But then the path became darker
with every choice I made.
Every fork got darker,
but my choice
stayed the same.

Soon enough, the signs
were not needed.
I chose the darker
route by instinct.
Thereafter, even the
forks disappeared.
The darkness got darker
and became its own mother.
When it reached its nadir,
I became nocturnal.

I then saw many eyes
of my kind. Feeling at home
in the obscurity of night.
We denied ourselves
for so long that we
forgot who we are.
We rambled about
in the dark, tripping,
hurting, trampling,
cursing and loving it.

I wallowed in the filth
until I loved it no more.
I walked again without
direction or sight;
guided only by inner light.
Tripping, hurting, trampling,
blessing and loving it.
Soon I reached a hazy fork
where one path had
a faint ray of light.

Clothes Make the Man

We are born naked.
We roamed the earth naked
for a long, long time.
For millions of years,
the body was what it was.
It had no quality, no label and
no judgment attached to it.
It was a mere tool to get things done:
breathe, eat, drink, move, and fornicate.

Then someone invented clothes
out of necessity to protect
against inclement weather.
It was fine.
Then someone turned clothes
into a fashion statement.
It was still fine.
Then one day,
someone made clothes right.
So the body became wrong.
Someone turned clothes into a virtue.
So nudity became vice.
It was disaster.

Someone even said,
“Clothes make the man.
Naked people have little
or no influence on society.”
But no one challenged his premise
by making him sit next to a
nubile and naked young girl.

So the right went on to shame the wrong.
The wrong had to be covered with the right.
Man sinned the natural
to sanctify the artificial.

And the damage was done.
It has yet to be undone.

Intelligence and Wisdom

Intelligence makes atom bombs.
Wisdom says, “you better not use it.”

Intelligence says, “I can win.”
Wisdom says, “It doesn’t matter.”

Intelligence answers. Wisdom questions.
Intelligence competes. Wisdom holds hands.

Intelligence yearns to take credit.
Wisdom hankers to share it.

Intelligence needs to prove a point.
Wisdom has nothing to prove.

Sheer intelligence rankles. Wisdom soothes.
Intelligence dissects. Wisdom synthesizes.

Intelligence speaks out.
Wisdom is silent until spoken to.

Intelligence mocks at the foolish.
Wisdom respects the unwise.

Intelligence is a roaring stream.
Wisdom is a calm lake.

Intelligence without wisdom is wild fire.
Intelligence with wisdom is a trained horse.


Faith is the exhilaration of a kid thrown playfully in the air knowing he is safe.
Faith is the song of a lark that knows that the rising sun will dispel the dark.
Faith is the swagger in the dance of a peacock welcoming the rain.
Faith is believing what your eyes cannot see.
Faith is a knowing of a certainty that it is given to you even before you ask.
Faith is a gratitude in advance for its deliverance.
Faith is beyond hope.
Faith is not having to worry.
Faith is not believing in an alternate possibility.
Faith is pure love.
Faith is surrender but not cowardice.
Faith is a knowing beyond doubt that you will succeed.

Confessions of a Poet

I may sound wise,
but I’m not always so.
I may seem evolved,
but I have pitfalls too.

My best love songs,
don’t make me romantic.
They enthral me sometimes,
but don’t always give a kick.

A beautiful poem doesn’t
make me a perfect person.
For in the ocean of my flaws,
it’s just a wave of perfection.

I have my moments,
I have my quirks,
I get hurt too and
behave like a jerk.

I am as human
as human can be.
But when poetry comes,
it’s not just me.

Although it may seem like
it’s coming ‘from’ me,
the real truth is that,
it’s coming ‘through’ me.

I learn as much
in the process of writing
as you all do
in the moment of reading.

I sometimes don’t practise
the wisdom of my own writing.
For I often falter, slip and fall
before I get up and get going.

But when I fall below the line,
I’m aware of the missed track.
My writing becomes my mirror
that I can’t face, until I’m back.

My poems become my beacon
that draws me out of the dark;
when I’m finally out in the sun,
they sing merrily like a lark.


Why do we need to lose innocence
to realize its value?
Why do we have to value relations
only after we bid adieu?

Why do we hate everything
that we don’t like?
Why is the opposite of like
is not respect but dislike?

Why do we make a virtue
out of our habits?
Why should heretics always be
looked upon as culprits?

Why do we seek comfort
in familiarity?
Why do we always loathe
any dissimilarity?

Why do we return an insult
twice as strong?
Why do we sometimes not even
return favours to where they belong?

Why should nine people lose
for one to win?
Why should the inner voice drown
in the outer din?

Why are breakups needed
to unfold a person’s real character?
Why should adversities separate
the real person from the actor?

Why is a king’s crown dearer
than a child’s doll?
Why should the worth of a person
be bound by a monetary wall?