The Naked Rainbow

The child is naked, undisturbed and free.

Wheels for its feet, on a playful spree;

Not a verse to learn, no truth to know,

For every rain has its rainbow.

The wet brows of the city won’t worry the child,

Its concern is to run and just run on wild;

Those tiny cement ponds, how shall the child row?

But every rain has its rainbow.

The child has no black umbrella, nor any care;

For unlike the groomed dolls, it has dead hair.

Danced the child until the shower did drain,

For it truly had welcomed the rain.

Unveiled the sky, a colorful show,

Now this rain too had its rainbow

Doped Tranquility

Foul smell fool’s paradise.

In the air on the minds,

riding on a breeze yet languid;

It all comes and remains, lurks and hovers.

A stone whirled thrust into vacuum

tearing apart patience,  elevating freedom.

An act of deliverance and then submission;

Falling reluctantly into the same vacuum,

transcending into the subconscious;

A blatant cognition unmasks

like hot air on a hot coffee;

A poet's rhetoric meditation.

Blood running placid and cold,

and tranquility goes yet beyond.

Sonnet for the Muse

The unseemingly true scene of love

and my profound emotions in light,

the stage seems fragrant with thy divine

No act ever commenced with such might;

Like wry passion of a romantic poet,

Making the sun-lit lake soar;

And the whistle on the tree banked,

Song of the love-bird duet;

Struggling a trek up a mountain;

The dry enthusiastic smell of the rocks,

And the haste mixture across the twilit sky.

At the foot, on the lake again,

The breeze has ceased my sail;

Now I await a guiding row.

An Extraordinary Ordeal

An empty road in an emptier desert;

As I take the air with a friendly breeze,

a picture bestirs my thought.

The stray stones on the empty road,

lying like orphans. An abstract.

The breeze ignores my profound wonder..

nonchalant characters on a nomadic trip?

odd remnants of antiquity?

warriors suffering outrageous fortune?

The desert has its way,

this way of manifesting its power

the way all nature does manifest.

The play of perception over conception,

Delusion, hallucination, head games.

and then a dawn of truth with the falling sun,

A dream being the truth, aye!

I dismiss the subtle scenario

and embrace a simpler road.

Being

Yes, being able to cultivate the desire for writing does give you some sense of being alive.

 And now being fully aware of the fact that beings like me cannot survive without accrediting ourselves with this little ounce of self-claimed creativity; that beings like me can smile when we put a full stop to a paragraph we just wrote, with full intentions of either sharing (bragging) our knowledge or pissing someone off with all the ten-alphabet long words in the language. Yes, that is the pleasure beings like us have. Or rather a being like me has.(I don't want litigations)

Curiosity kills the Cat? Why are human beings being frightened over cats getting killed anyway? So do not laugh when I might someday use the phrase, 'Wandering and Wondering' to cover many of my scribbles. I just want to suggest and promote Curiosity in one way or the other, because we can get curious as much as we want to, now that we know only cats are going to die out of it. Do forgive me if I in anyway hurt anyone's intellectual sentiments.

Magazine Design

These are extracts from the magazine I designed and edited for a college project. (Tools used : Adobe Illustrator)

An Elderly Rightful Grassy Affair

The Old Man with gray hair walked up to a 4 storey commercial building and stood near the entrance. It was the day after the State examination results had come out. And students with beaming faces were rushing in and out of the building. On the top floor were a private tutorials who had vigorously taught those students around the year to score their most, and so had many of their students scored. They were the ones who were now rushing in and out of the building.

The Old Man loosened his grip of the suit case he held, then slowly lowered it to the ground, and let it rest. " Hey kid!" the Old Man hissed to a passing student. "Tell me who scored the most from this tutorials of yours". "That guy in the yellow t shirt, you see. The one with spectacles", the student replied pointing to another student in a yellow t shirt and wearing spectacles. "Ohk..good", the Old Man said shoving the kid away " Now go on".

The guy in yellow t shirt and spectacles soon became aware of staring eyes. He turned to see an Old Man with gray hair and a long gray over-coat staring at him. His stare seemed unusual.

The Old Man signaled the kid to come near. The kid a bit confused approached. "Whats your good name kid?", asked the Old Man with gray hair. " Jack....Jack Ass sir" replied the kid with yellow t shirt and specs. " So tell me Jack Ass, do you feel good about your performance?" "Absolutely sir. My parents and teachers are super proud of me." " Hmm..and why did you perform so good?" "Sir? what..i don't get you" " Chuck that..how did you get those glasses? Did you watch a lot of cartoons kid?" " No sir..never..not at all..i don't mean to be humble sir, but the glasses are, mom says because i read a lot" "Oh..and what do you read?" "That which i am supposed to read..you know text books, reference ones, newspapers. Something that always tell me how the world is" "Oh..and did the newspapers tell you a lot about the world?" "Yes sir they indeed did"  "Are you sure the spectacles aren't because of watching cartoons?"  "Well sir, if it clears your doubt i am happy to tell you that i anyway loathe something as useless as cartoons"  " Well Jack Ass, as i guessed..you really are a very healthy example of an ideal student"

The Old Man stooped to open his bag and continued, " You deserve an award for this. We at ‘The Old Man’s barn’ are proud to honour you my dear boy with this gift you indeed deserve and need too”, saying this the Old Man yield a shot gun out of his case and shot two rounds into the boy, sending him flying almost five feet away from where the Old Man was standing.