- #poemaday ananth aranya Atyachar beauty Bombay City Could be verse epiphany forest Gothamisation hasi to fasi hmmm hypocrisy I Quote It is written I want to ride my bicycle kaha gaye woh din Lou middle class mithya Music nasha nature night nostalgia One Bad Day poetry Prosepoetry the apocalyptic real traffic Uncategorized vignettes why?
tagsanger aranya auteur beauty birdsong black Bombay bombay streets cars chauvanism circle city cityscream creation crows cycling death detergent development dhrupad Eco ecstasy evening eyes fear fight flight forest forests frustration Ghalib grass guilt insomnia kachra Kanti uncle Krishnaa liberated life lost lou Love madmast marine drive masculinity metaphors minisha lamba mirrors music nasha night nirma nostalgia observer phallic symbol PoMo Rain rant relationships safedi ki jhankaar silence sleep soar solitude space spirit the sea three traffic Ustad voyeur water white wild worm
Category Archives: nostalgia
“…The sun was still orange then” he murmured. the forest, of old, glistened through his eyes. his dappled ashen beard shimmering gently in the breeze. “This was before the world knew humility, before humans knew the meaning of violence. I … Continue reading
There is only one song One reed The sound slithers through the windows Of the eternal flute Scouting for an opening Searching for a solitude That it will never find Heart of the fire🔥 from which time came And left … Continue reading
The evening sat on its haunches. at her feet. Her mind was baavra. never stopping. flying from this ghaat to the other. a nomad without a home. or everywhere, a home. everywhere she roamed in the forest. The evening lay … Continue reading
Sitting here and talking to you Is like hearing the mad monkey in the sky go cackle cackle with laughter that falls as rain, or the sky’s poetry seeing your eyes grow large with surprise like lovelorn moons jilted in … Continue reading
Conscience passes through the secret lives of things a snake measuring time in the dark vein; uncertainty’s child seconds pass like bro ken syllables in the alchemy of the forgotten stench of touch memories finding themselves in the wire before … Continue reading