Wednesday, December 1, 2021





A Migrant’s Path


This journey of hope

where darkness

is full of dreams

and light brings joy

like a new born child

theirs are silent voices

speaking without tongues


with shrieks of emotions

how they trek this journey

listening to harsh footsteps

speaking to naked brushes

crisp as sunlight

tumble weed

and blunted stones

one group craving thirst

wrestling faith

one migrant

facing undaunted death

yet daring to die

where there is no rhyme

or rhythm

for survival.

uncaring of slurs

or shameful taunts

do not call them dogs

nor monkeys

their calves are not cantaloupes

for your putrid tongue

relentless is their journey

hope is their beaming star

their every footprint

is like light

that brings joy

to a newborn child.




Splash of water


in the roaring wind,

angry waves wandering

in the crevices

of salted wounds

as the Hesperus

heave and sigh

in the Atlantic adventure;

frail hands

shiver in fright,

mingling uncertainty

for an arrival

without time:


is a journey

feasting angrily

inside the heart.



I Have Nurtured In Sight


I have nurtured consistency in sight

Of mind’s eyes, through viable looking glass;

I have pierced deeply, and with all the might.


I have seen machinations, many crass;

Some being core truth, always noteworthy.

And I’ve allowed myself to bow, take a pass.


I’ve heard young women screaming for mercy;

Drunken fathers yelling, mindless, cruel.

Mothers bearing agony, “Please help me”.


I heard of daughters being raped: fuel

For Nirbhaya woman on cold, dark night;

Life of Pi changed so much in the jewel.


I refrain from understanding what’s right

I have nurtured consistency in sight.



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