Sunday, September 16, 2007


Writing means life to me. It's like putting down my perceptions in words. Giving my versions of well established thoughts. When did I resort to the kalam is not even etched finely in my memory. But I have discovered my earliest writings from the trove lying in the nondescript corner of my house. So I actually thought of writing them down.
To start with, I bring my first poem which I wrote in the first year of graduation. This is officially called Poetry in Pink

He tall and sturdy, fair skinned and eyes turquoise green,
She lissome and demure with flaxine curls and fair with brilliant sheen,
He works in the woods, when spare plays his flute,
She decorates her house, gathers flowers and hears cuckoo's duet,
He wakes up to the morning stars for his errands, before leaving meditates withal,
She attired in ablutions garb, religiously heeds nature's call,
He met her at the beach on sunset,
She on seeing him hid herself as she was wet,
He understood the purpose of being in the world
She blushed on his stare and her face was hid by her hair unfurled,
The beach on sunset witnessed the two victims of cupid's arrow,
They talked for long hours with feet dipped in water shallow,
Who knew that curse came disguised as love
She used him to gain the riches of man for whom he worked,
He got acquainted to insanity on being jilted and jerked,
She gained arrogance and on him she smirked.