The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured rose-leaves,
Their ochre clings to the stone.

बहुत मुश्क़िल है इस दुनिआ को
समझना,
कि राज, ये तेरे दिल का कोई,राज़
नहीं है !

These are interesting times
Blessing cursing each moment
Smelling like the '80s
Rhyming with the '60s
Cringing like the '40s
Gasping at '17

It's The War of The Worlds II
Man versus man versus nature and self
A free-for-all melee, just name it
Where bacteria and viruses
     and gas and atoms
Will be our doom in the end
But not before we've wreaked havoc

on all that we love.

No evil is meant for any being
No harm is meant to be done

Where are all these angels?
Dancing and laughing, and treading
With hair soft and bright as light itself?

Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,

Dull skies have finally broken
Humidity lifts
and there is air under there--
The last of day
the barest blues
the singe of pink
held up by lumps of charcoal cloud
drifting in scent of backyard fires
The moon curses from its crook of smile

Then hides again
behind the city rooftops and blackened trees
among the aerial cheers of a football game

two miles away