A quiet, calm, serene place,

contrast with my heart's pace.

Gently slipping into silence,

just like plush, soft and dense.


The smell of books my spirit sedates,

new or old, they are the gates

of my comfort castle, made of words,

where pages fly instead of birds.


Safe and warm, paper and pen,

I can write, this is my zen.

For paper puts up with a lot,

every line, curve and dot;

with each word I lay on the page,

I'm one step outside the cage;

Outside myself, this prison of mine,

the chaos spills into written line.


Away from problems, light and free,

peace at last, in the library.

this site is a library
often I want to shhhhh some of
your comments
whisper yell in the replies

“poets are reading”
reflecting
then writing
“ ˢʰʰʰʰʰ”
you must remain silent

wandering through the stacked books
with delicate frames atop a sloped nose
shoulder length locks of leather brown
your physicians fingers on a book spine
honey eyed glances thrown over to me

sweet lips mumble poetic pages to themself
I hear pages rustle and soft sweaters shift
as you close the book and come over to sit
hands clasped on the table we chatter
and hour will fly by enraptured by you

A Library Burns.....
When Someone Dies.....
What Will I...Leave Behind?.....
Are You My Only, Lonely Witness.....
To A Life Gone Untold.....
Will My Legacy Unfold.....
Will My World Be Put On Hold,...Or Sold.....
To The Highest Bidder?.....
All My Laughter, The Tears.....
All My Triumphs, The Fears.....
All My Heartaches, Via-pain.....
Are You The Only Witness To Remember My Name?.....
A Whole Library Burns.....
When Somebody Dies.....
What Will I,,, Leave Behind?.....
Hopefully,.....

Can't you feel it
It is in the aura
The panic and dubiety
Everything is shutting down
Our schools , malls and what not !
For it is corona
A blazing flame
Engulfing everything
And everyone in its way
The world calling for SPACING
That spacing which is vain
For the people of our motherland
When it comes to show up
The funeral of a warrior
With ultra attendants
Jolting with eachother
And approaching the dais
To have the glimpse
Of the warrior
For whom , the fear is unknown
He is not scared of death !
Crested helmet , drawn sword
" For the motherland "