A day will come to wipe off my tear
A day will come when I will cheer,
A day will come for which I wait
A day will come though a little late.

A day I will be the king of my land
Though it may be pearl or just sand,
I will laugh or weep to my will
Just to fill my heart with thrill.

A day I will roam like a bird
In the solitude just as absurd,
No one will say "What" or "Why"
Though I may go down or so high.

A day will come to wipe off my tear,
A day will come when I will cheer.


An eagerness queer arises in me
When you are with me or not with me,
You make me fly round and round
You dip me deep in the ground.

The absence of you is something like
Fish out of sea or cat in the sea,
Time slows down making me fike
As water is to fish, so you are to me

The presence of you is something like
Fruits on a tree that is so tall,
Though I may try to rise & hike
I will again and again fall.

I really don't know what should I do,
But this is true that I just love you.


The so called heart of the mighty man
So fragile it is, so gracile it is,
In the insane and in the sane
It is so soft like the cheese.

A day, it was, stoned so hard
It fell down to the merciful Lord,
The talkative tongue was dumb to talk
& the feet were too lame to walk.

The eyes were wet and lips adhered
The flesh vanished & soul was in light,
A silent noise was in the wounded heart
That was filling the farthest sight.

With an eerie force heart was in debate
With a pain that shook the meta-world,
"I was sackless, so is this my fate?"
"I was untainted, so was I hurled?"

The silent words were so loud
That in the air, pain they sowed.

My Mini-India

From my shrunken well, I jumped out
To see the world to which I was blind,
Tree of my nation that seemed bare & nought
Was now fruitful having ample of kinds.

The Lyre of Shimla was so sweet & sound
That it relieved me from spiritual wounds,
I heard the echoes of the jolly love
In the mid of hills, I saw the dove.

I met the kings of land of the rule
In the golden soil so hot & so cool,
I saw the lads & the belle so bright
Spirit of land, as if, was in them to height.

The so sweet songs of the rivers land
Were as if, from the magic wand,
My mini-India is so priceless
In terms of sound, courage & dress.


I am, I ween, the one of my kind
Seeker of grief, quester of deceit,
In my life, the mourn always shined
My, so called, luck is really so geet!

My pen is nought in terms of verse
For I have not dipped in knowledge sea,
Still I have felt the feeling very worse
The soul of poet thus resides in me.

My Sire, I think, has chosen me
To taste the thrall of the time,
To enjoy grief, to quit the blee
& to share my pains with the peom.

He asked me to weep, weep and weep
Thenceforth my heart be that of sheep,
And then He may rise me as such
That griefs in me may never creep.

So let me to wait for such a day,
When He will shine on me His ray.