On a Rainy Day

wowbadgeThis post has grabbed a WOW badge.Thanks Blogadda
rainy day1
Image courtesy  Google Images
On a rainy day,I whirl ,I strive,
I push my heart and soul to smile…
Virgin raindrops take a deep sigh
Oh! dear,Some feelings just can’t die …
The silent pain of loss,  
ecstatic waves swirls and toss….
Tears keep pouring down as rain
soaks me into everlasting piercing pain…
Equations of life so bizarre,interlaced,
Whirling to put them all straight…
The glee the mirth are far, far away,
bliss n gay just winks on my way….
piece by piece every moment, I split,
iota of me is lost bit by bit…..
P.S  Blogadda pushed me this time to pour down on this topic.thanks a lot!!
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 37; the thirty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is “Truth is stranger than fiction”



Is truth absolute or relative ?

Is truth what you hear or what you see?

Truth alters with time , metamorphoses through minds

TRUTH ; it’s in the very trice…

FICTION ; I cut it slice by slice…

I state my past as facts,as truth ,but future floats as a fiction,

truth reins me , I restrain  the fiction,

but fiction should make sense ,means truth can be nonsensical

or is it so paradoxical?

FICTION : I mold it as per my comfort

I hold it ,erase it, shipshape it~~ till my hoggish heart surfeits,

till my overtaxed  reflexes, relaxes,

It’s like a twilight that enhances every junction,

it’s my creation with core conviction

TRUTH: I tried to mold it ,manipulate it,

but it outshone with poise,

it tunneled through and through,

I had obstinately no choice..

Truth is in the mother -child bond,

It’s in the scare of being forlorn..

Truth could be found in the gleam of the little girl’s  eyes

When she holds tightly her favorite toys..

It disencumbers , sets me free,

I close my eyes , still I can see..

Truth is self -sustained ,no pillars,no foundation

it’s beyond words ,hitherto has no description

TRUTH really is strange , stranger than FICTION…..


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

shared with POETS UNITED

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: XX

Head or Heart ??



no smoking

Physically torn out , psychologically blazing he lay down in a dark room struggling with the pricks as he inhales and with the twitches  as his lungs are squeezed ..

He was missing something which had been his loyal consort in the  moments of celebrations and flashes of remorsefulness. But in a jiffy when his acumen took the reigns he laughed out loud  narcissistically .. He was able to hide one for himself from the White coat.

The logical head grumbled NO …

The emotional heart  screamed YES …

The Heart voiced out – “I am the Majesty , I won the battle today .”Cheers “to my small victory.

He slowly slipped his hand under the bedcover to savor it’s feel between its fingers..That hit him right on the spot .It brought joy undefined to all his senses.Rolling between the fingers again and again he loved bringing it closer and closer. Within a gasp it was on his lips ..

He had always loved watching the flame spurt up ,loved the taste buds tickled by the paper ,loved having deep puffs and watching those white fumes forming circles in the oblivion ,loved the tobacco fumes travelling through his lungs, loved it’s warmth which slowly blazed him inside out…and now this love was tormenting him to the toes..

Last time .. Just one last time , the heart stood strong .. But this time the head came out to be even stronger and he threw away the cancer stick as far as he could …

Now the head voiced out with proud -I am the Majesty,I won the battle today and forever. “Cheers ” to my big victory…

Yes,today everyone around him were happy to see him win over his addiction.



Stay safe ,stay healthy ,stay happy

Head over heart or heart over head,Both are yours ,you just have to keep them balanced…


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Writing to me is…

Writing to me is

my world of imaginations coming true

conceptualization of  the ideas with myriad hues

Exploring  the untold world, creating the unknown universe

spurting volcanoes of heart ,oozing brainy swirls

creating new chapters,learning new lessons

relieving from apprehensions,  discovering new dimensions

freedom of thoughts ,brush strokes of  expressions 

 to create the characters and make them alive

 dancing in harmony, Kathak,salsa or Jive

 passionate romance , just a perfect stance

a satiating delicacy , an undefined intimacy

Hugging the unlimited sky, nestling the immeasurable earth

 just like a mother after a child’s birth

 a comedy,a tragedy,a mystery

 painting sagas ,rewriting history

resurrecting  the past ,rehashing the present, reshaping the future

recuperating my neurons ,synergizing  my soul, for sure

  the essence of life , is  just so natural as a cherubic smile

an exact ODIZZEY ,come let’s walk down across the miles…….


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Stranger with the Roses…


Charismatic countenance,

she stirred her sack of memoirs, throbbed her veins

hammered,bored but all in vain…

Oh! She pondered .. He was that stranger with the roses

Who use to bow down to her, on the stairs of a public library,

and again a black curtain drops off,Self disdain…

Struggle restarts to whip the gray matter

Churned a lot , a lot re thought..

Never she  gabbled with him, yet waylaid for Roses,

de perfecto routine within clocked hours…

Aah!! away it  fades,again she was in a typical maze

but what happened to the stranger?she could not remember,

creeped in the same grief,into vapours her belief….

Asudden the doorbell rings,

The stranger with the roses, pings…

He smiled the way, he smiled the first day

hugged her ,kissed her …Red Roses for you,My dear…

No traces of flashback,

impervious was the redemption from oblivion ,

Who are you ?She asked quizzically..

He said “I am your husband ” not a stranger anymore..

Rehashing this line was his daily chores

He is a stranger for her from the moment

her head collided , her memory bleached…

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

The poem is shared with dverse Open Link Night

Icky epilogue

I woke up went to the bathroom and saw the mirror,harked back to the witching hour episode………

Dark bleak incredulous penumbra                                                                            unnerved ,                                                                                                     benumbed the innards ..                                                                                       languidly, the glacial epoch                                                                                   within, disintegrated…..                                                                                             

Trepidation gradually hazed away ,
as she elucidated

last night’s icky epilogue..

Love vanquished love

crimson blotches on the floor…

No remorse, while she released his last breath
she conquered all her fears, her tears and  

enbosomed SHE-cherub more closer.

Aah!! Yes , this was something I tried composing before I surrendered myself completely to bed.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda


Kindly  vote for me by clicking  on the picture below for my entry for Get Published contest.Your vote really counts .Thanks in advance.Read it HERE

Zephyrs of love