Spiritual
Are You the Wind?
So, this is how the mind expands: it pulsates On the tips of pens - The ink flows to the Page like a violet rain, falling calmly
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This Serpent Tongue Cannot Be Colonized
I yearn to Speak the Silent language Of sun-burnt peasants— With a vibrant accent, Colorful with The pulse of Ancient myth: This serpent tongue— This pride— Cannot be colonized.
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The Sixth Sun Has Arrived
I did not Cross the border But My mother did And so This battle Is mine— And I will Surely win; I can take on Entire governments With my pen—
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Windows - one comma !
and through my window darkness is falling
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The poets trinity
poets must be stoic as a tree rooted in coastal chalk-rock ravaged bent in one direction Willing as a lightening-rod to burst into fires free... There is but one love triangle
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I go in search of nothing
I go in search of nothing and as they say nothing becomes of nothing but god willing, I’ll find me something...? The night is brim filled with stars look over head at Jupiter and Mars
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Meandering space...
We grovel in the dust we drown in the sea we swim... In meadows lush and dance on the bough of a silver willow tree we adapt to the wind... And walk on the moon... As man is an angel
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- 503 reads
A rustic’s parable.
A rustic’s parable. P K Routray Edited by P Gaan There dwelt a king kind and considerate in an Indian state
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Just Killing Time
'To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens.' (Ecclesiastes 3)
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ode to the blues
red is the color of a fresh-picked rose but blue is the color of Picasso's glow pink is the color of a desert sunset but blue is the color of Apollo I'll bet
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- 761 reads