The spell of great untruth blowing in the wind

The toxic touch of pornography contaminated the air euphemistically

No no nothing could be utter, never

or else whole world would be plunge into the heartless



In this mild cold city

I don’t know what to do
In this mild cold city
Where every alley is closing their mouth
For the pretentious frantic of middle age
Every tower destined to measure them
marked their forehead with some unseen trace
kind of Badge of Shame but yet Nocturne goes on
in a French cafe nonchalantly, only a Siamese cat
stretches its slick body with it mysterious jazzy ears
exhibition goes on in the gallery, only elixir of life
for the sexagenarians and they gather and gathered
in this mild cold city then I took a Rickshaw at 9 pm.

Paper game

The white paper doesn’t know about the story of a tarnish twig

That has certainly been put into this paper game

Where the people act as soccer player with their holy pen

Sometimes they put blobs which caused the foul

And sometimes they laughing out loud while they win

Today I took my pen to play on and I won some likes as they boost up my inspiration

But some poems succumbed even before I named them, what a sigh!

Dad, I always remember you

Dad, I always remember you
Even in this deciduous time
While everything has been tarnished
Through out the time and that span
Of time surely plundered everything
Of us, and nobody feels pain apparently
But I always remember you
And I believe all that what I’m
Its because of you and your’s scrutiny
Otherwise I could be a Ishmael
Or a complete outsider of pain.
Dad, although I’m not carrying your creed
But I believe except some differences I’m
Just wandering around here just as you.

World is my part

World is my part
Its always expanding
And so to my mind
World has many dimensions
As I could be define through many angles
If you ask an ant it would say something different
It could even labeled me as something as ever evolving
But not forget to ask the butterfly
Who’s fragile wings always flatters
Colors always changes through harmony
Then you could approach a tree about me
He would say, ‘oh the world is beautiful’
He couldn’t even identify you as a different being
Thus the way it always sees the world