i burnt them down

the poems i wrote

and made them die

a silent death

deeper in heart

i buried my words

choking alone

along my love

never requited

these verses

a final goodbye

to my motherland

whose cities are carried

inside of me

and runs through

whose fragrance in me

on whose sky

i flew my kites

and walked down

whose crowded streets

chasing behind

whose parting sun


for your callous being

wore me out

the burden

no longer

i can carry

the pain

no longer

i can bury


for me

and my haggard pen


in utmost reverence


to thy scared land

we wont write you










it makes me so sad and baffled at both the inherent hatred and humiliation reserved for us by our countrymen for long. so so long. and the ceaseless display of patience and forbearance of my people. two dichotomies. unparalleled. unprecedented. set forth to marvel at the unjust and partial world we live in. often words come heedlessly. sometimes paying regards to my people. sometimes weeping at the cruelties faced by them. sometimes doing both.

filled with spite and venomous hearts

our countrymen pay tributes in parts

nothing but hatred at grim display

nothing at altar but love to slay

enraged, the storm sojourns our home

busting to let the fear roam

charged with treachery betrayal alike

infidels thus the butchering on spike

a tale penned with loyal blood

akin to life shunned in bud

a tale so committed so aching to read

bound to break adamant to bleed

a tale erased from desecrated graves

absolute disdain for our braves

a tale demolished with holy places

aimed at shunning the godly traces

a tale ablaze along our houses

fueling the steady burning crisis

a tale slain with aching dawn

weary of burying and woebegone

a tale hanging in utter darkness

settled on noose and nothing less

a tale seeded with head held high

nourished and fed by heavenly sky