Hope

What has gone amiss

Is an enigma that eludes

The struggle for breath, solace and  rise

Is what is left of that life that seldom knew peace

With mountains of worries that buries pure wisdom

What is being seen is a misty bout of blight

There is a fight against, might that defies right

Still there is a hope that defies all odds

Wrote this after reading an article "Had Sardarji lived " in The Hindu's Sunday Magazine of Nov 22 09

Writers' block

There was this dream of becoming a writer that came in uninvited and lingered in the air. It, as I see had stemmed not really from the urge to write. But from the need of a ten year old to outdo a classmate who won considerable admiration from friends and teachers for a wonderful poem that she had written.
It was then that I decided to write a poem. The very first poem was named "Death". Though it had a strong flavor of philosophy every one around feared that I have some innate thoughts of death. As the poem got published in that years school magazine and got the praises of a local genius the fears seemed to take a backseat  and recognition took its place. 

As I grew up and had to  move out of home to new cities on work with none around to talk to, I started writing again to protect myself from the grinding grip of loneliness. I wrote on every small and big thing that made me think; A dream,a friend, a news item and anything.

Now, as I sit here with a mind entangled with too many issues I realize that there is nothing more that I can write at the moment!