A Scintilla of Thoughts

the cat’s pajamas




The yearn for sunlight in a dull and dingy corner or the first drop of rain in vast seas of sand?

Is it really the fulfilment of your needs ; your greed ;
What you have – or have not?

Or is it when
On an empty stomach
You step back and gaze at
how perfectly,
lapped up in a dull and dingy corner
a dainty peacock sobs for a shower

Or is it when
On a ragged beach
You choose the most uncomfortable rock
but it is a perfect spot
to catch a crow spread it’s wings
a contrasting silhouette
on the cherries added in by spring

Pastels put forth by who knows who
interlocking perfectly
creating life
magically devastating even the smartest
of human minds –

– or is it a cold glass of water after a hard day of work?



A faded spark of silver
That is all you see
A passing poetic moment
As you lay on the tender green,
on blades that are larger to you than
I will ever be.
Oh what a shame that so much I bother
To make an ephemeral moment so serene

 Physics would fret Day and Night
There is no day and night where I am from
But your esteemed self will ask for a measure
I know.

To unite silly clouds of gases gracious.
With made up forces, only to light
Me up for the solace of your
Gullible poetic mind
Creating a rift amongst
My ferocious insides which struggle
As I pull a face
So calm and subtle.

Full of fervour, I die, I replenish,
Wishes I grant
I guide those who wander,
Illuminate those in the dark
Noticed but unseen like
A crying leaf at dawn
Or a singing lark

In your daily journal
Or a Physics book
I’ll convince you
To write about me.
I’ll try.

“A star is a luminous sphere of plasma held together by its own gravity. It makes me want to cry sometimes, because it makes all that I deem important
look redundant.”


A canopy of green and brown protects the tender ground from the penetrating sun. Creatures, big and small, live a life they were meant to live in these lands untouched by the creative hands of mankind. Some prance from branch to branch, some lazily lie in the uncemented soil. A stream of water stealthily slithers through the rocks, unforgiving to the obstacles, and fooling the rising heat. When it rains, water droplets seep through untroubled mud, a fortune their city-brothers seldom seem to have. There is survival, there is life, and there is experience. An experience clouded to man by towering blocks of commercialisation, which he proudly calls his building. Barren, yet built.

A Poet Will Sit at Crater’s Edge


When you are in the middle of nowhere, you realise the insignificance of the silly nuances we have every day. When stretches of green surround you, and life goes on, where no heed is paid to whether your tea has the correct amount of sugar, you can finally see. You are able to notice now, how the peacock looks at the coal crow with envy, and yearns to soar high. How intensely the sun shines on a roadside puddle, highlighting an insignificant ripple, immortalising it in your memory.
When a vast grey stretches ahead of you, and you know your destination is calling. It tempts you with the mystery of songs unheard, but wouldn’t you like to listen to the blades of green that surround you, hum their notes again?

Rush hour

A blizzard of people drifting
Brushing past almost fifty diverse souls
Every minute
To find a path of joy
For the path, there is oblivion to the goal
Chasing an illusion
To attain what they have
Entering skins of puppets
Slogging, not stopping
Mechanical creatures
Is it for
Attention, or mere survival
A thirst, thirst for power
Approval, apraisal
Is it for

Sooner or later
A decaying body
Amidst mounds of possesion
A decaying body
Which never once laughed

Infinite Isolation

The existence of Nothing
A vast vaccum extending

A tiny twinkle, disrupts the peace,
Lingers for a while
Slowly, yet surely, Darkness engulfs
To light, it is hostile

Travelling, through the cosmos
Where is my planet,
Where is the chaos?
Isn’t that all that matters,
My home, my abode?

Eyes shut
Eyes open wide
Moving ahead
Moving behind
In emptiness,
No difference is made
Apprehensive and afraid

Floating through space
Experiencing solace
A cluster of stars, or is it? A planet, an astroid
The sun we worship, an irrelevant speck
In a gigantic field of black, a dot in this abyss?

The noble
The poor
The happy
The sick
The talented
The artists
The writers
The scholars
Where are they

On this iota of a fleck?
On this miniscule grain?
Trying hard to be significant
It seems to be all in vain

In infinite isolation, he stands.
His thoughts, his emotions
Are of prime importance
He yearns for more, more
Of what he has in abundance

Yet, to this ocean, just another ephermal ball of gas
Soon to be engulfed
Along with its richness and perfection, its need and want
And of course, with its desperate attempt to daunt

It soon perishes, eaten by the dark.
There still sustain many irrelevant dots
Making no impact, no mark
At least they don’t believe themself to be
The center of Nothing.

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