The Girl By The Window


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The girl by the window she sits,
draped in thoughts unknown to this world
Eyes in black, beautiful and tired,
She waits for sleep to carry her home

A scarf in maroon sits proud,
Around her neck, flowing down like a fall
Stripes of white on cotton blue,
Sheath her body slim and slender, so well

Arms folded, lips pouted slightly
She looks blankly at the scenery outside
Free flowing in a blur of colors,
Reflecting the expressions on her face

The screen on her lap it blinks,
Plugged in, charged up and screaming
She steals her moment away and dives,
into the banality of life’s beckoning

The train, with time, keeps rolling,
As I try to capture the picture in poetry
The girl by the window sits lost in thoughts
As my words help me narrate her story


Something I wrote about the girl who sat opposite me on the train, while on my weekend trip to Mysore, India.

I Am Tired, Mother


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I am tired, mother,
Sing me a lullaby tonight,
Tuck me in, like you used to
when out goes the light

Sit by my side, mother
Hold my hand as I sleep
Leave a kiss on my forehead
as, yarns of dreams, I weave

Hold me tight, mother
When my daemons come to seek
whisper the magic words,
when courage seems bleak

Take me in your arms, mother
Rock me for a while
Put me back in my cradle
Look at me, and innocently smile

Come back to me, mother
I am still that little child
Life wouldn’t let me sleep
Won’t you sing me my lullaby tonight?

The Loser


The loser stumbles, as people around him pass by
One by one, untill there’s none
In slow motion, their numbers divide
There’s no home for him, no road for him to walk,
There’s no God for him, No man for him to talk
There’s just an empty space,a vacuum within,
an empty sack on his back,
which he slowly fills with rocks.
He will sleep today, unlike any other child
Tomorrow he will wake up,
even though he may not rise
He will succumb to the whims of his failures
and let his actions define,
what he is, the stumbling loser,
as life will swiftly pass him by.