New place

The clock  runs fast

and faster than asked,

it gave no time to sit and breathe.

mornings to nights and weeks and months,

all moved so fast, but moon and sun.

New people I meet, love they speak,

its soothing sometimes, but I don't grasp them

more and food it changes and water and spices

and also the mornings, the evenings, and talks,

the more of soil, and sunrise,

all are different here but faith.

In this place so strange,

I don't understand what to do?

My routine is gone, the metro I used,

new people I saw, the new expressions

each day, a few just talk, a few listen and a

few fought for small change and more in 

the sun, all work so hard,

to sustain.

Self

The sun is up and I am down,
the rays enters the windows and make me frown.
The birds need to sing and dance and and eat
and flowers are ready for them to feed.
The dust has settled, the news paper has come
all the people are up for some pun.
The clothes have dried and ironed they lie.
Oh! I don't want to get up today,
oh! let me sleep for at least this day.
I kept yelling and telling in air, but
not a sole was hearing it there.
there's a clock on the wall and few papers
on the ground and the linen and curtains to hear
that sound. None it cared for what I said,
if they heard, they kept to self.

The rain has gone

The rain has gone, the balcony dried
the dust and mud makes few marks.
the newspaper on the balcony was wet
and now has dried, it makes a silhouette on
the broken bricks, its no use now.The day
is pale again it was just bright some
time back, the clothes had been getting wet
again and again and have now dried.
The grass has grown way too much. The paint
on the gate wears off that part gets rust,
the railings are also rusted. The old Murky
doesn't enjoy any more. The sparrows are not
coming, the flower women has not come. Away
a little far, I hear the pray, its a mosque in the
town a few kilometres away. The gulmohurs don't
flower now and neither the marigold.
The morning tea is watery but Mrs. Sharma
never fails to serve it with pista biscuits to Sharma Uncle.
She knows he likes it that way.  

Masculine rhyme

In mark of past I walk as fast
so fast to not name the one I past,
but still he came by, in mornings
in metro, in stores, in mails,
and more in coffee, in talks,
and also roaming and wandering there
entangled in my braided thoughts.

From morning to noon, it blanched my mind
and nothing more could I do in shine,
in night again it was the dream that shook
me to the core extreme.
Its hard to fight these thoughts insane
in time of now and more again.
lets pill out the mind the masculine rhyme
in  years that has been  in my mind.
Let the world  learn more,
and come this shore,
to hear me shout and then come out.