Saturday, 28 January 2012


Why do you hope for love
Like a wing clipped dove
Under a sheet of frost
Hopes for some warmth lost?
Love to me is a stranger
The liar, the ever-changer

In an opaque bubble
Blind to the inevitable
Existing in dark hollow
Reality too hard to swallow
Truth to me is a stranger
My fantasies it wants to injure

Alone is a beautiful place
To be without a shadowed face
Solitude, safe and secure
No company to smilingly endure
People to me are strangers
I have but myself to endanger

And now by reality struck
I am the rotten apple to be plucked
It is sparkling crystal clear
'Tis I, the true impostor here
This poet herself is the stranger
There is nothing to do to change her


  1. Wonderful poem.

    I wonder why strange and mystical things seem very very attractive.

  2. Adhi, thank you for visiting and the kind comment.

    Vyankatesh, hello again! Maybe it's human to be fascinated by things that we don't understand.

  3. nice. liked it