Hide and Seek

Come, let’s play hide and seek, 

An indolent game to decipher each other, 

To seek each other, 

In person and presence, 

To unveil the hidden conspiracies, 

To unravel the smile mysteries, 

To conjecture moods, 

To know their stance and swing, 

To sip on the darkest secrets, 

To relish the happiest memories, 

Let’s discover each other. 

Let’s seek the hidden us. 

Come, let’s play hide and seek, 

I want to know you, 

Inside out, because 

What’s the fun in superficiality? 

Judge books by covers?

I want to know you, 

But not in a desperate way,

But in a cooperatively comprehensive way.

Come, let’s play hide and seek, 

Let’s start off with small talks, 

Furtive, secretive, restricted. 

To paint portraits, with the 

Brushes of smiles, and strokes 

Of sadness and tears.

Add colours with the grey, to create, 

To ultimately gauge, the mesmerizing picture. 

Come, let’s play hide and seek, 

Let’s acknowledge the gestures, 

The twinkling, the glaring of eyes, 

The gleeful smile, the sarcastic smirk,

The blush on the face, the flaring of nostrils, 

Let’s record the seasonal mood changes, 

The proportionality of the countenance to 

The emotion at heart. 

Let’s learn the subtleties, 

Let’s see, seep and seek. 

Come, let’s play hide and seek, 

We’re good, understanding perfectly, 

Acknowledging minorities, but 

We’ve blended, mistakes easily discernible, 

Feelings colliding, 

Tolerance fading, 

Egos and emotions at large, 

Tones hushed, voices down, 

Talks, bleak and gloom. 

Still passing gestures, refraining from long talk. 

We were hidden, sought after 

And now lost. 

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My Broken Watch 

I set out myself 

To mend time, 

To revert life back to 

A thing of the past. 

My watch is broken, 

The hour hand points aimlessly, 

To a remote past, 

Of a time that I’m unaware 

Of the specific activity

That I was indulged in then. 

Callously, I move my hand, 

The hour hand moves again, 

And I’m again in the past. 

I realise then the non-functionality of 

The date hand, 

Whose value was subject 

To random movements of my joints. 

Suddenly, in a balmy way, 

I feel extremely powerful, 

Yielding the power to control time, 

To mend time of my own accord, 

But would time allow such blasphemy? 

To allow it to be dominated, 

To consider its power being threatened 

By a person hailing from below mediocrity, 

Time wraiths suddenly appear, 

Converged to convey their master’s message, 

Soon their master appears, 

After opening a time portal, 

I had wished for a dialogue, 

But witnessing the presence of one who musters Earthly reins, I

Settled myself for the monologue, time’s colloquy. 

Ruling the Earth since its birth, 

Manning each person, 

Stipulating time for each head, 

I govern each life here. 

None escape my foreseeing eye, 

From kings to Graves, 

From paupers to ashes, 

From monuments to dusts, 

From life to death, 

I have seen it all, governing it all. 

On my look, with my changing nature, 

The world transformed, 

From tribes to civilization, 

From mystique to modern, 

From biodiversity to extinction, 

From forests to landscapes, 

From rains to droughts, 

From abundance to famine, 

From peace to wars. 

And as I look ahead, in the future 

The change is imminent, 

But, the future seems to reap the past, 

Humans have never learnt peace, 

They fight wars for peace, 

And then fight peace for wars. 

They ease my burden of stipulating time, 

By ending their own lives. 

Many have born, many have died 

Who questioned my authority, 

None are immortal, except I. 

They waged wars against me, 

With time turners and sands of time.

Not knowing I hold their key. 

You don’t realise!

Each of you, wish to revert back

To undo things you had done, 

To consider having done it differently, 

To not have said those words, 

To not have been there, 

To not have experienced it. 

But, ultimately it’s these things 

These experiences 

These desires and guilt that makes you unique. 

Saying all this, 

Time wraiths left me to live, 

Time was gone, 

But my watch was mended.  

Portrait

I make overtures towards you, 

Seemingly desperate, 

Desperate to know you. 

I want to paint your portrait, 

Using the brushes of my eyes, 

The strokes of your smile. 

And bring it to life, 

With your unfulfilled desires that 

You convey to your busted heart. 

The tiny bits of your tedious life 

That leaves you bellow,

The experiences that you mirror

In the gleam of your eyes.

So that when I have truly read you, 

I could call it a masterpiece.

Kaleidoscope 

With my head resting against my chest, 

You resting on the table, 

I bend myself over you, 

To get the glimpse of your far end,

Multiple patterns of 

Varying sizes and shapes, 

Of cliffs and plateaus, 

With steep precipices, 

The place where a depressed soul

Detached itself from life. 


Lifting you up, 

Paralleling you with the ground, 

I see a new pattern forming 

Of myriad shapes and sizes, 

It’s a beautiful valley, 

With greenery and livelihood abounding, 

A place where happiness 

Seemed so prevalent, 

Reaching the levels of contagiousness. 
Now, I lift you again 

Above my head, 

And with gravity aiding, 

The shapes fall towards me, 

Like huge rocks, from mountains infused with anger, 

Tempting themselves with the 

Contentment to overthrow the world, 

And rippling human lives, 

Creating an evil disaster 
I change your angle to forty five degrees, 

And with that swirling motion, 

Something again forms, 

Lost travellers, thirsty and parched, 

Frantic for water to extend their life, 

And magically, a waterfall and spring appears forth, 

Nature is a great superhero. 
I keep flipping you about, 

Rotating you at my whim, 

And every time, I see something new, 

A valley, a rale, a spring, a dale, an ocean, a cliff, a animal, a bird, 

And if there’s no novelty in the view, 

There’s something new about the perspective, 

Something soothing, something different. 

Life would have been so much easier

If we saw each others view, if we

Believed in kaleidoscopes. 

I don’t have an umbrella! 

Ever felt the absence of an umbrella in the presence of torrential rains?

Share your experiences and thoughts below.

It’s raining and I don’t have an umbrella, 

I had planned to venture out 

And do the task at hand. 

But, it’s raining and I don’t have an umbrella. 

I wait for the rains to stop, 

That ceaselessly do go on, 

But they are rains, 

That swell and burst and put, 

The world, at risk to drown. 

I bargain with the skies, 

To stop this torment. 

But,  it gleefully sighs, 

Let the melancholy flow, I’ll feel light at heart, 

Isn’t that what you humans do? 

You brush against each other, 

And emotions of wrath, love, desperation, mirth 

And the lot, 

Ceaselessly thunder across your heart, 

Light fire and calmness in your soul, 

Breathes waterfalls through your eyes, 

Blurring the vision but clearing your heart. 
And to expect me to not follow suit, 

Don’t you despicably portray selfishness,

Which abounds in your desires and in  your hearts? 

Polluted you as it is have, my sister, air and me alike, 

And thus I drench you in acid, 

For all the follies that you have bestowed, that

Reek of such selfishness and lack of pity, 

Pray, let me weep to cleanse me of your ills. 

Understanding the ill – nature of the question that I had posed, 

And lamenting, shamefully of the pain that we have caused, 

I took shelter under one of the trees. 

But the weeping didn’t seem to stop. 

However, soon I became 

Imprudent and impatient, bearing fealty to my race, 

I prepared myself to get physically drenched, 

Since dry clothes was an impossibility, 

I enjoyed the drops across my face, 

I jumped in puddles and danced away the rain, 

I made mirth in someone’s tears, 

I am faithful to my race. 

Let’s breathe poetry! 

Let’s take a delve as to how poetry makes life beautiful.

I tuck metaphors under my pillow, 

Slip similes between my bedsheets, 

And hyperbole below my mattress.

I pass dreamily into a sensible, sound, serene sleep of alliterations. 

With cacophonous sounds casting onomatopoeias, 

And with nature being personified. 

Such dramatically sound dreams. Oh, you oxymoron! 

I smile and savour sarcasm, 

Working to create ripples of irony. 

Sometimes I portray myself as, 

Comradely, polite and courteous 

When I pass rude comments veiled with euphemism, 

I assure myself that my alluring attitude of the use of assonance is appealing and appeasing. 

I work, to beautify language, 

Dropping stones to make mountains, 

Drip water to make a river flow, 

And then when they meet, 

The waterfall leaves you gasping for breath. 

And thus I create an imagery. 

It’s truly scenic, the beauty of words forming a work of art. 

I slip poems in my pockets, 

I rhyme the beating of my heart

With the twinkling of your eyes, 

Portraying you as a synecdoche. 

I drop verses in every corner, hoping

That eventually they’ll meet up, 

To form the perfect poem. 

We are all in sync with

The movement of the world, 

Our breaths and beats are in

Rhythm with our body. 

We are all poems, waiting to be 

Written and deciphered. 

We wish to transfer epithets, 

So come, let’s breathe poetry. 

Upwards 

The journey of climbing up on the emotional ladder.

Climbing up the ladder, 

The ladder of success, 

The ladder to happiness and satisfaction. 

Had climbed so many rungs, 

Had pushed down so many. 
First I climbed on time, 

Sacrificed my weekends, 

Burned my desires 

Transforming from a perennial party man 

To the mundane workaholic, 

I didn’t mind it since my career was sorted.
They called the next rung sleep, 

Sleep, that straightens the creases of your soul 

DIsapparates you into a mystical land to let go off your frenzied. 

But, I thought  it was for the unmotivated easily content souls,

And found it easy to give up, 

To ascend up the ladder till the top. 


Next I gave up my hobbies, 

The things that add panache to your life, 

Like the first drizzle that washes 

Away the heat in your heart, that quenches your thirst.

I gave it up for success to be my hobby.

I was breathing in contentment. 
What was the next rung? 

Ah, friendships did they call it? A word from the pinching past  

I didn’t be the bestman at my best friends wedding because of the work  I had to do. 

He broke bonds with me in protest.

He should have understood my plight, shouldn’t he? He was my best friend after all. 

Maybe he was jealous of me, of having reached so high. 

I decided to let him go. 

And thus,  I climbed and climbed, 

halting and faltering 

Pushed down many, 

Backstabbed many

Until,  I was a rung short, family. 

I never decided for a family of my own, 

Because a wife and children 

Restrict you emotionally, socially and financially. 

I never had the time for that. 

The frequency of my mom’s calls has declined, 

Maybe one day I’ll call her back, when 

She’s free of her Alzheimer’s that I just came to know about. 


And here I sit, atop the world, 

The world that I made, 

Of mountains and azure. 

Of palaces and huts. 

Extending, till my line of sight 

So many places to go,

But, not a single place to call

My home.