The subject in the picture

Golden was the frame

That surrounded you

A beautiful scene

Filled with a magnificent hue

– Nature’s canvas.

Centrally seated you

Looked at the artist

And drove the object

Out of the imagery

Created an image

Of yourself

Fighting back

Alive with strength

You and you alone

Noone else can be you

Hell, can be others

Drowning in their vile voices

But a fighting spirit

Can deflect this flow

And build a castle strong

To which you and

You alone belong.


She slipped into an ice cold realism

Clothed in gossamer veils

Beautiful and fragile enough

To shatter in the chill

Dragged unwillingly down

Trodden under foot

And drained of all blood

She survived the onslaught

But the scars remain.

An inner hurting wound

Wound around her hardened heart

A drought of emotions

Desiccated sentiments

Sucked dry by man’s delusion

A voice hurling abuse

And mental torture.

The voiceless will soon cry out

And slaughter the aggressor

No longer a victim

But a fighter and a winner.

Vivid dreamtime

I am not having vivid dreams

It says I should be having them

Maybe, I have no emotions

To release or I just condemn


Them to my bottomless pit

Of rationality and reason?

Adapting and facing reality

As it turns up always teasing


Testing me to the extreme

Leading me down a path

Of mental turmoil and fear

My thoughts into a bloodbath


The side of my face

Gave you a wide berth

And I dropped my gaze

To drop you down to earth


The smile on your face

Revealed you too easily,

my faith fell like a stone

and I stole away quickly.


The tears on her face

Gave way to waves of joy.

Dried up and withering

I became again a little boy


The grin on my face

Gave nothing away of the hidden,

Fraught and badly drawn.

A silent picture of smitten

Save the innocent soul

Save the soul forced to remain

Safe in an unsafe home

They don’t deserve the contagion,

And they don’t deserve the hits.


Then, there is  the silent violence

Not stemmed  from the physical form,

But unravelled out the mind

Of an aggressive troubled pysche.


Save the soul, I beseech

Give them aid in their hours of need

And the freedom to fly

To escape from their cage.