Rajdeep Dhanuka

Said the orange clouds at the horizon
They had to spend time
With the moon.
So they sang a lullaby for the sun,
...

They say a lot,
He was not them,
But of a class,
Of those strange little men,
...

And day today,
And day tomorrow,
The same street I walk
To work;
...

'Next station is...'

His phone rang.
...

There is something about these evenings. When I'm out and near the trees, there is a smell of winter in the air. When I walk too fast and feel warm, but there is no sweat. Maybe it's that warmth that it is all about. But maybe there is more to it.

It's like the memories of junior school, when a good part of the year had these evenings. When we would play out in the fields. And those one, one-and-half hours of play would be the soul of our existence.
...

Caught up in the tangle of his own mind
He seeks to reason with the marks of the rope
For where, on his skin, they make deep creases
That do not cease to exist...
...

Looked for a surface
to Lay his fists on,
looked for a face
to Vent it upon
...

After evening storm,
Comes slithering, darkness,
Chaos sighs
And the weary sun retires.
...

There is a story to tell,
About a young lad,
Who dreamed to be big
Someday.
...

It's a Sunday morning,
Cool February breeze,
And again, I sit in my balcony,
Watching the birds play and soar,
...

These deep silences
They are beginning to be heard
These limits at the horizon
They are beginning to blush
...

With an eagerness to escape,
A want of liberation from hysteria,
A longing for breakout from dementia;
Breeds a crying impulse to run,
...

There is a longing to fly.

The wind has a strange coldness,
I am warm though.
...

I only (just) woke up

And to look at the vast stretch of land
For as far as my gaze fell upon.
...

'They were rivals on track.'
Their rivalry known far and wide.
Beyond prejudice, they stood,
And high in pride.
...

Noble in thought, weak in action,
I start,
Start my journey, to meet the end.
And on the way,
...

Stood the door ajar,
at sight, from where I lay...
a calling to demystify
the paradoxes of the world outside,
...

O sir! O sir!
Here has come
Come, another 15th of August,
To mark the waking
...

For a commoner dressed in humanity,
Divested of all vanity,
There are yet stones unturned, milestones unachieved,
Works yet undone, things unperceived.
...

When in rainy noons, the breeze is warm,
And an aroma of sunshine on washed leaves,
Nurtures my heart;
There is a longing,
...