Photo © Taruchaya

Our perception is colour blocked.

It is not just light or dark.

A single ray piercing through the water drops

can create a majestic rainbow arc.

Why be a Knight who sets off to seek

some mystery treasure or unknown quest?

Why chase some dream that is not your own?

Why cage the mind; cause heart’s unrest?

Why beg for love or yearn for a friend?

Why smother your voice – subdue your heartbeat?

The twinkle you want to see in someone’s eyes

do that for yourself – don’t accept defeat.

The world doesn’t dictate your destiny.

The cacophony of crickets shall stay.

Don’t let the rasping get to you.

Don’t let the poison in – don’t go astray.

Laugh out loud; giggle all you want.

Don’t be ashamed to be just ordinary.

Defeat your demons – in triumph then scream

I’m a fighter & writer of my enchanting story.

© Taruchaya

The Red Manor

Courtesy my phone camera.
Itachuna Rajbari © Taruchaya

There’s something about dilapidated buildings,
the forgotten inhabitants and era.
The cracks spreading its roots like branches.
Tales of lost time, traditions and terra.
What grandeur it must have possessed?
Who lived within those red brick walls?
Just huge portraits are all that’s left.
No defense works when tragedy befalls.
Those who trudged on the long corridors,
carrying the burden of power or sin.
The women of the Manor veiled from the world,
peeping through the blinds- hiding their chagrin.

The Red Manor stands tall- its expanse mum.
Haunted by forgotten tales and tourist humdrum.
Quietly witnessing the passage of time.
Bearing the remnants of a beauty sublime.

© Taruchaya

Life Insane

For those who live in the window world
Perceive through the lens of a window pane
The cozy nest within walls bit troubled
Crazed eyes gazing at the life insane

Men who butcher at the drop of a hat
Women who cuss and swear at random
Brainwashed youth in suicidal combat
Tyranny and terrorism unleashed in tandem

No wall is there so strong and secure
To guard against any form of oppression
The war engulfs all – minds obscure
Bloodied hands desperate for redemption

No place remains for monsters to hide
No forgiveness for monstrous cruelty
Martyrdom is not for demons who died
Undeserving of any tears, prayers or pity

© Taruchaya

You and Seasons

Photo © Taruchaya

Your love is like the vibrant spring.
You colour me in a lovely hue.
These lips of mine are thirsty leaves,
And your kisses are like the morning dew.

Your love is like the summer heat,
and I am a golden sandy beach.
You send the waves to caress me,
and then you ebb out of my reach.

Your love is like the lightning,
which paints my life with streaks of pink.
My heart roars like the thunder.
How deep is your love, you make me think.

Your love is like the serene autumn,
and I’m a fallen maple leaf.
You change my colour from green to red,
or a bright orange with your mischief.

Your love is like the snowy winter,
and I am the falling flakes from sky.
You envelope me in your steady arms.
You’re fire in ice- I moan and sigh.

© Taruchaya


Pebbles scattered on the road

Run over by vehicle after vehicle

They still don’t break but scatter

Then is poured hot tar and gravel

The road roller grinds them over

The base must be strong they say

The black tar so sticky on the surface

Hardens and smoothes the way

Now that the road is ready

It bears the weight of all

Common man, cattle and cars

Even the heat, dust and rainfall

It suffers for not breaking down

For showing strength unbeatable

Still it leads to a destination

Undaunted, impartial and uncritical.

© Taruchaya


Photo © Taruchaya
Sometimes I press my palm over my chest
slightly to the left where my heart is
And feel my heartbeats – usual trough and crest
rising and falling without a miss.
Thumping in rhythm with the ticking of clock
just the monotonous tones of life
Same movements everyday – familiar tick tock
Similar sound and pace – Oh both so rife!
I wish the heart gets a battery someday
with a disclaimer that it too shall drain
And with it this life shall drain away
gradually and silently escaping all pain.
Or maybe mix with rain – tears not salty but stark
This moldy existence slowly decaying – almost extinct
Staying alive like a shadow in the dark
that lingers silent and creepy but distinct.
You are there but still you are not.
People walk over the shadow without pause.
Never bothering or knowing a jot
whose that shadow was!
© Taruchaya


Photo © Taruchaya

I’ve been asked why I write sad poetry,
Never been asked what makes me sad.
Why don’t all lines end in perfect symmetry?
Blank verse is incomplete, boring and bad.

I’ve been judged for my plain appearance.
What colour am I ? I’m brown with specks of black.
I’m fat – that’s acknowledgement of my existence.
Hypocrites think I’m just another joke to crack.

Perhaps I’m an old dusty book in a forgotten library,
Yellow with age, stained and a little moth eaten.
My words sound either fictional or too real and scary.
Emotionally manipulated and seldom mentally beaten.

I’ve been asked why I’m silent, cold and lonely.
No, your love doesn’t fill the cracks in my heart.
For I know what you crave – Alas! Just half of me.
And I’m not just flesh and bones – I’m a spiral work of art.

© Taruchaya


Photo © Taruchaya

Even the deepest moments of silence have a sound.
The blotchy moon often gets a cloudy halo around.
As I try to soak into the drizzle of silver silence,
sealed lips struggle to conceal my heart’s blatant defiance.
Like a stubborn child on the shore I write my thoughts on sand,
unintimidated by the waves that fail to understand.
Silence gave a sigh and slipped into a solemn slumber of solace,
leaving me behind – cold and lonely in my thought’s embrace.
Seeping through the chaos of thoughts I silently rejoice,
my heart’s hum when this mind is mum – my soul’s muted voice.

© Taruchaya