inspiration, poetry, Souful

SURREALISM – Pink Lilies

I love lilies- in the garbs of whites, yellows, and pinks. These pink lilies in my garden became a part of my surreal journey. Another beautiful dream that poured out poetry from my soul. 

Lilies in my garden

The Lines

The monsoon raindrops infuse exuberance in life, The vreezy air caressing the plants like a melodious fife, Little beauties in pink attire, Glow in the light of cosmic fire, Glorifying the existence of this nature, Which exists in every creature, Reminding one to effortlessly align, With the master’s design, And experience the bliss this life is.


poetry, Souful

Karmic Debt

Do you feel the past, of some other lifetime? Does it feel you live a certain part of it even now? An unexplainable heaviness that others do not understand. For the believers of karma, a poetry to express this feeling.

Time and turmoil

The Lines

When the soul feels gloomy and hollow,

When the eyes look stark and shallow,

When the existence seems arid and fallow,

When one feels lost,figuring which path to follow.

When painfully many such lives untimely swept,

When nothing substantial stayed or is left,

When the tormented soul silently wept,

It’s nothing but one’s own karmic debt.

That traps the mind, the thought process,

The cognition and senses start to regress.

The reality seems detached, Only the subconscious sublimity prevails,

When the thought of an undeciphered but deeply sensed past persistently sails.

When the Unfathomable depths of times passed by urge to trace back to start,

But the hurdled present pulls the soul to a direction completely different, poles apart.

Still the soul struggles to find peace with the past,

And continues to challenge this present life till its seeming end-death, the soul’s physical last.


poetry, Souful

The Swinging Existence

This is how we keep oscillating, between the extremities of anger and joy. Reaching a stable state of tranquility is a matter of chance. We just pass through it, and again keep swinging like a pendulum bob, only to die out as our energies deplete with time. 

We are the pendulum bob

The Lines

The mortal is like, 

A swinging bob, 

Of this existential pendulum,

 Rising to a height, 

Of extreme boisterity, 

Like a tempest swirl inside, 

And an enraged fiery outside, 

Both uncontrollable and destructive. 

It goes back, 

To its equilibrium, 

A place of tranquil bliss.

Only to rise again after moments, 

To a position of intense glee, 

Like a pristine summer lake, 

Where grows in abundance,

 The foliage but not for long, 

As it loses its strength,

With no anchor to bank upon.

The stable point, 

Is fleeting for him, 

Which he lives truly, 

For a duration long enough, 

When life energy extinguishes, 

Of moving between, 

These extremities of emotions, 


Spiralling down with every swing, 

To the point of final placidity,

Rarely reached when alive.