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 10:08 | 2/Dec/2007 |
| Leave me alone | |
| Leave me alone here,Where the shadows of the sun tickle my feet,Where sequestered moons of my twenty years, They rub their silver scales against lonely wounds. Here, where the night skies wallow in my smallness.I will worship my own godsI will fight my own demonsHere, the evening prayer chants carry my soulHere, the temple’s inner sanctum beckonsOh...
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| 21:09 | 6/Nov/2007 |
| Wining | |
| The blind drunk night comes creeping downThroat heavy with the darkness of moon’s weepingSilvery tears of estrangement from daylight falling through sleepy trees It slithers past those solitary swirls of grapevine Stuck to the walls around my windowI know now how they make wineThe deep red nectar of a night’s loneliness Stored in curved containment...
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| 23:04 | 15/Aug/2007 |
| The Retribution | |
| It had been building over time. The fire collapsing into the water pulling it upwards till the difference blurred. And then the heavens opened up with deluge of an eternity’s wait, awakening the parched earth. Thus she was born. “So, its true. It is a she.” Her father smirked, replacing the speck of pink flesh back into the cradle. “Yes.” Her ...
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| 13:51 | 10/Jun/2007 |
| Winter Days | |
| WINTER DAYS:Winter mornings and honeydew memories sheathed in fraying coats of lost moments. I am reminded of my grandfather; his graying hair fast loosing ground, a dim amber halo around him as he treaded slowly into the demure sun. And I am reminded of our long walks together. His soft wet palms wrapped firmly around my fingers whilst he led me...
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| 22:52 | 28/May/2007 |
| wanderlust | |
| When she was young, she would pry glass jars open, releasing the ugly caterpillars inside, watching them break the cocoon and metamorphose into pretty butterflies that fluttered away free into the wide blue skies. She yearned to be a butterfly. When she was young, she discovered that butterflies are the quintessential migrants, traveling extensiv...
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| 23:20 | 26/May/2007 |
| Him and Her | |
| “Ah! Sunday mornings...” He thought. And the day broke demurely through folds of satin over her face, the fluid contours of light and dark, disappearing into her skin. She slept peacefully, that angel of innocence. The velvety pinkness of her nightgown spilling over like lathered waves into the crisp white linen beneath. He had made love to her, t...
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| News Domain | 12:36 | 6/Oct/2007 |
| Friends: (946)
| City: Chandigarh
| Interests: Reading, writing,...
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| please income |
| SantaSingh got his promotion and became principal in colledge. To keep up with his status, he decided tospeak only in English to all his juniors. One morning, his peon peeped through the doorto see if his principal was busy. Santa Singh noticed him and shouted, 'Why areyou outstanding! Please in...
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| Turbo Jet | 15:26 | 11/Dec/2007 |
| Friends: (61)
| City: Kolkata
| Interests: Reading, writing,...
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| Count your blessings |
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| There was this gameWhich my lover and I used to play She would tie my hands behind my backWith her scarfTightlyAnd then we would fight It was just a game I knowBut if any guys are reading thisThey will knowThere is nothing more formidableThan a woman itching to land punchesOn her manKnowing she will never lose his love There she wasWith her sari tu...
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| Indigo Iris | 17:04 | 27/Nov/2007 |
| Friends: (71)
| City: terra firma
| Interests: poems,country mus...
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| The Maker's Will... |
| Faces unknown stare at youWhat do they say, you wonder anewEyes that tell many a taleTake me home, some sadly bewailOft they plea, hear me outYou're left to cringe, shudder and doubtOf God's mysteries, old as rockSome to cradle, some to mockOthers left to dusty trailFull of woes, and oh, so frailNone ever to bail them outOn their own must fight the...
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| Bad Angel | 13:30 | 13/Oct/2007 |
| Friends: (0)
| City: Bangalore
| Interests: :|
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| Words Fiesta - A compilation of my favou... |
| Words Fiesta! A compilation of my favourite poems on iLand. “Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” - Carl Sandburg To My LoveIf ...
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| V T | 17:59 | 29/Nov/2007 |
| Friends: (126)
| City: Delhi
| Interests: Hoi Polloi & Riff...
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| Laal Salaam |
| लाल सलामएक ज़माना थाबहुत गुस्सा आता थादिल करता था के धूआँ उ...
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| Bonsaian Cor... | 11:59 | 14/Jul/2007 |
| Friends: (15)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Doing Nothing...
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| Super Prez!! |
| There was a time when boxing federations were many, for eg., WBC, EBC, etc, etc, each having its own championship. (I have stoppd following them now, so I wouldn't know the current status.) Some great boxer would come along and win all these titles merging the championship in one person. The same thing seems to be happening in Indian polity now. Ju...
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| bronzegoddes... | 07:38 | 5/Dec/2007 |
| Friends: (94)
| City: Chennai(Madras)
| Interests: Wham!!Bham!! I gi...
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| Hey!! Wassup? |
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| “Hey! Wassup?”“Hey! How’s it going?”These are the most common questions that are asked to us and these are the most questions that we ask people every other day.Analyzing these, they are the most meaningless questions and we give such bullshit as replies.And even when we ask these questions how many times do we really mean it from our bottom of our...
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