Somewhere around in my bedroom,
no brightness found,
Darkness surrounds,
no more considered it as my rest room.
Hopes were visible like sparks,
whereas, darkness left in corners,
However, beneath
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Nothing much.
I was just a player in my lobby,
Things changed, and I found my hobby.
Continuing it since few years,
With this ink I even write few tears.
Putting sorrows in this ink,
I just don’t
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It has been a year,
I found a few friends.
A few turned into haters,
A few of them were fair.
A few had masks to wear,
Even back stabbed with tears.
A few had been my dear,
And in conflicts they
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So what do you really believe in?
I know, my young Indians are all manipulated by the past of our country. It has been a long time, since the country is ignoring castes on the basis of colour of
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Freedom?
Well, it is just an ordinary word these days and you can find it any dictionary, but not among anybody's life. We all keep on saying FREEDOM OF SPEECH and so much more, but it comes to an
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My home boys acting like gone toys,
And lemme know you! No feeling for toys.
Their fake promises and they don't know what promise is?
They commit mistakes and activate my reminiscence.
I want to
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A kid after a kid, is getting destroyed in this field,
That too for money, parents turning into their fiend.
At the time of giving them pen, you giving them pain,
And when they try playing, you don't
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( Bars by Sumeet Gulabani ) :-
Same nib, and different shit to scrib,
Something to scrib and remaining to skip.
Sometimes, sensible and sometimes, senses unabled.
On the nib of a pen, few senses
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(Bars by Riya Bagchi ):-
What was that I could write,
within just sixteen lines?
I thought, looking at the paper white-
no more sadness, nor prattles
about the long lost love
or the death of that
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