Let the words flow. Let the pictures speak
Blank Verse

A potential history…


De answer, a year ago, when I asked thee, to understand, I failed.
Fight each other, thine thoughts seem, an enigma, thou remain, till date.
Thy works, as I scrutinize, an interpretation, to arrive at, thine history,
uncertainty looms upon, thy need for inking, thine musing, if any.

A reason, there is, why, not everybody can write, another, thine pleasure,
thy wavelength, thy inspiration, more questions, poses, than it answers.
Language, a funny medium, a few phrases here, a few there, leaving thou
where thee started, far from, infuse curiosity, never cease to, thine words.

Underneath de goodness, a certain emotion, peeks, pain, deep agony.
Negative emotions, maybe not, missing element, a longing, a possibility.
A phoenix, from ashes, now arisen, felt let down, maybe a pile of hopes, by.
Such happiness, smallest gestures, return, de life, I ponder upon; a phoenix.

Expect history, a norm, its become, beneath pain, and rightly so,
an easy thing, it is to pick, it is everywhere, unlike it counterpart.
Become history, de decryption key, unintelligible, if tried; a feat,
if spoken aloud, sense of satisfaction, fulfilment, create absence.

To stare around, if thou cared to, find, de revelation, staring back,
strength, times of need, make presence felt, let down, a clever ploy.
Make believe, easily achieved, de hunger ensuring, thou miss to stop,
thine appetite, long messed with, de curiosity ensuring continued follow.

– De Nocturnal Poet

Stone cold…


To indite this, another of those dreams, is like; to de heap,
another recollection added, wake up to nothing, I shalt.
A motion picture, it once used to be; a talkie, photo-drama,
a still image, it now is, lifeless, un-stirring and placid.

Bury thine memories, I believed, build distance over it, I could.
A pretence, being busy had been; I gave myself no time.
No control over them, lest de past haunt me, I bustled about,
liberate thee, I only could, from memories, never dreams.

De hunger for truth, blinded by, offered peace, when,
de underlying story, sought, I chose, to penetrate de veil.
Forget, absolute truth, there might not be, no rights,
no wrongs, repercussions, cleverly weaved, all along.

At peace, I feel, I am, tranquil, equanimity in sight,
on de eve of stardom, de long haul, repudiated,
tightly knot shackles, broken, my dream hacked,
out of de blue, like it’s just yesterday, my breath, knocked.

A pile of memories, at my best, I sit upon, knowing,
sort, completely reconcile, I will never will be able to.
De rose, long dead, de message deeply etched, flawed,
A little too much, I reckon, I laughed, I now shed a tear.

– De Nocturnal Poet

De matchstick

 Fireworks, when I am around, there might not be,
come, they shalt, after I walk away.

Warmth, there might not be, while I stay,
come, it shalt, after I am long gone.

Hungry, thou might be, in my presence,
fill thou, but I shalt, in my absence.

The best path, guide thee along, I might not,
shed light, enough, I shalt, where thou can be, to show thee.

Consume light, I shalt not, only provide it;
a matchstick, I shalt be.

– De Nocturnal Poet


An illusion, it was but all, thy knowledge of it,
the very reason, experience it, thou were keen.
Strike thee, solid, freeze thou, amidst nowhere,
cracking through, thy very belief, then did what.

Gotten to thee, the illusion had, the only logical
explanation; an answer, thy stillness formed to.

Thine company long gone, leaving thee far behind,
fighting thine battle, all by thyself. A little patch,
rugged & rough, it formed, in their minds, never once,
the long, dark tunnel, thine mind, that was taken over by.

End of the tunnel, I initially chose to be, beckoning
thee, towards the light, a victory in the battle.
Eminent, failure, I should have sighted, was.
Something was amiss, back of my mind, it felt.

Walk back, for scared stiff, afraid, the knowledge
I possessed, thou were. Hold thine hand, lead
thee through darkness, where mere guidance,
midst heavy rains, coming across a fire, was like.

My own battle, fighting, waiting all the while,
I was, ready to lend a guiding hand, if need be.
Talk about, thou wished, not to.
Grant thine space, I gladly did.

A chance thought, I sometimes cant help but wonder,
the granted space, taken to be granted, turned out into.

Walking in the darkness, I now am. Where art thou?

– De Nocturnal Poet

Just another like pole magnet…

A like pole, thou art, being understanding, repulsion, thy only fruit,
de law of nature, that, it is. Like a magnetic field, a clutter, around thee,
there seems to be, de field, enough reason, for de matter to stay attracted,
a direct connection, knowledge of existence, never felt.

To me, a para-magnet, that thou art, to ponder;
leaving me, procure an external force, where shalt.
A delicate sense of understanding, realization, there lies,
one which, except existence of, find hard; thine being.

Am I sad? No, a loner, just another like pole magnet.

– Nocturnal poet

Last resort…


There aint a person to got to, not one,
to lend an ear, let alone solace, words
of faith, belief, lying, under layers of dust,
a shoulder to cry on, not available, lost.

Such time shalt sight thine thoughts, a path
lying ahead of thee, to seek, one requiring
courage, given the situation, thou shalt be.
A deserving place thou shalt forever have.

Speaking out to mother nature, on peaks
of a cliff, in grief, the story of thy sorrow,
woven. The pain of thy heart, as intense,
dense, like a heavy mist, in the air.

In thy last moments shalt thou sight,
the mist clearing slowly, the powerful
sun, burning it out, the world around thee,
as if, gone into nothingness.

The seldom sought path, a strong belief,
one requiring, to come back , faith over thy ability,
in words, shalt write them, thoughts put on paper,
in black and white, the clear picture depicted.

Putting thyself in the state, instead of,
throw that work of thine atop a cliff,
that the world below, resulting which,
shalt know thy grief.

– De Nocturnal Poet

Opportunity knocks…

As the days went by, life went on, one fine day,
an opportunity happened to knock my door,
asking me if, welcome it, I was willing to
to reject it, a fool I wasn’t , my arms spread,
welcoming the opportunity, wide in embrace.

Thoughts of success, spread fast and furious,
happiness blooming in thoughts, themselves;
willing, I was to work for it, take it what may,
shed my sweat, toiling for it.

Time went by, as things began to turn,
for the good or bad, I could only wait,
to know, as the story found a twist,
putting my patience and cool on test.

Impediments cropped up as the once set things
seemed to tumble, the base quiet shaky, cracking
open to the world. Determined to hold on, very,
I was, my months of work in line of fire, that was;
still quiet, patient, waiting, vigilant and watching.

The opportunity share decrease, a result that sighted,
a deep loss it would be, continuing on the path further,
a try to clear up, smoothen things, was all I could do,
yet, it was certain, it wouldnt work, a namesake, it was,
work that required, not presistant experimentation.

Already set up, to both aspects I was, making them
perfectly feasible, a decision which saw me out of it,
with no sense of regret, only happy and cheerful.
Another door shalt open, the belief, an opportunity,
welcome, meant solely for me, the time shalt come.

– De Nocturnal Poet

It’s my life…

Travelling on de journey through life,
a thought on every step, shedding light,
on de various aspects of life, teaching me,
de technique to survive. I am learning…

I learn when de self is satisfied,
others needs, hardly a few care for.
There can be no reason for fights,
enmity, a prejudice, sometimes is.

Priorities set themselves, people
become, so friends for de calling,
things seem good, falls never betrayed,
that truth, realization was soon to bring.

Every step was a new world,
a few stepped along with me,
a few more joined in, few left,
I learnt I always walked alone.

Experience, situations taught me,
de hard way as it happens to be,
you hardly got a refill for a pen,
use and throw, they usually were.

This little world, a mirror, it is,
only yourself, every person reflects,
What they are, you realize,
but its too late to apologise.

Where a new world begins, a new hope takes birth.
A few more masked people entering your world,
to unearthing identities, when it goes back again.

What is right, de world never looks at,
their way, when done, things are right.
Where work fails to seek recognition,
confrontation showing what you already knew.

Out of nowhere, like a ray of hope,
a faint light in de distance, you were.
Walking towards thee, making sacrifices,
never bearing witness; a result of darkness.

When de distance finally looked covered,
de guarding light proved to be blazing fire,
de distance too near, de heat inescapable,
bearings insufferable, a victim, I could only be.

Weariness of de journey was taking it toll,
realization of being alone made it only worse,
born in de process, as a result; de writer,
seeking enlightenment, a path with no spare time.

Every step was a new world,
a few stepped along with me,
a few more joined in, few left,
I learnt I always walked alone.

Every step, a story in my life,
how far you understand, in your ability,
it lies, another step otherwise which,
is only fair, thy name, to be reserved in.

– Nocturnal poet

Nocturnal work…

The ideas coming out from the dark,
those forming as a result of darkness,
shalt be of sheer brilliance, thinking,
works of persistence, will to conquer.

No wonder I am nocturnal…

What difference marks the light in the day
and the darkness of night, but the absence
of strength to resist, a will to conquer upon,
bring back deserved light, the true glory.

My mind finds solace, thinking in the dark,
the middle of those darkest nights shalt
such ideas be conceived, shed light upon.

The thoughts that pave way for brightness,
as the night passes on to the phase of dawn,
the beginning of the day, bright times ahead.

-Nocturnal poet

Pained transition…

Witness, a peaceful night played, uncontrolledness,
what seemed perfectly weaved moments, matted,
shred into pieces, were all of a sudden, bonded ties,
such power that spared none, shattered, torn apart.

Happenings I knew not, what were, incidental,
a mind of its own, seemed to, those things have,
self defined, a clear pace, going on its own way,
already decided upon, a result, seemingly towards.

Quite unacceptable, the resulting revelation seemed
external world fading slowly, the base losing ground.
Faced with impossibility, digesting facts seemed to be,
The question, why it did happen, still killing within…

Passing times, silently settling in, the new situation,
into strong urge, a quiet conversion of pain, processed.
To quit the past, corroding present, something be done,
In turn the future depleted, a risk, which otherwise be.

Untold skills, the urge brought out, light shed,
upon hidden talents, forms of words, pain took,
compositions formed, a result, repeated strikes,
seemed to bring out the questions deep within.

Unanswered, unexplained, the situation, still remains,
person, it ought to have, those works never did reach.
A direct approach, the consequence it threatens to pose,
unthinkable, prohibits, love, that still burns deep within.

The message be conveyed, the faith still within, someday,
righteously found, a solution to those questions, care seen.
An inspiration to others, it shall be, until such times, solace,
for others, those like me, still in hope, someday, it shall work.

-Nocturnal poet

Persistent resistance…

If given a chance to do
I would choose to run far,
far away from this world,
world of ignorance, hatred.

What bliss amidst souls, taut,
rid of feelings, expression find
no meaning, understanding,
far from the line of sight.

If given a chance to do
I would like a glance back
few moments that changed,
changing the entire course.

What gain in dreaming of the past,
things finished, feelings drowned by.
Nothing but heavy emotional drain,
with searing pain of burning memories.

Fortunate or unfortunate, I am in a fix
Running away, I find is an impossibility,
nor can I change those things of the past,
those crucial moments, pained memories.

I have learnt a lot to understand,
the only feasible solution is to face it.
Running away shall serve no purpose
for I chose it, acting upon it by my will.

I shall persist, clinging on
best of times I shall have
I shall finally sort it all out
a solution to everything I shall.

-Nocturnal poet

Lost battle…

Amidst friends, while in a happy, joyous mood,
I am but still lost in thy thoughts, my thoughts
shifting between the two worlds, a few moments
in the jolly present, a few in the lost past..

Oye! Whats up with you? One of my friends asked,
having finally seemed to notice my state of mind.
Nothing, I said. How could I possibly explain, while
there was still a war raging in my mind, result less.

I wonder if he even believed me but,
I had more pressing thoughts to ponder,
that, the worrying about others opinion
hardly seemed to matter any more..

I tried to pull in my mind back to the present,
but that wasn’t happening, as my thoughts
seemed to persist in thee, and those times
when we were together, lost into eternity..

Would it be fair enough to let them know,
or would it be unfair in not telling them?
I just couldn’t make up my mind, which
was still in pursuit of the greater good..

No matter what I think about,
thou shalt always be a part of it.
I find it hard to think of something,
where thou shalt cease to exist.

I knew I had to give up on it, coz I would
never succeed in putting thee off my mind.
No matter what thou shalt think, I say,
Please forgive me, I can’t stop loving you..

– Nocturnal poet

Instinct theology…

Of darkness, a witness thy life shalt be, such times,
unknown, the next step; uncertain, if there be one.
Into arms of dishonor, a wrong decision shalt lead,
desire to live foregone, more pleasing death shalt be.

Panic stricken moments to act on instincts; theory,
the thought of which would horrifying in itself be.
Applicable shalt it be when, use it, thou art able to,
leave added pages of theory, shalt its practicability.

How well thou persevere, shalt those moments decide,
thy faith in thine work, shed light, a opening shalt wait,
for in such moments of loneliness shalt none assist thee,
apart from thyself, thy belief in the grace of thine God..

Finally shalt light fall, an end to the dark times marked,
never to be erased, those memories though, rock stead,
lesson virtuous, taught, for, the being, no matter where,
inspiration as guiding light serves, those times shalt be.

-Nocturnal poet

The past return…

Why did thou hath to return, back to me,
When I was, but better in thy memories..

For all those years I was recovering, healing
myself, slowly but steadily, telling myself
that whatever happened was bound to be
and that thou were gone forth good.

The journey never for once seemed to be
a piece of cake, for with every thing around,
wherever I went, there was a memory stuck
with thee, that kept reminding me of thee..

The period of transition indeed grew
tougher than i thought it would, but
as time went by I learnt I had to face it,
for it would kill me steadily if I failed to.

I knew it was time to open up, time to let
thee out of my thoughts forever, but that
was easier said than done, for even if my
mind would, my heart would never do…

Gradually I began to move on converting
those memories, taking every thought of
thee as a happy moment, burying those
others deep down, in the depths of my heart.

Why now, of all times, did thou hath to find
a reason to return, to come back, when, finally
I had settled myself leaving behind the past,
accepting present, the way it came by..

Why did thou hath to return, back to me,
When I was but, better in thy memories..

– Nocturnal poet

First glance…

Amongst the crowd of people, all set for the day
ahead, thou was lost or so thee seemed to be.
That was when I saw thee, in thine state of
confusion, nervousness playing in thy eyes.

I could not take my eyes of thee, and
as I stood there transfixed, I found thine
eyes speaking of thy purity, thy expression
describing thee, I was lost in thy grace..

And when it finally happened that thou
chanced to glance at me, I felt like a thief
caught red handed, robbing, and judged
guilty of having committed a sin..

It all seemed to happen within moments,
when thou found what thee were searching
for all the while and it felt a eternity as thee
finally got ready, setting thyself to leave.

Even an hour later, after thou had left,
I was still lost in thy thoughts, and it felt
as though only moments back, I had
first seen thou, amongst the crowd..

And as I was thinking of it, suddenly the bright
shining sun seemed to be covered by the clouds,
emerging out of nowhere, and it started pouring,
completely catching me unaware, drenching me.

I started walking back, enjoying the rain descending
upon me, happily recalling the beautiful incident, when
somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard a voice,
thou shalt never forget her, for thou art in love..

-Nocturnal poet

Irreversible errors…

Walking by the sands of time,
I found a pebble, so smooth,
so cool and lustrous, that I,
immediately was attracted.

I picked it up, pocketing it
and continued my journey,
now being no longer alone..

As time passed by, the pebble
became my companion, my mate,
as I started sharing myself with it
feeling the joys of sharing myself..

It knew when I was sad or happy,
jubilant or depressed. It always
inspired me to achieve something
new, something better, each day,
each moment, that kept me going.

Soon, I started taking it for granted,
I went along my way, not bothering
once about its feelings nor how it felt.
I lost track on my companion, my mate.

Having once handled it with care,
I was now careless with it. Having
once loved it the way it was, I now
stared finding faults in things it did..

But towards the end of the day,
I always cared for it, forgetting
what happened or what not,
looking out for a fresh start..

Yet, I failed to realise that,
each time i hurt it, I had left a
scratch on its smooth surface,
a scar etched, a reminder forever.

An now when I finally am seeing,
the whole surface which once
reflected my image, my thoughts,
my feelings, was now shattered..

I decided that I no longer deserved it
and left it back in the sands of time..
hoping it would find back, its lustre and lost image,
hoping it would find a better companion next time.

-Nocturnal poet

Walking down the streets…

Amidst the crowd of people,
strangers and acquaints alike,
I felt like a joker, who reflected
happiness, with a heavy heart.

I realized the difficulty they
go through, to entertain people,
to bring out a smile on others face,
while their heart wept deep within.

I was bothered if the mask of happiness
would fall, revealing my true self, rather,
I found that the masked happiness goes
undetectable, the crowd find it amusing.

The silent tear was never recognised,
it kept falling, soaking the throbbing
heart while none bothered to stop it,
not even thee…

I felt happy for thee, but thou never
bothered to notice my presence..
I felt like a stranger blocking thy
way and hence I just walked away.

I concede the fact that I did hurt thee.
I dint mean to, but on feeling those tears
roll down thy eyes, I cried more than thee,
in my heart, coz I always cared for thee..

-Nocturnal poet

Sands of time…

Past is gone, never to come back,
leaving behind happiness, sorrow,
pains and gains, alike. It goes by,
only to be recalled as a memory.

On bothering to notice, we find its only
etching its effects on the sand of time.

As said, everything will have two outlooks,
a positive and another negative. Its better
to learn from the negative part and also,
console ourselves through the positive.

A pessimist will be sad to find the past gone,
those happy moments passed away,
and thus by sulking over the lost he,
tends to forget he left behind the pain.

An optimist on the other hand will be glad,
that past events are not written on a stone,
coz what is inscribed on a stone is rather
difficult to be erased, to be forgotten…

So lets be optimistic in our approach,
looking forward for a happy today
and a wonderful tomorrow…

-Nocturnal poet

That cup of coffee, one evening…

Sitting out in the terrace, I notice that the
clouds have taken over the starry sky, its
thundering, its lightning, but still the rains
for which I am waiting, are yet to be seen.

Slowly I feel a drop of water on my hand
and realise its started to rain. With those
drops of water, my thoughts drifted back
to that cup of coffee, one similar evening.

It was a lovely evening, with everything
prefect about it. The sun was wrapped
cozily, behind the darkest of the clouds,
lousy enough to shower light occasionally.

I was lost in the tune being weaved
by the chirping of the birds, as they
returned back, calling it a day. And
the rustling of the leaves, it created.

I was woken up from the lost world,
brought back into the reality when,
I heard my cell chirping, YOU AND

I got ready but no sooner did we leave,
it started to rain. Amidst the pattering
rain, I took her to her favourite place,
our favourite place, cafe coffee.

Having ordered our cup of coffee,
we sat back trying to dry ourselves.
The Ac gave a chilling effect but the
coffee contrasted it with its warmth.

We spoke about this and that,
not that it meant anything but
we were speaking something,
which meant we were together.

Every sip of coffee was enjoyed,
every moment, cherished. It was
difficult to say what was stronger,
was it the chill in the air, or love..

All that starts tends to end, so was
with that wonderful evening, With
the cup of coffee now empty and
having paid the bill, we walked out.

The rain had subsided slightly,
but it was still drizzling lightly.
I lifted my face to look at her,
when I heard my phone ringing..


I notice, I am all alone, my fone,
still ringing. Its no longer raining,
but I am drenched, the memory
still buzzing around in my mind..

That cup of coffee, one evening..

– Nocturnal poet

A novel journey…

I have got this habit of studying in front of the PC and I was just updating my status at twitter when that thought led me to this.. Of course I wrote it only after I stopped reading but that was the initial thought provocation..

At last the wait has ended,
all the stress and tension rid.
I am back home all fully fresh,
having just finished my exam.

I am on a break from the study stuff
an I decide on picking a book, a novel.
Its not that I don’t read otherwise,
but now I got a licence to go at it.

One book to relax from another?
Weird ain’t it? Well, yeah that’s me..

I look at my shelf revealing a bundle of books,
books, waiting to be explored, to be read.
I face confusion with the choice,
finally picking up one that looks good.

I make way through the initial pages,
struggling to make sense of what’s written,
what’s happening. A part here, a part there,
which is leading me nowhere.

Before I get a doubt of my choice,
I see a hint of light in it, a story
blooming from the very same things,
which didn’t make sense a few pages ago.

Time flies by yet I am glued to the book,
I find myself reading furiously, when,
I hear somebody calling out for lunch.
But oye, I just had my breakfast moments ago!

The story is now running at full pace,
and taking new twists as pages unfold.
But I have to stop in front of a signal,
signal being breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Within a few days I am at the end,
savouring the depth of the story,
the skill involved and marvelling
the composition and the writing.

Its done finally and the novel being explored,
is set to return to its rest place – my shelf.
While I am all ready for another novel, yet
another initial nonsense to final thriller journey.

-Nocturnal poet

A cup of coffee…

I donno whats got me writing this. I was reading something and all of a sudden out of no where I just felt like writing about coffee and as a result, out came this poem, a cup of coffee and its journey into me… Am not a poet so bear with the mistakes, if any.

I have a free hour, I can’t wait to get going.
I am out as soon as the bell rings permitting me out.

I walk down to my favourite place,
And in a few minutes I am sitting at a cafe,
having ordered my coffee, waiting dearly for it.
After a small wait it is ready n willing to be fetched.

I lift the cup to savour the aroma it emits,
inviting me to the world of cafe which I gladly accept.
Following the aroma I enter deep down into an alley,
an alley leading to a different world.

I sip in a ml of the piping hot coffee
and it gives me a sense of eternity..
I am lost in a whole new world,
where time is outbound.

After long minutes which seemed like a few
moments, the piping hot coffee, now normal,
It holds only a little of what it once did and is
all set to get to its final destination- the bin.

I am all set for another cup of coffee,
yet another journey into eternity..

-Nocturnal poet