Do you seek solace?

Well do you!! Bit obvious isn’t it for us humans to dream of a paradise located at the seventh sky .Where we “Work WHORES” would relax in peace,Eat without toiling and enjoy all the unlabeled and undeserved fruits too sweet for our tongue.

Well that’s how most people define solace. But what really is solace and does it really exist.

Or is it just a fragment of our own out of control horses of mind that always want to stray away from work towards sleep.

Well for me solace lies “In receiving what you seek”. But it’s temporary in the end.


So Here is a poem about my conceptions of solace ,because poetry describes better than the nature  itself isn’t it?




Far beyond this cruel and cringe worthy world

Lies a place, where the humanity gets its worth

Where, truth triumphs over deception with ease

And, words are spoken without any grease


A, place where angels resides without any fear

And, the devil is held tight in the cuff of its own injustice

Where, peace reigns and justice resides

A paradise where love conquer over loath and desire


Oh God, then sense it is an empty hearse

“Full of flowers but no one to bear”, I cursed

Not a soul rests in peace on this land

Because, such gardens are only found in Bible and Quran.


“Even, the heaven is fallen”

“How do you think hell came to existence my dear”

“Casting out his own son was his act”

“Isn’t his devilry, all in parts”, Someone whispered in my ears





Not a soul rests in peace in this land or above

As, this fragment of lie was fostered and conserved

Through Sordid passions of the doomed and the God

And we being mere audience in this play

Serve, the cross, ignoring that its purpose is lost


And, no realms of peace exist anymore

As, the sufferings are never really gone for long

Who do I worship for solace and peace?

As in the lost paradise

Almighty is the God and he is the priest.


So you be the judge now? Do we as humanity really need solace? Why toil and tear ourselves up for the world that does not deserve us.


Till Then!! Make up your minds .Till we meet again!! See ya all.

Hey !! Just follow my blog if you like my content. More coming soon.:)

Satan’s argument’s

It’s time for the poetry again! Great to back to the roots again.

Hey one more thing , I am going to publish my own poetry chapbook by the end of this year so wish me luck!! Also follow my blog if you like my content.

Done with the formal part, now let me take you take to a journey

There was the most beautiful angel in heaven named Lucifer. He had a beautifully carved faced, chiseled body and knew how to play all the musical instruments . Once he challenged the god and we all what happened after that.


But isn’t it biased that we see the story only from the perspective of god. Was it wrong to challenge him and raise your voice.Casting out someone from heaven just because he questioned your rule! Well isn’t it tyranny and who is the devil now?


My poetry here explores this argument .

So let’s dip into the words . Shall we?





Ruling the dark underworld, where mortal has no rightful place to live

Where the soul screams, and the goodness withers away in the stream

Where, the holy father does not have his hand or part in the justice served

Where sins are burnt and the pain is real

That’s the place where I command and regime.


Despised and turned down, by every door I knock

I wished to seek following of my art and thought

“Why does God have the world believing in him?”

“Even though the darkness is his own part”

“But you are too blinded to see this because of your faith”, I spoke to humanity.


“And why do you seek solace in heaven”

“When you can be the eternal God of hell”

“Does peasantry and lifetime obedience in paradise serve you more”

“Or, the power you deserve in the netherworld”

“Now, ask your conscious”- I preached.





Your faith binds you in him and blinds you to the truth

That the judge sitting in heaven deciding the fate of all

Is blotted with the sins, too despicable for even me to imagine

And his lust for power and control, over the three worlds

Is what hidden behind these saintly white robes.




So choose your sides friend !!  Meet you soon !! Love you all. ASTA LA VISTA.





Is Poetry Dead?

Is the poetry dead?

On the off chance that that is the situation, America ought to be marginally concerned. Mr. Blanco is a mobile case of the American dream — as he puts it “the American story is from multiple points of view my story — a nation as yet attempting to arrange its own particular character, gotten between the heaven of its establishing beliefs and the substances of its history, attempting to make sense of it, attempting to “wind up” even today — “trust” as new on our tongues as it ever might have been.”

He has defeat various snags, battled against restriction both inside and outer — so as to exceed expectations in verse, a field that may in all likelihood be out of date.


I say this lovingly as a student. If poetry is dead, we are in the next ward over, wheezing noisily, with our family gathered around looking concerned and asking about our stereos.

Still I think there is a question to be asked. You can tell that a medium is still vital by posing the question: Can it change anything?

Can a poem still change anything?

I think the medium won’t not be sufficiently boisterous any more. There are around six individuals who purchase new poem, yet they are not feeling extremely well. The last time I discovered a poem perusing, the participants were practically no matter what understudies of the poet who were there in the expectations of additional credit. One of the ballads, if memory serves, comprised of a rundown of names of Supreme Court judges. I am not saying that it was a terrible lyric. It was a decent ballad, inside the limitations of what verse implies now. In any case, I think what we mean by poem is a limp and fangless thing.


All the glory of verse goes back to when it was the way you got the most indispensable news there is — your kin’s stories. “The Iliad.” “The Odyssey.” “Gilgamesh.” All writing used to be verse. Be that as it may, at that point fiction chipped off. At that point the kind of story you sung could be recorded and the words did not need to invest any energy outside the organization of their music in the event that they would not like to. We have motion pictures now that are equipped for giving pictures to us an exactness that would have made Ezra Pound capsize. Every one of the things that verse used to do, different things improve. Be that as it may, actually despite everything we have government-financed writers. Artists resemble the Postal Service — a gathering of individuals diligently accomplishing something that we at no time in the future need, under the confusion that they are putting forth us an indispensable administration.

“Verse is dead,” writer Gwydion Suilebhan tweeted Monday. “What puts on a show to be verse now is either New Age blather or ambiguous hogwash or babble. It’s zombie verse.” There is at no time in the future, truly, any formal advancement conceivable. The imperatives of meter have for quite some time been relinquished. What is cleared out? It is a parroting of something that used to be radical. It is about as valuable as the clavichord. There is no “Wail” conceivable or “Melody of Myself.” There is no “The Waste Land.”

As somebody who adores print books, I would rather not sort this and I trust that I am off-base. I need to hear the case for verse. It is something that you perused in school and that you write in school. In any case, it used to be that on the off chance that you were youthful and you needed to Change Things with your Words, you shot off and composed verse some place. You got together with companions at bistros and you composed verses and talked upset. Now that is the exact opposite thing you do.


These days, poetry is institutionalized. Everyone can write it. But if you want a lot of people to read it, or at least the Right Interested Persons, there are a few choked channels of Reputable Publications. Or you can just spray it liberally onto the Internet and hope it sticks.

Or am I being too harsh?

Something similar could be said of journalism, after all.

And whenever people say this about journalism, they note that people have an insatiable hunger for news. Journalism in its present form may not continue, but journalism will. It will have to. Otherwise where will the news come from?

And this might be the silver lining for poets. The kind of news you get from poems, as William Carlos Williams has it, must come from somewhere. And there is a similar hunger for poetry that persists. We get it in diluted doses in song lyrics. Song lyrics are incomplete poems, as Sondheim notes in the book of his own. If it is complete on the page, it makes a shoddy lyric. But there is still wonderful music to be found in those words. We get it in rap. If we really want to read it, it is everywhere. Poetry, taken back to its roots, is just the process of making — and making you listen.

But after the inaugural, after Richard Blanco’s almost seventy lines of self-reflection and the use of phrases like “plum blush” — which sounded like exactly what the phrase “poem” denotes to us now — I wonder what will become of it.

I don’t know where the words that will define us next will come from. But from Poetry Qua Poetry With Grants And Titles? Hope may be as fresh on our tongues as it ever was. But is poetry?

Until then Peace out!! Meet you all soon.
And please follow my blog if you like my content ( The Diary of the fallen Soul)

The Dilemma of Humanity

Dilemma of Humanity

What’s up folks!!

Well yeah it is a delayed post!! Apologies! Apologies!.

Well now in today’s world where people have lost their depth as a human being and the small talk is the new trend. I still talk in rhyme and those mystical words that form the poetry . I am not much of religious person but I believe in spirituality . My Concept of the Almighty is pretty distinct but that would be a talk of some other time. So let’s just the talk about angels for some time later shall we?

So , now I have come up with a poetry. Well this one is about an atheist which is greeted by both the angel and devil at the junction of earth, heaven and hell…So let’s dive into his world and understand what’s wrong with the situation here.


Standing at the junction of solace and pain

At the terminus of the Earth, where the path of heaven and hell began

I, was in a dilemma to choose a route and place my soul

Either in the heart of the heavenly father or, the Satan’s feet.

The demon, met me first representing his lord

And, proposed me an offer hard to refuse

“Be the King of the underworld, and rule on his behalf”

“Why you want to serve the angels when you can be the master of devil’s art?”

White wings flapped as the heavenly light shined

As the demon and me parted our ways

“Ye cannot drink the cup of the lord and the cup of the devil”

“Ye cannot have part in the lord’s table and the table of the devils” the heavenly thundered

“Do we provoke the lord to jealousy?”

“Are we stronger than he?”

“Have you lost all hope in salvation son?”

The angel thundered, preaching the lord’s word loud and clear

“Fly, with me to the heaven O’ sweet child”

Where mortal realms end and the kingdom of peace and solace lie

Serve, the holy father and you shall be rewarded

With gifts beyond your imagination and worth that you seek.

Hearing from both the lord and devil

I, discovered hard truth

That, both were desperate to get the mortals to follow them

By, luring them in through their promises, which were nothing but an empty hearse.

And, so, I smirked at the sight of both the demon and messenger of God

And, ordered them to tell their lords

That, this mortal will not trade his soul with your deceitful lies

As, both of them are the despicable spiders in the centre of this web of lies

Which, mortals treat as their faith when they see no hope in their sight.

The eternal crossroads is the saga and dilemma which we face everyday in our lives .So now it is up to the humanity to choose their sides or stand against the wall ignoring the truth.

Till then

Ciao!! Meet you soon.

You are welcome rain!

As the weather transits from the scorching summer to thunderous monsoon , the tempest has started to take it’s course  on this barren land  and inadequate but  sweet drizzle showers from the paradise to the earth.

Now we as a” Human Civilization” over the course of history ,celebrated rain and we do have god’s for it . Indra in Hinduism, Zephyrus in Greek etc.. etc.. . We do believe the presence of a mystical super creature in the clouds fucking us with lightning and pissing us with his heavenly drain as we have done for other natural phenomenon and sadly continue to do so.

Finally instead of being a rant over of an atheist i thought we should celebrate this beautiful ” Orgasm of nature” with a small poetry of mine that celebrates the entire zest of this beautiful drops that fall and my words ” Fucking bastards” capturing it’s enchanting magic

Here we go then…..


Trickling from the shrine

Pearls of joy and drops of solace embrace my soul

As it kisses my skin and soul with the tenderness and calmness of its abode

Takes me to a journey from dusk to dawn

Heaven to Earth, a place where this fallen broken soul belongs

Falling from heaven to quench the thirst of the barren land

The drops of wine restore the Earth’s solace and peace

Like the almighty grant’s away his blessings which this mortal being receives

And, for this soul, who can do what but to gaze in wonder

This spiritual cosmic bond between the creator and creation

These tears of love trickles down from my lips to my heart

Restoring my fallen consciousness

My soul dances and rejoices as the myth portray before it

Two legendary lovers meet and romances

And as for the body

It stands under the blue

For the rain to drip it again.


Hope you enjoy it…..

See ya till then!! Ciao.

The Theory Of Poetry(Pickled Up)

Candles and bulbs

Poetry imitates, copies, or reflects something. The thing can be real (an actual thing, such as the poet’s love for someone), an ideal (a representation or copy of a universal, such as a conversation with Truth), or an imagined thing or an experience or feeling (such as a description of the loss of a loved one). But whether or not physical nature is involved, the poem  conveys or recreate something true–it  deals with real feeling, thought, or truth. We must say, “Yes, this is a mirror of possibility or actuality in some sense,” even if we are reading about dragons and talking trees.

Imagining weird stuff and jotting it down gives me and you a sense of freedom and liberation which this world and religion does not. I myself have realized this truth and decided to take you all to a journey where the words chant the name of your soul and there is no restriction to thought and creativity.

Well  I do believe that we all do have a poet in us which feels the rain not as a part of water cycle but as the flow of the wine from the paradise and Cars running down the roads not as Iron Monsters but the extent of human intelligence and innovation
We poets and by that I mean you all should come together and hold this torch of enlightenment to blossom the poet in us all.

Wake up my luv, and lets rhyme.:)


See you later friends!! Bye


The God in The Mirror

Let’s begin this journey with a poem of mine:)



Christos Anesti! Christos Anesti!

Chanted the civilized

Seeing the sight of the lord

Burying their sins and rise.


But O’, did they realise what was their fate

That the spirit that turned water into wine

Had risen not so clean and pristine

And his death had made him grim and dark.


As he realised that only in the paradise

Did soul rest in peace and eternal solace

Because in this mortal realm

Pain and sorrow never cease to exist.


“I didn’t flinch, seeing the sight of the underworld” his tongue mumbled in fear

Where mortals have no rightful place and eternal suffering never cease to exist

But, you being God’s favourite are so long in pain

Which strikes and ripples in this life and after death.



Seeing the sight of the heavenly rattled by the earthly pain

The crowd dispersed in a tragic disbelief

As now, the illusion of the almighty was broken

And people were wounded by the hero who promised them to heal.


Seeing the myth and the legends all perish

The wise bear the heart for the truth

Which was brutal and disappointing

But displayed the fate of the humanity which had lost its hope.


That the pain is eternal and solace is no choice

And men are their own gods of future and fate

Which these heavenly utterly despise

As we have the power to make choices and take the pain

And better than in their own game.