Bonded Love

Steel grins as you struggle
and the fabric rips apart
the cloth blinds your thoughts and sight
as you belong to me afterall

I will lash you and pinch where it pains
and all your grunts and moans will be in vain
Til, you submit under my will
begging me to hit harder till those drops fell

The, winds of lust shall sweep across your body
as you are tied naked
with arms stretched and legs wide open
hailing my name as now you enjoy the pain

I shall tease and leave you begging for more
as you feel the blood rushing
and the temperatures soar
you laying in my arms screaming for more

And now we kiss together the master and slave
Isn’t it wonderful to submit one’s will
and be my prey?



Go to sleep

Hush! baby go to sleep
in the land of fairies and dreams
while I rock you and sing the mystics of old
as the sun sets and winds grow cold

Sleep, as the dead come home
naked bodies, seared skin and slit throats
Oh! don’t open your eyes as you may see the sight
of the tortured corpse of Mr. Fulbright

Oh! sleep now my child as father has arrived
in his wooden box marched along with men with stripes
as her widow rips herself apart in pain
and her sister sobs in corner with her share of pain

Oh! don’t you wake up dear to see this world
filled with sufferings, tears and pain
stay in your Eden as long as you can
as there are no roses, just thorns in the cradle of life



Winds of war

In no mans land the daisies grow
tinged in sunlight ready to bloom
over the corpses of lads who never turned into men
and over the fond memories of her as she lay awake

Awake in her cot, rocking their son
singing stories of heroes who fought the war and returned
and one’s who returned back in their mother’s arms
laying their lives for the motherland’s pride

His corpse was shipped and his widow wailed
breastfeeding her little son, as she couldn’t believe her fate
In dismay she lay over her husband’s grave
and then shot herself twice
as the blood splashed over the infant’s face

He cried and cried with no one to swing him to sleep
till slowly his tears ran to his depth
and he choked on his own vomit as he fell asleep

And here lies the grave of the Watson’s as we speak
man, mother and child all there indeed
whose victory is this I ask now?
“ruling over corpses” was this your grand thought?





New Year New Me

Well, Well,Well guess who is back. It’s the new year everybody. Flip your calendars,have a brunch and set an all-mighty to-do list which would be cast out as a leper on the 2nd day itself.

And most of all. It’s the most cliche line ever after, I love you and Hey you are……umm Beautiful(A pause as tribute for the moments where i thought I am a player) is it’s new year and it’s new me.

Guys for just one sec turn your clocks around and look back to the previous new year and the year previous to it and basically every new year since you were born. The only thing that new year changes is calendars and that’s it.

Now, I am not your Dad but here’s a piece of advice. You wanna a New Year. Begin now but oh god! it’s probably evening so tomorrow would be perfect . Hehehe.

So, that was a short wrap up I know it’s been a long year and not so perfect for the world. But still yeah! We all did make some new friends, I personally found some great poets and writer’s here . Slowly and steadily I am changing for good.


So would you !


Merry Christmas and Happy New Year :).










Secret Woods

They met inside the mystery woods
Where they would situation their troth
As verdant creepers wound and wove
Escaped her dad’s fury
He provided for her then as they kissed
The turquoise from his hand
A token of their beaus’ tryst
In their own particular fairyland
Inside each other’s arms they lay
Underneath the starlit sky
Cheering in their hideaway
Hidden from all objection
So then they separated with such sorrow
Their eyes were doused with torment
Both with the expectation time would be brief
Till they could meet once more



Who’s the Judge?

I walked on a beach, where waves were calm
but in my mind brewed a storm
To decide who decides what’s right and what’s wrong

A judge seated high striking a gavel to end one’s life?
or the executioner who pulls the lever to hang him down?
Or perhaps the man in the mirror himself
who lost this game of chance
as the coin landed the other way around

We all are grey, with no sieve to separate the sins apart
black and white in different proportions
as the artist’s pallet after art

So, isn’t all this act just a facade
and an act to reflect the grim in the dark



The Retreat

So Diamonds sparkle, and thy Mistriss eyes;
When tis not Fire but light in either flyes.
Beauty not thaw’d by lustful flames will show
Like a fair mountain of unmelted snow:
Nor can the tasted vine more danger bring
Then water taken from the chrystall Spring,
Whose end is to refresh and cool that heat
Which unallayd becomes foul vices seat:
Unless thy boyling veins, mad with desire
Of drink, convert the liquor into fire.
For then thou quaff’st down feavers, thy full bowles
Carouse the burning draughts of Portia’s coles.
If it do leap and sparkle in the cup,
Twill sink thy cares, and help invention up.
There never yet was Muse or Poet known
Not dipt or drenched in this Helicon.
But Tom! take heed thou use it with such care
As Witches deal with their Familiar.
For if thy vertues circle not confine
And guard thee from the Furies rais’d by wine,
‘Tis ten to one this dancing spirit may
A Devil prove to bear thy wits away;
And make thy glowing nose a Map of Hell
Where Bacchus purple fumes like Meteors dwell.
Now think not these sage moralls thee invite
To prove Carthusian or strict Rechabite;
Let fooles be mad, wise people may be free,
Though not to license turn their libertie.
He that drinks wine for health, not for excess,
Nor drownes his temper in a drunkenness,
Shall feel no more the grapes unruly fate,
Then if he took some chilling Opiate.







The Silent Lover

Passion, sewn in the skin he lies awake in the moon
oiling and rubbing his lamp for another midnight before he swoons
toiled in the memory of her laces and knots
oh! “how to write to her?” he forgot

Silence is never wise in love you know
dead keep secret’s but living shouldn’t
but is it easy to stand and confess
the deepest desires for her skin and an unending conflict

But, lighting his tobacco, In a pipe of 40’s he spoke
“Ah! expressions are for my poetry, she deserves better men than mine”
let me be a silent lover till my end perhaps
as there is nothing more comforting than burning in your desires

~ Siddharth

Sketches Galore

Semester draws a close…sun is setting slowly on my pre-final year. Although , I  find physics beautiful, literature and art are always in coherence with my work.

Yeah, I sketch too , well learnt from my sister….who is really possessive about her canvas and oil paints. So, obviously it was my utter responsibility to destroy her board and see her whine about it.

But, enough of her. I am a bit narcissist, so obviously I think my sketches are great. She doesn’t really appreciate my work and I hope she gets married off soon.

But on a second thought, I think well her soul’s only mine to torture…maybe sibling relations is one of the most evil thing in the world.

Coming back to point … I present you one of my sketches. Be honest and be polite about your opinions.

Theme- Graveyard burial of my love


Social Issue Poster_Female Foeticide



Ah! This Life

A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in,
A tick to grin and a hour to sob in,
A half quart of joy to a peck of pain,
A seed that slowly grows in rain;
Ah! This is life

Standing beside the life unfolds,
With a grin to warm and whine to vivify us;
Also, joy appears all sweeter when sun shines after,
and the heat twists to cold as if spells have no masters;

Ah! This is life