Impatient Me

Indian Bloggers


There was no magic,
It was just a tragic,
Stumbled over a hurdle,
Then it there repeats,
Deep it then sinks,
Plans to overwrite my existence,
But hey,
I hate to see myself so,
Impatient me!

My roots have been shaken,
Body shattered,
My boots have been lost,
Legs falling apart,
But I will stand still,
Bury my roots again,
Stand like never before,
I don’t like lukewarm,
Impatient me!

Pathetic time was mine,
Body cries was nine,
Shivering over the nights,
Waiting for the bright,
My shoulders need me,
My will power calls me,
I am going to shine again,
Trust me,
I am Impatient!

Note: This poem is an extract from my work-in-progress novel where the character is looking for self motivation after a set of horrible life events. 


The Garden of Roots

Indian Bloggers

A soul had reached a place, no where identifiable in a map nor named by any navigator. It looked like a confined tiny place at glance but more the explored, larger it got. It wasn’t some kind of magic land. It was real and very far away from the miracles of fiction.

For there was no name, nothing addressed, nothing displayed and not a thing visible. It was an infinite space compressed into finite footsteps.  Though the soul could feel the moment, every moment had a sink deep inside, pulling inwards. This space was a house of thoughts.

The first of thoughts were of unconditional love. That form of love – pure, with no conditions or expectations like that of birth and care.

There were the thoughts of the origins. Not like the wind, rain, fire, earth, species etc. Not that ancient. Not like technology, speed, race etc. Not that recent too. It was somewhere amidst the evolution of species.

There is always culture, the one that binds and bounds. Culture is that essential morale which keeps one growing and directs to the path of success. Those ancestral traditions and learning’s which uplift the values.

There were memories with the missing feelings. They were the ones which could easily snatch away the sleep. They were the ones which would want the soul to grow younger.

There were belongings. They were accumulations that were gathered with time. The one’s which were associated with the personality and served as the identity. The one’s which drew the boundaries.

There was knowledge which had groomed out of experience. Some made through the hard way and some through the scribbles.  Some led with decisions and some consequences. They formed the knowledge base for the promotions, like knowing the right pinch of salt to turn the dish delicious.


It did not take much time for the soul to realize that it was in theGarden of Roots’.

Note: My  Sincere thanks to Mansi Karna for letting me borrow her book title –  ‘A Garden of Roots,‘ which is Work In Progress. Wishing her all the success for the book.