Paint Stains


The brooding face

Hard to capture,

Black crayon strokes

Mask the inner being.

Yellow soothes the pain-

I know, do I not, it whispers

The agony of being?

(On seeing a picture of Satyajit Ray)



Rain touched moments,

An old poem about

Night rain and  a mad woman.

Let the hand rest awhile

On tired knees, having walked

A long, long way

To her own self.

And that,

Is the sanest moment

In this rain.


She laughs,

A beautiful rose flower.

Is there any sight prettier

Than a child reading a book?

It is life seeing life –

Word by word,

Symbol by symbol.

Entering a world of beauty,

A secret world, whose password

I pray,

She will remember forever in her life.

And bequeath as a Gift,

When the time arrives,

Being the mistress

Of her own dreams,

To the next eager starry eyed one.

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