Singular Best

In an city where you are surrounded by millions,

You can be at your singular most lonely best.

Yet the rest may revolve to evolve,

But you create your own resolve to absolve the quest.

Because, yet again you and only you are at your singular lonely best.


Growth came with passion,

But now you yearn for the old days.

Days of awe and wonder, days that were never a blunder.

Like a late storm on a summers night,

Like a strong gust that lifts a nightingale in flight,

Comes emotion flooding through the doors,

Of a mind that is no longer yours.


But in the country where mother earth touches you,

Caresses you and ruffles you,

Plays with you and fondles you,

Like the clouds foreplay the mountain tops,

Like the bells chiming on the temple tops.

Here is an Eden yet again, singular and pure with connected veins,

Of glorious hours and joyous moments,

Those that never end and never began again,

For what has happened is happening now,

And yet again it will happen again.

For time is something we humans made,

To understand something that we couldn’t comprehend.



Nothingness. That’s what it is.

That’s how it all begins, and that’s where it all leads.


Now tell me when you wake up, on a clear December sky,

Of the hours of gratitude that you never chance by,

The lonely dusty by-lanes that don’t replicate your memory lane,

That pot of boiling soup, that would indeed make you stoop.


But now in the after-hours, in the safety of the nightshade do you bloom,

Your mind drifts like a murmur that is gone too soon,

Of a lonely tune that beacons all things nocturnal,

The earth sleeps, only for you to rise higher, forever and after.