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A warrior once fought,
A battle too great
Valour he had… Recognition he sought,
An identity, for which all his life he did wait.

For he was a foundling, abandoned at birth,
Born a prince, son of the sun,
Skilled he was, yet struggled to showcase his worth,
In the testing ground of princes, he was the odd one

With no words to speak, and head hung low,
The warrior was about to retreat, losing to his fate,
But among mocking princes many, one stood out, cried "Hello !"
"O Noble Warrior.. don’t go please wait"

"He is skilled and meritous, fit to be a king,
And so I declare him one, his glories everyone will sing !"
In that fateful moment, a friendship was sealed,
A debt too heavy, under the burden of which, the warrior always reeled.

As history knows, the warrior soon faced a choice,
During the most illustrious battle of his life !
He knew now of his family, a time to rejoice,
But alas they were his opponents, this was his strife.

Yet to fight for his friend, was his duty at present,
He controlled his emotions, not let them flow in the moment,
The world knew him as a villian, yet he was just a victim of fate,
The choice he was presented with, came rather too late.

A righteous man he was, and stuck to his codes,
Genereous and kind for which he will win applauds,
His code was clear, he couldn’t betray his friend,
Even if that meant, an end to his family, to his existence, to his truth, his identity’s end.

And so a warrior once fought,
A battle too great…
Succeed he did not,
But then.. his righteousness stood the test of his fate.

The ship ain’t broken…




Among heavy tides it sailed and crossed oceans many,

Stood upfront to sea-storms and hurdles any,

Withered with time, now old it is, not perfectly right, still not wrong..

The ship ain’t broken, just out of shape.. soon it will go on…


Over time it has sailed all of sea, it’s high’s and low’s,

Withered it may be now, still it survived nature’s tough blows,

A beauty it was of wood, a beauty it will remain,

The ship ain’t broken, just a li’l damaged, will be mended again.


Life’s Like That…at times it seems, a ship wary from it’s course,

On a stormy voyage, the ship is steered, unable to withstand, fate’s untimely force,

But a sea is incomplete, without it’s tides both high and low,  a ship must withstand the the same,

Life ain’t broken, just off the route perhaps, at dawn, a new voyage it will claim.

Writing was…

Rhymes came easy, simple they were,
A clever play of words, to anyone it could occur,
Yet he made it his forte, his love of life,
Writing was his passion and also his strife.

A poet he was, one that never made sense,
I must say he rhymed well though, a point in his defense,
Sometimes though rhyming could be crazy, make him write stuff too insane…
Writing was his boon and also his bane.

An addict he was of tales too many,
Wrote many of his own, happy endings weren’t any,
Though he always started a tale on high notes, couldn’t end it so well..
Writing was his heaven and also his hell…

In despair he walked…

In despair he walked.. searching all night,
At dawn it was..when one saw.. his first ray of hope.. his light !
The night was dark indeed.. but not meant to last long,
A right destination awaited.. on the journey that seemed wrong.
For all the wanderer did.. was listen to his heart,
The end was happy after-all.. even though it was a troublesome start…

The last song of the night

A writer immersed in writing…trying to write a song,

The song that would summarize his life – all good days and days that went wrong.

The song, that would also be an ode, to numerous nights like this one,

When the writer tried to write, random rhymes filled with pun.


Mocking oneself at writing, and life in general that was,

And losing oneself in one’s own thoughts – moments of bliss-filled pause.

The last song, a writer writes, his last attempt to be good,

His finest attempt to be creative, rhyming on, perhaps…as best as he could.


The last song of the night,

A writer’s attempt to set things right,

In fiction perhaps, write a reality new,

And sing it thereafter, in synchronous words few,

Set a new rhythm, to groove on,

Singing ahead till dawn,

That’s how this song went by,

A twisted tune, to the beats of which… time will fly,

In faded time, memories too will fade,

To a tattered past, a goodbye the writer will bade,

His is an attempt to set things right…

As the writer writes.. the last song of the night.

Of moments only few…

Past midnight, a writer starts to write again,
Another night of random musings.. written in vain..
For as soon as he writes them, he will destroy them too,
His words would have a life – of moments only few !

One would write random stuff, perhaps written before,
Or some words new, from thoughts he would explore..
With his writings, he will try to trigger new thoughts, a different cue…
But this trigger will have a life – of moments only few !

A twist in tale, the writer will add,
Happy beginnings, endings sad…
Every moment, new turns, to mark semi-plots new,
Overall however.. this tale will have a life – of only moments few !

He tried to write..
But couldn’t that night,
For his thoughts now betrayed him as well,
And thus a writer struggled all night… to find a tale to tell.

He thought of snippets… and his thoughts were flawed,
On a barren plain, for words, his mind now ploughed,
But despite deep thinking, no plot ringed a bell,
And thus a writer struggled all night… to find a tale to tell…

He is a fool – he realized, his chosen profession was wrong,
For here he was struggling, to write a tale, complete a song,
With words he played once, but now there was a twist in the game,
He was being played by words, lost all his fame,
This was a last attempt to set things right
A random tale to be written, on the last night,
With a writer’s block, he was going through hell,
Thus, a writer struggled all night.. to find a tale to tell….

Time moves on…

Time moves on…so must we…
From old attachments.. someday.. we must be free.
Days will pass.. so will weeks, months and years…
One will remember moments of laughters and tears.
Have more of the former.. latter is of no use…
Why be in despair.. when life keeps one amused.
So rejoice.. and walk with hopeful mirth towards days ahead.. of glee…
Time moves on… And so must we !

Of new paths and old ways…

“Shall I walk ahead…or shall I stop?”
A wanderer wonders…
“What next? Where to go….?”
The map one had, proved wrong long ago,
Ways marked by others are not necessarily right..
The turn others had taken, may not be in sight.
So now one was lost..on a journey he planned well…
Thought he will go to life’s heaven…Got stuck in life’s hell
And now the question comes back to him
He followed other’s trails but now his journey depends on his whim.
What to do next…where to go ?
Walk ahead on roads going nowhere ?
Walk where others have not dared to tread ?
For this is how new maps will be made..
New paths will be discovered…while old ones fade…

Random Writings

Some writings he wrote, were randomly written,

Tales with no beginnings and tales that refused to end,

Some characters he created, to be soon forgotten,

Broken snippets of their lives, that he tried to mend…


A writer went back, to his writings old,

Seeking new beginnings, new ideas, for new tales to be told,

He had a writer’s block, or so he felt,

Nostalgia was high, in his past he dwelt…

He needed a new start, both for his writings and his life,

Yet, he searched for the same in his past, such was his strife….


His search never ends, just like his tales,

Every once in a while he tries, every once in a while he fails,

The fool doesn’t realize that his search itself is futile,

He lives in the past, he must return to the present from his exile,

For it’s the present that was always there and the present that will always be,

His source of tales, his life, his thoughts, his words that are waiting to be set free….


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