I wandered distant lands
In my distant dreams
Alongside sky-high ridges
And crystal clear streams.

I rambled dark forests
Fields bearing golden wheat
And thorny lands where prickles
Set themselves in my feet.

I wandered woods and deserts
Felt blizzards and licked frost
I wandered all the world before
I realized I was lost.



People always ask me
If I feel alone
With no one around me
For a reason they’ve never known.

Is it really solitude
When with the wind I sing?
When the leafy shelters welcome me
In the early flight of spring?

The hills debate me every day
The rivers share their tales
The grass tickles my bare feet
As I chatter with the gales.

I speak with every passing bird
I laugh with every stone
So now tell me, will I ever
Live my life alone?


At dawn, I sat up in my bed
And questions filled my empty head.

Why in the morning did I feel cold?
It did not, I thought, in days old.
The days gone by were warm as heat
But why now was there a chill in my seat?

Why was the window wet with dew?
The sight I saw was very new.
The thick glass pane with water lined
Teased my inquisitive mind.

When the events I revised
Quite suddenly, I realised
The water drops which had me tensed
Were result of fog, condensed.

And the chill I felt everywhere
Was nothing but the Winter air.

Whose Feather?

What kind of feather are you?
So bright, so green?
Which flying creature
Has dropped you in its flight?
You lay untouched,
Undisturbed on the ground
Tell me, what kind of feather
Are you, if you might?

Are you a falcon feather?
Falcons are good flyers.
One may have dropped you!
Or maybe you just aren’t one of those types.
See, falcon feathers are
Not green, but black and white.
They are pretty, but they aren’t you.
They have, in fact, stripes!

Maybe you’re a feather
Of a noisy Fwooper!
Brightly coloured feathers
Like you, they have got.
But I haven’t seen a Fwooper
(And I haven’t seen but one)
With such bright green feathers
So… maybe not.

Maybe a feather you are
From the Wibbly-Wobbly-Woo!
They live in the midst of
Cabbages that rot.
But the thing about feathers
Of the Wibbly-Wobbly-Woo
Is that they smell of stinky socks
Which you certainly do not)!

Or the Stingy Boblibonka
Maybe you are from.
Oh, but that is not possible!
Their feathers are blue!
And Stingy Boblibonka feathers
Can never fall off them
For those birds are so stingy
They keep their feathers on with glue!

And of the possibilities
There is one that
You are amongst the feathers
Of the rare Feather-Cow!
But only one of the
Rare Feather-Cows
Is in existence
In the world right now.

Maybe you’re a feather
From a Z-Z-Zee
Or perhaps you’re just a leaf
Shed by this tree.

The Seasons

Just look at my face!
As calm as the ocean.
But beneath that mask
Rages a storm of emotions.

See, the way our mind is put
Is more creative than dreams
Whether it feels like it or not
It is more complex than it seems.

For a moment the sun is shining
In a most cheery way
And the next, it is snowing
Welcoming Santa’s sleigh.

And then begins a downpour
Drenching all of memory
It advances into a heavy rain
That can further lead to treachery.

And the thing about these seasons
Is that they don’t pass one by one
There isn’t a fixed time
For when one starts and one is done.

The thing is, you paint your own picture.
Your story is written by YOU.
It is YOU who decides if
There is to be fog or dew.

It is YOU who decides if
It must hail or it must rain
So it is all up to you
Whether you lose or you gain.

In no particular order
Are the mental seasons lain
So now the sun can shine, and stop,
And shine all over again.

The Willow

I once met a friend
In my garden
Just at the time of her birth
I was told later on
That she was
Thrown into the Earth.

She just lay there
Stunned and still
Not knowing whether
She had the will

She was far away
From thinking why
When droplets emerged
From the sky.

They fell hard on her
Like bullets they felt
As the poor thing was buried
Into the ground

With the least sense
Of waking up
Drifting into sleep
Without a sound.

For then the next day
She looked around
She’d found a new,
Splendid home

It was well away
From the nasty straw basket
And also wan’t shaped
Like a dome.

It was damp and warm
It felt divine
All around were
Friendly creatures

It was better than every
Luxurious home
Or one with all
The leisures.

Until, one day
She felt like stretching out
She wanted to germinate
She wanted to sprout.

All she did was
Go to sleep
On the moss down
In the deep.

The next morning
Was on of a kind
Where herself
Would she find?

Under the sun
So beautifully standing
Was her
Her own business minding.

But not what it is to you
Was to her, mind
For she had found a lot
More of her kind.

She giggled at the warmth
She felt at her face
Her feet still tucked
Into the ground.

At that time, to her
They were nowhere
Close to being
Rightly found.

Over more time
That can’t be described
She grew lovely hair
Naturally bright green
That added to her flair.

She was majestic
High up in the air
Her face was
Dark as bark.

After a while
She realized
There was something
Perched on an ark

The ark was her arm!
It sure was!
And do you know why?
That was because…

A willow was growing
In the woods
Of the unknown
At utmost splendor.
And, that marvelous tree
Happened to be her!

She’d smile warmly
At heavy storms
And at all the
Strong winds blown
All those days, just perfect
Without a single moan…

A heavy throb at her body felt
Enough for an unheard cry
It shattered all the lovely moments
Of time come and time gone by.
It was enough
It was the end
Her feet were pulled out
Never to remend.
She shut her eyes
Ever so silently
But her heart…
It was broken violently.

edited from the original