Incomplete

So hard to say a goodbye,
feels like leaving life.
A last look from outside,
leaves severe pain inside.

Lots of things to say,
but stands far away.
Appearing dejected,
and lips firmly pressed.

Words those were sworn,
stay futile and unknown .
Shattering ones dreams
life becomes incomplete.

Worlds is at the end,
sorrow awaits ahead.
Eyes moist and red,
feelings are flooded.

In time and love’s fray,
countless affairs decay.
Lovers part their ways,
memories rest in grave.

A Day in Life of Iraq

Today the countries are in the position to rage a war against each other. People here have never seen normal life since decades. Silence prevails in their houses, burkah clad women still lit the fire in the kitchen to feed the family. Citizens here live under constant apprehension, being a silent observer of the clashes between the militants and the US Marines.

Every dawn is followed with the explosions and firing of bullets. Every hour cars are exploded and war drama is being captured by the journo and correspondents in their reports and the lenses of the camera. After the dusk what's left are the dead silent open lands, bullet shells, ruins of detonated cars oozing out smoke from the burnt tires and the human corpse encircled by clique of near ones grieving over. An average individual has no assurance about the survival for the next 12 hours.

When kids are supposed to hold a pencil, guns and grenades are given and they are trained to fight. Under the banner of Jihad the future generation is slaughtered. The playgrounds have turned out into battle fields. The ground where children once played are changed in war fronts. They have no past to cherish, present is just to survive and future has many pains stored for them to gulp. Schools that taught varies subjects, now have altered into training camps. Every child who is over 10 years of age is sent to the camps to be a survivor. Geometry sets are replaced into knife and swords, explosion executions plans are hung instead of Geography maps. The subject of science explains more about the formulae of making explosive and ammunitions. For them history depicts the down in the dumps, so the results are about killing and surviving.

The left over infrastructure is even destroyed. The lanes once which were crowded market place and colonies where once people lived are deserted. The things that can be found here are; torn tattered cloth piece, broken photo frame of a smiling family and defaced toys. The walls of buildings and houses are ragingly tattooed with bullet marks, damaged window panes, fallen doors are the silent observers. Gloomy corridors and an old man collecting the arte facts/bone facts of the dead family members is the scenario here. The holy walls once displayed the beautiful carvings are left in cracks, the shrines of Sufis and Saints silently exist along with the busted walls. These areas have become combat arenas for the army and militants

The roads in the city are forsaken, the hospitals are been continuously aided by medications from UN and other countries. It has been estimated that medicines are more in demand than food grains. Life has perfectly blended in the primary colors of Blue Yellow and Red, deep blue sky, yellow flames of blasts and explosions and bloodstained clothes and bed sheets.

Every time when the wind blows, it brings with it an odor of explosive, burnt houses, grief, and pain. The province had a miserable past, future is mystery and present is melancholy. Still it fights to survive and retain its presence on the map of world known as Iraq.

How Red Is My Valley.

Cradled between the Himalayas is the heaven that encouraged distant travelers to visit. The camera’s memory card may fall short to capture the beauty. The exquisiteness of Chinaar is spectacular. The sweet water streams flowing and rushing down through the slopes of Himalaya enlivens you mind and soul. The valley brimming with varied colored flowers is a breath taking scene. A county is gifted with blossoming spring, sprawling summer, rustling autumn and crisp winter. Watching the herd of sheep over the meadow and the scenic locale might inspire a painter as well.

In spring the valley is blossomed with multihued flowers. A season when joyous birds chirp around, orchids heavy with fruits makes a voyager to think that is he in chimera or veracity. When the summer fruits brim over the cane baskets, the sweetness of apples, and the gentleness of peach, strawberries and cherries lure one to an extent of falling in love with.

The misty mornings lounge over bouncy valley. The radiant meadows drape the hillsides like a cloak. The blonde sunlight portrays the daybreak in crimson tide pouring out the splendor of autumn. The rustle of the fallen leaves adjoins to the music of the place and the sweet fragrance of flowers lingers on. White expanse of snow mushroomed far and wide camouflage the radiance of this seventh heaven. The soft snowflakes embellish the coniferous trees. The misty hazy breath and the chilly breeze gently tingles your senses. The tender sunlight deflect from the ice clad peaks and spreading the warmth. It is portrait of a true bliss on the earth.

Along with the beauty, beast is outfitted for ambush. From the past twenty years, the echoes of the blast sill prevail. The valley has lost much of its persistent charm. The fragrance of flowers is either missing or is killed in the smoke of the fire. Fear is the main factor that resides in everyone’s heart. The bloodshed that takes place is really heart aching. The songs of the birds can no more be heard. The only voice that falls on the ears is that of bullet firings, bomb explosions, and painful cries.
Hell has been unleashed in a once beautiful heaven. The pure water, once brought to the valley from the Himalayas, now is red with blood. The market that once saw the beautiful flower girls selling pretty flowers now dwells in silence. The little shepherds, singing songs of joy with their sheep on the meadows have disappeared. An evil force has psyched the youth in to violence. Those hands that once made extraordinarily beautiful shawls, carpets and crafts, now hold guns and grenades. The highways that used to be greeted by eager travelers now just see passing army trucks. This was a favorite haunt of all tourists at the spring time but now is just a land of terror. No one feels safe, because no one is safe. The treat of life has made the place lucid though it still remains. The lilies bloom but no one cares and the paradise burns, painting the valley red.

Cafe Mocha

Café Mocha


Mumbai is always on a fast track. What holds you back and turn around is the nightlife. The pub culture has been flourishing in a flash. There are so many of them. As the nights befall, there is dawn in the pubs. Sparkling ambience, top numbers rock the floor, as the time passes the place paces up. So on the night goes till dawn. In contrast to it there are lounge bars, which are not spread in a flash, but at a steady rate.

The well established culture is Coffee Culture. Sipping luke warm coffee, while being seated in a cozy corner of the cafés around the corner of the busy city. Is what every body loves to do? There is couple of café joints opened in Mumbai. There are café joints like Café Coffee Day, Café Barista serving a wide range of menu, but Café Mocha is far above the ground.

A typical place to unwind; Café Mocha (Church gate) holds a place in pride from a long time. It has its own class and charm. It is a fusion Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Culture. The music indeed make you loosen up, it varies from Indian Ocean to Buddha Bar. Here it’s a fusion of classical & western music as well as cuisines. The Majlis style of seating gives an Arabic appeal and the brown stone wall gives Mediterranean feel. The faint interior with bulb peeping out of cane shades makes a better lounge mood. This place is for the people who would like to have a laid back eve. It’s an ideal place to be for a person who would like to make the time stop for a while.

Café Mocha is very appealing as in the management is very efficient to ensure the best of the service to the guests. In a simple language, everybody loves to be here. The crowd is from students to corporate players. The weekends are livelier than the any other day. The drained souls come here to dip themselves in the variety of coffee or to be in tranquil with Sheeha.

Driving On a Highway

Driving on a highway
On a valentine’s day
Watching cloud and sun’s play
Flashes back those sweet days

Unaware of future
All appeared clean and clear.
Till heart was broken by dear
And what's left were tears

Driving on a highway
On a valentine’s day
Watching cloud and sun’s play
Flashes back those sweet days

Promises were sworn
To live for each other
Words were proudly given
For being there forever

Driving on a highway
On a valentine’s day
Watching cloud and sun’s play
Flashes back those sweet days

Sudden storm stroke in
Vows went thin
Shattered were all dreams
Sulking inside silent scream

Driving on a highway
On a valentine’s day
Watching cloud and sun’s play
Flashes back those sweet days

Days passed liked years
Seasons flew in strain
Dried before blooming, the flowers
Everything was down the drain

Driving on a highway
On a valentine’s day
Watching cloud and sun’s play
Flashes back those sweet days


Life was lonely again
Mixings tears in rain
Hiding ones pain
Leaving grief stains

Driving on a highway
On a valentine’s day
Watching cloud and sun’s play
Flashes back those sweet days

Back was on highway
Winding the roads of life
Passing the world away
Will go on till last ride

Money Gets Honey

It’s the money
That buys you a honey
Makes one rich from pauper
That’s when live rocks and not suffer

Gonna go for money
Least all care for honey
Dollars is, for what one strive
As wealth is love and life.

It’s the money
That buys a honey
Makes one rich from pauper
That’s when live rocks and not suffer

You see your chick with other guy
That’s when u think, money can buy.
You become sad and are devastated
Only money, can get u another date.

It’s the money
That buys a honey
Makes one rich from pauper
That’s when live rocks and not suffer

Killing the human inside you
Gets in the pride an attitude
Smoldering the love
You catch another dove.

It’s the money
That buys a honey
Makes one rich from pauper
That’s when life rocks and not suffers

Essential is money and wealth,
Doesn’t matters, either earn or stealth
Life becomes plush
Down under ethics are flushed.

It’s the money
That buys a honey
Makes one rich from pauper
That’s when life rocks and not suffers

Letter for Sister

The words are falling short
Thoughts have taken a stop
Eyes have moisten up
Memories have popped up

The vision have gone blurred
Eyes are filled with tears
Missing you dear sister
Wishing you were here

Wiping the saline water
Clearing the emotional clutter
Receiving your letter
Makes feel better

Though you are miles away
Mail is penned with warmth and care
Its learnt, need not to say
Everyday I thank to have a sis who is kind and rare