Latest 35 Books That I Read

Diagnoses

Neon sleepless nights ache like dry cough. 

Caught amidst wanting to pour all out
Or just give up and sleep.
Its always a question of little more,
Little more of soul-sucking harpies,
called social apps. 
Tides of anxieties rise and settle down
And winds of depression blows to and fro,
Anxious to create artificial you, perfect you
For the world to like and comment.
Bouts of depression take over, lil by lil
When everyday you fail
To tick those little boxes
You created in your head.
And in this cycle of endless nights
The sun never rises.
But who needs sun
When you have Neon sleepless nights.  

Sonnet VI: Scribo Ergo Sum

The essential of being is essential to be,
The absence thereof is a nuisance to bear.
Like fish in a stream knows not of its destiny,
And spends the eternity in idle affair.

To leave the print upon the parchment of time,
Is thus a noble venture to undertake.
For no one is born worthless and grime,
And everyone has a colossal in make.

But to waste time in overthinking is absurd,
To fear the worst, or to regret the loss.
To transcend thinking is thus more preferred,
To repeat the thoughts in verse is just cause.

         For Writing is the true release of the soul, O Novice.
         Bound thy words in the eternal memory of ages.

Sonnet IV: Honesty in Men is a Humourous Thing

Honesty in men is a humourous thing,
it divulges all, and leaves no mystery.
Honesty in poet is a dangerous thing,
it breaks the illusion of lexical sorcery.

Take for instance, the magician's trade.
Amazes the audience, aims to impress,
it demands precision, practice and grace.
Yet fails if not appear effortless.

And if perchance the beans are spilled,
Not worry but take pride in knowledge.
That your work, like a recluse hermit,
came back to aid the human lineage. 

Thus tis advise to conceal the art, O Novice
Let the trained eye trace it and gain eternal bliss. 

Sonnet III: Should simple things be done sans reflection

Should simple things be done sans reflection,
or poured on 'til they appear crumpled.
Should vexed matters be left in dejection,
or done hurriedly in a state o' rumpled.

Months pass sans matter, Matter passes too,
soon forgotten in the gyre of memory.
till an idle Tuesday night brings it anew,
The musings of mind vanquish the drudgery.

The eternal spring looses upon the mind,
It baths itself in ancient words and new.
Thus poetry is blessed upon man-kind,
The words spread like rays and debut.

For tis true ,no poetry springs from a moment,

but collects itself in a natural catchment.

A Pen resting upon paper

Face Recognition

Look at the mobile, and it will unlock.
Touch it, with finger, and same old.
Shout 'Hey Google' and it will work.

What next?
Will you kiss it too?
Like a lover, in a mall.
When both study each other
Down to each eye movements.

You tell each other your secrets,
And promise to keep it so,
And in the nights,
When you stare at each other
With blank eyes
Holding its face with both hands
Is it love? Or just Utility?

And what if one distant day,
You realize,
You don't want to be together anymore.
You replace it, with someone new.

And it just lies in a corner,
Or maybe switch owner.
And then you will meet again,
One day perhaps
By chance or mishaps
And you will recognize it.
But the question is, will it recognize you?

Sonnet V: O Scholar Glaucon

O Scholar Glaucon, hear my words,
As they appear before thine eyes,
Poetry's a manipulative maid,
And Poet a master of disguise.

But let her make thine defense heard,
Prove thine worth in society great,
But not by herself, this be absurd,
Let her choose thine own advocate.

Then only judge the place of Poet,
In the Great Kallipolis,
Amongst Philosophers and Doctors' trade,
And Soldiers of the finest breed.

       For not let be emotions stirred up in vain,
       And if stirred, let them achieve a higher plane.