I am a lie


I am a lie

told by trembling lips,

or an assured pair of eyes

I soothe the one in need and

implode the others who believe-

believe in truth of your lies

I am a lie

a word of hope to condole

that everything will be alright

when things go tough and tight,

hope is what if not a beautiful lie?

I am a lie

a skill taught to survive

the malicious truth

when people scared to accept

they ramble in vaporizing rivers of repent

and rationalize

I am a lie

I am addictive and it is not a lie

I am loved and nourished

with me living is a lullaby

a true friend to hold

try me once, and

I will never leave your side

©Written Frames, 2018



in teaching of life and its essentials

lessons of the heart were missed you say

O precious how it pains

failing at futile attempts to swot

what and whys of hearts as they beat


arcane claws of agony and woe

delphic to the hearts unknown,

oblivious to inarticulacy of voice and blood-

oft that swells and surges,

such denouement of love comes slow


eyes closed, let cascades flow-

drip and dribble on a clenched fist,

tugs at the chest as water grows

death-or-glory of a drowning earthbound,

there lays the hieroglyphic book on love closed


lessons of heart are learnt not,

but write in volumes yet unbind,

unwinding the epistles of longings

as autumn leaves crack with sunshine

encasing the passion of summer preserved


unwavering, unabashed and untaught

our story of love

we dare to write

on our own

no one can teach us how to love


©Written Frames, 2018

Make me believe


a multitude of leaves yellowed and dried

with a finger on lip

a few bit their tongue tip

doomed to be crushed, silently they lie

or am I deaf? No, none of them cried;

seasonally promised of rebirth-

they believed


so are we? we are parched and dried,

plucked from our hives, tired of our fights

flown off to faraway lands- barren and bare

no roots to provide refuge and no touch of care

will we ever bloom again?

do we deserve another shower of rain?


make me believe we do

I will bloom, I long for you.


To believe is not about what you think is right. To believe is to hang on to something you wish to exist.

To believe is to hope.


© Written Frames, 2018




a venn diagram of vanity and virtue
the circles intersect in a community
ones character lies there
a portray of predefined traits

we accept what we already are
we admit what we already know
we grow in harvested lands
where wither the butterfly wings in husk now

when favorable,
and favorite is the herd of sweetened fruits
nobody bets on a barren land
if first flowers are yet to take roots

©Written Frames, 2018

What shall I write to you?


What shall I write to you, is there something you do not know?

What you breathe out is what I breathe in, is this how love grows?


What shall I read to you, is it my vocals that you desire?

Tuned to my heart rhythms, how you decipher my mute eyes on fire ….


Siege me, I am taken in your spell of us or have I been darn mistaken?

Your sweet touch lures me, I am a drooping sunflower so sun-forsaken ….


What shall I give to you, is it the tarnished me you long for?

I yield myself to you and will do, a word to you I give, if not more …..


©Written Frames, 2018

Not that I often write about you, but when I do it is always a poem.

Tug O War


contemplating mind

like clink of a spoon spinning in ceramic saucer

echoes of outer quietude

inside it stirs tumult


contemplating mind

like falling raindrops and soaring vapors

freeze in flavors of air, so love-torn

in tug of war between heaven and earth


contemplating mind

like avalanche of landslides

unclasping roots of patrimonial grants

surfacing new dimension of self-birth


contemplating mind

like wind blows on one fleeting summer night

chasing dried and yellow leaves

towards their rest in seeds of spring




©Written Frames, 2018