The quiet restrictions of the playfulness

The unchained joy of the rough surface

Missing like hell the charm of those days

In a life driven by sophisticated excess

A desperate urge in an age of prowess

To meet the child in you and his grace

Living the life in that careful embrace

Oh that paradise and this futile access

Time cannot go back but have your recess

Rediscover the child in you, that lovely mess

Of kin, of friends, of the thoughtless ways

Oh the carefree days, that childhood caress

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –


Morning ride, evening break
Fun to go, a run to partake
Oh that round shaped happiness
So many of them but why this mess
The beautiful blue, green, yellow, red
He could not decide which one to take
But the pull was so immaculate
He pleaded again to make his case
Why couldn’t he take each of the shade?
Jumping like a novice dancer fully awake
Mixing in all his wisdom of his age
Punching in the morning shake
Munching with the evening trek
He pleaded again to make his case
Oh so my, blue, green, yellow and red
Blue are my eyes, green is my sun-hat
Yellow of my shirt is so joyfully great
The red of my jacket is so passionate
The beautiful blue, green, yellow, red
So near and dear to me, they all fascinate
Leaving what, what can be my catch?
I am at a loss on choosing from this batch
So I wish to propose if I could have the red
With blue, green and yellow to head
On my morning ride, on my evening break
Out of this logjam, the key to my happiness
Sir, see, it is so simple to iron out this mess

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –


..or are losing fast..

The quest to lead (or be led) a life of the proportion you thought of and treading the chart blindly has inherent risk of ruining everything that was human in you.

You never knew when the blind race started sucking you squeezing out of you the ‘human you’.

On the surface, nothing seemed to change. You lived normally. Days passed. Every day was like the other day. You worked to set scales further higher. You worked even more.

Nothing wrong. All so good. Materially. Practically. All so worldly.

But not aesthetically. But not holistically. But not the human way.

You didn’t realise when you became too self-centred, too calculated with your life, stopped considering anything else than your self-interest.

You didn’t realise when you started counting every moment for a possible trade-off with this or that material prospect.

You didn’t realise when you started taking every other development as the precursor to the next step of the worldly scale to be achieved.

You didn’t realise when you started treating every relation by the value of its return-prospect in your life at the cost of the ‘old-fashioned’ but the irreplaceable word, ‘commitment’.

You didn’t realise when you started seeking everything only for you; when you started seeing every other thing, event or person just as mere means for fulfilling ‘that you’.

You never realised, midst all this, when you sacrificed so conveniently your innocence.

You never realised, all this while, when you so selfishly lost that childlike person in you that was to be your last redemption asset.

You never realised when you compromised your conscience to act ever more selfishly, following the narrow-minded path of the extreme self-interest.

The innocence that could have given you a better understanding of the relevant and the purer side of the life; could have taught you the significance of the small; could have told you the relevance of the mundane; could have let you think in the moments of the thoughtlessness; could have made you feel the presence of the nowhere; could have made the human in you survive and prosper, was so easily killed by you in order to gain more material wealth at the cost of the inseparable emotional quotient.

In the rush to realise the extreme materialism, you decidedly forgotten the indispensable trait (innocence), a value that let a human soul flourish to its fullest – a life lived fully having seen, enjoyed and appreciated all its colours in totality of the ‘self’; in vitality of the moments small and big; in mobility of the empty days and unoccupied moments; in joviality of the achievements and inspirations thereon; in scalability of the setbacks and negative energy afterwards, seeing the life the human way in its every happening; treating the external sphere of your life (and events and people there) as human as you expected for your own self.

Do you give even a passing thought to what you have lost and what you have become?

Do you realise what you are losing and what you are going to be?

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –


Sometimes beginning the day with a whisper, sometimes with a cry 
Sometimes gaping in the void, at times beginning it with an innocent invite

The sudden trance that it takes me into away from the colossal clutches of the trite 
Dragging away, disconnected, liberating to the elementary momentary amnesia 
Cruising to the myopic state of bionic reflections jaded by the hyperemia 
The ephemeral circumvention of the moment drawn away from the empirical hysteria 
To the cerebral existence of the self-efficacious creation, to that fleeting vision 

There comes a time, 
When debates become primordial, when the need of solutions become unreal 

O! Childhood, 
Why don’t you stay forever transcending me to the realms of that fading Ideal

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – 


Living on the edges,

When the drums beat the sounds in the empty moments

Residing in the void,

Running like a nimble sprinter’s empty mind movements

Living the joy of running,

Visiting the life in moments but seldom in compliments

Thriving on the craze,

Of being the lazy fellow riding high on absurd sentiments


Sometimes, it soothes when there is nothing to follow

Sometimes, it relieves when things look not so in reach

Sometimes, it makes internal peace to remain subdued

Sometimes, the sweat smells so sweet along your path


Sometimes, it makes sense to talk nonsense,

Letting you do the funny tango

Sometimes, reading the crap enlightens more,

Than the mystery wrap on the go


We all need to live like this, absentmindedly, on days like this

We need to talk to the alter ego of the ‘cosmetic us’, freely, on days like this


When we feel low,

When we feel hollow,

When we feel betrayed, and

When we feel lost,

On a day like this


When we live the life, once lived, but now seldom thought,

In a way like this

When we make sense of the ‘ignored us’ and a ‘forgotten life’ to go,

In a way like this


Have you been able to find the child in you,

On a day like this?


©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –