The sheer joy of these days,
Of creating, of conversing with ideas,
In these labyrinthine alleys of times,
The good life had some best moments.

Travelling deep in thoughts,
Traversing worlds and beyond,
I met life many times all this while,
And sat with many lives all along.

Sometimes, it was dark,
Sometimes, it was illuminated bright,
But always it was a journey inside.

Yes, it was a pleasant sky this weekend,
With clear rains soaking the soul,
As I stood there, in its afterthoughts..

The Lonely Thorns..The Lonesome Curves


©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/


Creation can be felt in different ways
And happiness is a way to look at it
Driven by the events in the moments
When we feel content with the flow
And want to live the moment forever
Living in today
And feeling it in every tomorrow
Creation speaks through that innocent face
That opened its eyes this morning
Staring at faces and colours around him
As if looking around to know his new home
As if trying to read the spaces around
His cry says all, his smile says all
Even if a word is not spoken
And the feeling is mutual, shared by all
Creation always conveys it’s elements to us
And a child’s birth is its purest moment
It wraps us in its joy
To pull us back from the forgotten feelings
It calls us back
Into a world that is somehow ours as well
With a charming face, with a warming smile
It tells us to come together and celebrate
What we don’t appreciate anymore
A life lived in now, a life built on this now
A newborn creates a spell around us
It asks us to live in the moment
Forgetting the ‘ifs’ of tomorrow
With a smiling face, with inquisitive eyes
It reminds us again the purity of innocence
That the world so easily forgets in its created ‘realities’

(On birth of my sister’s child, a baby boy, on June 12)

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/


Absolute thoughts of the grey in extreme wilds

Complete with exonerated guilts of nowhere

It was all so discrete and yet all so everyday

It happened to be one big anthem of nothingness

Shut up and closed down, pleading and waiting

Reading, taking notes of absence, writing nothing

The groovy slice and the curvaceous hollow

What that was there, what that wasn’t to be there

The theatre of the theatrics, beyond the insanity

In harmony with absurdity, romancing the ghetto

All said and done and yet all remained undone

The slight whisker and its magnanimous bartender

Rendered dates to the history, days remained empty

That strange love of the wilderness and its craziness

It was all so grey and extreme yet enticingly wilder

The absolute thoughts of the grey in the extreme wilds

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/