top of page


I looked her in the eye And told her to slowly die.

Asked her stiffened branches To drop with a jilt, Onto the over-exposed leaves That dry and wilt.

She stands there stubborn, Not ready to go; I take an axe And it hits her with a blow.

She staggers, But stays upright, Proud of her withering bark, Where rough winds made her uptight.

She is not routine. When she braved the storms, Her branches danced, Her leaves smiled with warmth. Then a touch would have comforted her. Now there is nothing to be saved from falling apart.

I light a match And gently bring it to where she has dried. I put her to peace, So that the land can again be free and wide.

I ready saplings for fresh plantation. Along with manure Built from the remnants Of the previous residents’ endure.

Recent Posts

See All

At The Altar - Part II

Her eyes are still open Her head is hung low Blood trickles along her eyebrow While her eyes adjust to the blow. His arms rise again, Towards the speechless sky. Plunging ahead with the axe, He gives

At The Altar

At the altar of love, She offers herself. He drops an axe, Over her head. The drop came – Without a blink. Did he even Stop to think? A shock to the body A gap on the skin A gush of blood The slit bur


Pappu-9479917601 -Photo Ujjain - 08031.JPG

Hi, thanks for stopping by!

I am excited to share with you that my debut book, The Logical Romantic is now available on Amazon. To know more, you can follow the link below!

Let the posts
come to you.

Thanks for submitting!

  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Amazon
bottom of page