Faith,
Is that small piece of paper
Which people scramble, tear
And throw away
From their car window,
Like useless scrap.
Yet it sustain
The slaps of wind,
Escaping the tires of troubles.
Determined
To get to
The other side of the road.
You are at least alive.
The paper,
It has no life,
But FAITH.
Like that little chime of the coin
Falling off the pocket
Opportunities roam around,
In white and bright,
Always there to be picked,
Rolling down the floor,
The chime is a sign,
That little clue offered to you,
Take it or it will be gone,
Rolling on, in some corner
Of the sofa or the bed,
You’re COIN.
Ravaana Among Us
Not all bad men have dirty smell,
Suspicious looks, Rowdy beard.
Some are as innocent as it could be
Quite, not loud, Simple and Normal
You can not differentiate them
from the common,
Because, they are, but a part of us.
Filled with volcano of anger,
like that hulk, tearing clothes,
Starving to come out,
Impatient , Breathing vicariously
Almost everyone of us carry one among
From the routine we live into,
making adjustments, and keeping smile
Just the anger, who can not sustain.
Yes, society is filled with so many Ravaanas
