Poems and Songs of Lalit Mohan Shukla: A Journey Through Soulful Verses and Timeless Lyrics

*Poems and Songs of Lalit Mohan Shukla: A Journey Through Soulful Verses and Timeless Lyrics*

1. *Preface*

   * The Inspiration Behind the Collection

   * Poetry as a Voice of the Soul

2. *Introduction*

   * Lalit Mohan Shukla: Poet, Thinker, Visionary

   * The Power of Poems and Songs in Human Life

3. *Section I: Poems of Life and Living*

   * Reflections on Existence

   * Dreams, Desires, and Destiny

   * Lessons from Everyday Life

4. *Section II: Love, Relationships, and Emotions*

   * Poems of Love and Longing

   * Bonds Beyond Blood

   * Heartbreak, Healing, and Hope

5. *Section III: Spirituality and Inner Awakening*

   * Poems on Faith and Divine Connection

   * The Journey Within

   * Silence, Meditation, and Meaning

6. *Section IV: Nature, Beauty, and Creation*

   * Songs of Earth, Sky, and Seasons

   * Harmony Between Humanity and Nature

   * Celebrating Life’s Simple Wonders

7. *Section V: Motivation, Courage, and Success*

   * Poems of Strength and Perseverance

   * Rising Above Failure

   * The Spirit of Achievement

8. *Section VI: Social Awareness and Human Values*

   * Poems on Humanity and Compassion

   * Justice, Equality, and Peace

   * The Poet as a Voice of Society

9. *Section VII: Songs of Celebration and Inspiration*

   * Lyrics for Joy, Festivals, and Togetherness

   * Songs of Hope and Renewal

   * Musical Expressions of Life

10. *Section VIII: Selected Signature Poems and Songs*

    * Reader-Favorite Works

    * Award-Winning and Widely Appreciated Pieces

11. *Section IX: Writing Style, Themes, and Creative Philosophy*

    * Poetic Techniques and Literary Devices

    * Emotional Resonance and Universal Appeal

    * The Creative Mind of Lalit Mohan Shukla

12. *Section X: Behind the Verses*

    * Stories Behind Selected Poems

    * Personal Experiences and Inspirations

13. *Section XI: Poetry for Students, Educators, and Readers*

    * Using Poems for Learning and Reflection

    * Classroom and Creative Writing Applications

14. *Conclusion*

    * The Everlasting Power of Poetry and Song

    * A Message to Readers

15. *Appendices*

    * Glossary of Poetic Terms

    * Index of Poems and Songs

16. *About the Author*

    * Literary Journey of Lalit Mohan Shukla

    * Awards, Works, and Achievements 

17 Latest From Lalit Mohan Shukla 

17 Latest from Lalit Mohan Shukla 

Title: The Better Part of Me

The morning light is jealous of the way you wake
It tries to shine but hits the floor and starts to shake
Because you carry colors that the sun can’t find
A quiet kind of grace that leaves the world behind.
I watch the way you move, a rhythm all your own
The softest place to land that I have ever known.
And it’s more than just the way your eyes hold the sky
Or the way your smile can make a whole room sigh
It’s the kindness in your hands when I’m feeling low
It’s the patience in your heart when I’m moving slow.
You’re a masterpiece of soul and a work of art
My beautiful girl, with a diamond heart.
You listen to the words I haven't spoken yet
You’re the only promise that the world has kept.
It’s the way you treat a stranger, the way you hold a gaze
You’ve got a gentle spirit in a frantic maze.
Yeah, your beauty is a mirror, it’s plain to see
But your spirit is the light that’s guiding me.
I could talk about your hair or the curve of your face
But those are just the lines in a story of grace.
The real magic is the way you make me feel
Like the best version of myself is finally real.
Because it’s more than just the way your eyes hold the sky
Or the way your smile can make a whole room sigh
It’s the kindness in your hands when I’m feeling low
It’s the patience in your heart when I’m moving slow.
You’re a masterpiece of soul and a work of art
My beautiful girl, with a diamond heart.
Yeah, it’s you...
It’s always been you.
Beautiful in every way.
Stay just like that today.

   (LALIT MOHAN SHUKLA ) 

On Mathematics 

In the silence of a morning, in the pattern of the rain,
There’s a logic flowing softly, like a pulse inside a vein.
It isn’t built of heavy walls or secrets locked away,
It’s the simplest of languages that we speak every day.
From the petals on a flower to the rhythm of your heart,
It’s the map of every journey, it’s the blueprint of every art.
Oh, don't you turn away now, don't you let the shadows grow,
It’s the easiest of stories once you let the rhythm flow.
The language of the cosmos, where the stars and atoms dance,
Math is not a mystery, and it isn't left to chance.
Open up the curtains, let the light come shining through,
The universe is speaking, and it’s calling out to you.
It’s the backbone of the lightning, it’s the whisper of the gale,
Without its steady guiding hand, the ship of science fails.
To measure is to understand the cradle and the sky,
The "how" behind the gravity, the "where" and "when" and "why."
It strips away the clutter until the truth is shining bare,
The most elegant of melodies is written in the air.
But like a song you’re learning, or a path you’ve never trod,
You practice in the small things, in the even and the odd.
Start with just a single step, a circle or a line,
Let the logic build its tower, piece by piece and sign by sign.
It’s the habit of the curious, the patience of the brave,
To find the hidden symmetry within the breaking wave.
Oh, don't you turn away now, don't you let the shadows grow,
It’s the easiest of stories once you let the rhythm flow.
The language of the cosmos, where the stars and atoms dance,
Math is not a mystery, and it isn't left to chance.
Open up the curtains, let the light come shining through,
The universe is speaking, and it’s calling out to you.
So lay aside your worry, and lay aside your fear,
The answers aren't in hiding, they are ringing loud and clear.
It’s the music of the mind, a gift for everyone to see,
In the grace of mathematics, you will find the master key.
Why Math is Your Best Friend 

Just Say...

The sun doesn’t ask for the sky to be blue

It just shines through the gray and the gold

And the river don’t rush for a point of view

It just follows the path as it unfolds

We spend our days chasing a ghost in the wind

Building castles out of "if" and "when"

But the secret is written where the whispers begin:

The peace is already within.

Oh, let your heart be a wide-open door

Finding the "enough" in the "more"

It’s the breath in your lungs, the salt in the sea

The grace of just letting it be

To be pleased is to plant a seed in the now

And watch how the heavy clouds bow

Not chasing the light, but becoming the glow

In the high and the quiet and the low.

The cup isn’t half-empty or filled to the brim

It’s a vessel that’s holding the sky

If you stop for a second and listen to him—

The bird with no reason to fly

He isn’t singing for silver or fame

Or mourning the feathers he lost

He’s praising the morning and calling your name

Without ever counting the cost.

It’s not in the winning, it’s not in the prize

It’s the look in a stranger’s kind eyes

It’s forgiving the shadow for following you

And loving the old like it’s new

Release the grip of the "should have been"

And let the "what is" come on in.

Oh, let your heart be a wide-open door

Finding the "enough" in the "more"

It’s the breath in your lungs, the salt in the sea

The grace of just letting it be

To be pleased is to plant a seed in the now

And watch how the heavy clouds bow

Not chasing the light, but becoming the glow

In the high and the quiet and the low.

Just stay...

In the hum of the day

Let the worries all fade into gray

Be pleased with the breath

Be pleased with the light

And sleep in the arms of the night. 

On New Year Morning 

The clock strikes twelve, the echoes ring,

A brand new song for us to sing.

Across the seas and distant lands,

We reach to join our brothers' hands.

From golden dawn to setting sun,

A fresh new chapter has begun.

To every friend, both far and near,

We wish a bright and peaceful year.

May kindness be the language spoke,

And every chain of hate be broke.

Where shadows fell and spirits bled,

May flowers of hope arise instead.

Let cannons rust and voices rise,

Beneath the vast and shared blue skies.

May borders fade as hearts align,

And love through every window shine.

The scars of war, let time now heal,

As peace becomes the world we feel.

So here’s to light, and here’s to grace,

For every soul and every race.

A happy year, a world reborn,

On this, our global New Year’s morn.

-Lalit Mohan Shukla 

On Dawn of New year... 

The clock is ticking steady, counting down the final beat

The frost is on the window, and the snow is in the street

We’re folding up the calendar, the pages worn and thin

Opening the doorway to let the light come in

The shadows of the past year are fading in the glow

Of a billion different dreams that are starting now to grow.

So lift your glass and find your voice, the stars are aligned

Leave the heavy hearts and the worries all behind

The world is turning over, a story yet to be

A thousand new horizons for you and for me

Oh, can you feel the magic? The spirit’s bright and true

Happy New Year 2026 to you!

The midnight bells are ringing out across the city square

There’s a feeling of a promise hanging in the winter air

It’s a chance to start it over, a chance to get it right

To be the kind of kindness that can break through any night

No matter where you’re standing, or how far you’ve had to run

The race is starting over with the rising of the sun.

January’s morning is a canvas clean and white

Everything is possible in this brand-new light

Two-zero-two-six, it’s a rhythm, it’s a rhyme

Walking hand in hand through the corridors of time.

So lift your glass and find your voice, the stars are aligned

Leave the heavy hearts and the worries all behind

The world is turning over, a story yet to be

A thousand new horizons for you and for me

Oh, can you feel the magic? The spirit’s bright and true

Happy New Year 2026 to you!

Twenty-six is calling...

Yeah, the future’s calling...

Let the hope shine through.

Happy New Year...

Happy New Year to you 

A New Dawn Awaits

The clock strikes twelve, the old year fades,
Like sunset glow in distant glades.
A silent hush falls on the air,
With dreams and hopes beyond compare.
The stars above shine clear and bright,
To guide us through this frosty night.
Forget the shadows, let them go,
And watch the seeds of promise grow.
With every beat of heart so true,
The world begins its life anew.
So raise a glass, let joy be clear,
To toast a Happy New Year! 

The Unfinished Anthem

The world is not a finished stone,

A statue carved in silent sleep,

It is a field where seeds are sown,

And promises we’re meant to keep.

If you should turn your face away,

And leave the soil to wind and chance,

The weeds will bloom in disarray,

And shadows lead the morning dance.

For power is a heavy tide,

It flows where’er the banks are low;

It needs a hand, a heart, a guide,

To tell it where it ought to go.

To speak is not to merely shout,

But to weave your thread into the loom,

To cast a light on fear and doubt,

And clear a path in every room.

The ballot is a quiet spark,

A paper sail upon the sea,

A way to navigate the dark,

Toward the shore of "what could be."

For if the wise choose to be still,

The hollow bells will ring the loudest,

And those who lack the heart or will

Will stand among the cold and proudest.

So take your place within the line,

The ink, the pulse, the bended knee;

Your neighbor’s fate is bound to thine

In this, our grand democracy.

It is the art of being heard,

The courage to defend the soul,

Where every pulse and every word

Becomes the breath that makes us whole.

The Digital Descent 

The Digital Descent of Lalit Mohan Shukla

In a classroom once, quite grim and gray,

Lalit stood firm, keeping chaos at bay.

A Teacher of logic, of rules, and of prose,

With a red pen of doom and a speck on his nose.

He taught them that ‘A’ comes strictly before ‘B’,

While dreaming of fame and a life far more free.

But the soul of a Poet is a dangerous thing,

It makes a man sigh and it makes a man sing.

He ditched the curriculum, the grades, and the stress,

To wander in metaphors, a beautiful mess.

He spoke of the moon, of the rain, and the breeze,

While his bank account shivered and started to freeze.

"Poetry is fine," he remarked with a frown,

"But I need a beat if I’m taking the town!"

So he turned Songwriter, with rhythm and rhyme,

Chasing the charts and a radio chime.

He wrote of lost love and of hearts torn asunder,

(Though his rhyming of 'flower' and 'power' was a blunder).

Then came the "Web," with its sirens and screams,

The graveyard of poets and slayer of dreams.

He saw the Blogger, that modern-day sage,

Who shouts at the world from a digital cage.

"Why write a book that takes years to complete,

When I can just rant about things that I eat?"

Now Lalit is ‘Live,’ with a link in his bio,

From the plains of MP to the hills of Ohio.

The teacher is gone, and the songs have turned quiet,

He’s busy discussing a keto-based diet.

With SEO keywords and "Click here for more,"

He’s found the vocation he’s been looking for.

He used to grade essays; now he checks on his "reach,"

With a million new followers he’s eager to teach.

From rhymes in a notebook to "Top Ten Best Rugs,"

Lalit Mohan Shukla... has traded his hugs for "Ughs."

The Kindled End

The hearth is hungry, a golden, leaping beast ,

That eats the cedar logs to bring the shivering a feast.

The sparks are diamonds dancing in the cold ,

To keep the winter’s biting teeth from taking hold.

He basks within the glow, a temporary grace,

While shadows waltz and whisper ’round his face .

But "warmth" is such a fickle, fleeting word,

Like the quick, soft beating of a frightened bird .

Tomorrow’s frost will find him, sharp and grey,

For he was only "wormed" (warmed) for one short day .

Then comes the spark that offers more than light,

A sun-bright robe to shroud the coming night .

The match is struck; the flame begins its climb,

A fevered clock that stops the pulse of time .

The smoke is bitter incense for the soul ,

As heat consumes the part to claim the whole.

He glows with light no winter can defeat,

A paradox of agonizing heat .

No more the wood, the axe, the gathering strife;

He’s toasty for the remainder of his life.

The fire is merciful, cruel, and bright ,

Turning a flickering man into a pillar of light. 

The Three Mirrors of the Soul

The Gift

"Talent is God-given—Be humble."

It arrived like the rain, unearned and unasked,

A spark in your spirit, a face for the mask.

The hands of a painter, the voice of a bird,

The swiftest of feet or the sharpest of word.

You are but the vessel, the flute for the song,

So carry it lightly; it’s where you belong.

Do not claim the credit for seeds you didn’t sow,

Just water the garden and watch the fruit grow.

The Crown

"Fame is man-given—Be grateful."

The world is a theater, the crowd is a sea,

They offer their thunder to you and to me.

A pedestal built out of whispers and cheers,

Can vanish as quickly as dew disappears.

It’s a loan from the public, a fickle-made prize,

Reflected in thousands of wandering eyes.

So bow to the gallery, honor the grace,

Of those who have granted you such a high place.

The Trap

"Conceit is self-given—Be careful."

But pride is a poison you brew in your heart,

The moment you think you’re a master apart.

A mirror that distorts, a wall made of stone,

It leaves you a king on a desolate throne.

It whispers of greatness, it feeds on the lie,

That you are the mountain and not just the sky.

Be wary of shadows the ego will cast,

For the higher the tower, the louder the blast 

🎵 Anthem: "The World at Our Door" (India 2026)

From the shores of Mumbai to the Kolkata rain,

The pulse of the nation is rising again.

From the heights of Delhi to Chennai’s warm sand,

A roar starts to echo all over the land.

Twenty colors, twenty dreams, under the Indian sun,

The journey to the final has finally begun!

We open our hearts, we open our gates,

In the land of the legends, the victory waits.

A billion voices, one single refrain:

Let the legends be born, let the glory remain!

Welcome to the home where the heartbeat is gold,

Where stories of courage are yet to be told!

Play with your soul, let the spirit take flight,

We’re chasing the sun in the middle of the night!

High standards, high stakes, let the boundaries fly,

Under the wide, blue Indian sky!

(Chant: Jeet Ka Jazba! India 2026!)

To the Lions of Lanka and the Stars of the West,

To the giants of old and the new rising best.

Nepal to the islands, Italy to the Cape,

In the crucible of cricket, our destiny we shape.

Respect in the middle, a handshake at the end,

Every rival a brother, every stranger a friend.

It’s more than a trophy, it’s more than a name,

It’s the fire of the spirit, the love of the game.

No matter who wins, no matter who falls,

It’s the magic of cricket that answers the call!

Welcome to the home where the heartbeat is gold,

Where stories of courage are yet to be told!

Play with your soul, let the spirit take flight,

We’re chasing the sun in the middle of the night!

High standards, high stakes, let the boundaries fly,

Under the wide, blue Indian sky!

The lights are on...

The pitch is ready...

Twenty teams, one dream.

India welcomes the world! 

The Anchor in the Gale

The mind is a kite in a restless sky,

Tugged by the winds of 'how' and 'why.'

It darts through the clouds of regret and fear,

Never quite settling, never quite here.

But the string is held by the rise and fall,

The steady rhythm, the silent call.

When the gale begins to whistle and shout,

You pull the kite in—by breathing out.

The Inhale: a gathering, slow and deep,

Where the frantic thoughts begin to sleep.

The Pause: a stillness, a quiet grace,

Before the world resumes its pace.

The Exhale: a letting, a soft release,

Trading the friction for inward peace.

As the ribs expand and the shoulders drop,

The spinning gears of the "what ifs" stop.

For the lungs are the rhythm, the brain is the song,

And when the tempo is steady and strong,

The tempest fades to a gentle breeze,

And the mind, at last, is set at ease.

The Audacity to Bloom

In the quiet dark where secrets sleep,

Beneath the weight of winter’s keep,

A slender hope begins to rise,

To claim its portion of the skies.

It does not ask if it is fair,

To breathe the sharp and sudden air;

It does not wait for perfect days,

Before it offers up its praise.

The Seed’s Resolve

Through heavy clay and jagged stone,

The smallest root makes way alone.

It knows that life is more than grit—

It is the will to kindle it.

The Petal’s Grace

Then comes the soft, unfolding hour,

The quiet courage of the flower;

To stand unshielded, bright, and bold,

And turn the shadows into gold.

It gives its fragrance to the wind,

With nothing held and nothing thinned.

A masterpiece of temporary light,

That dared to break the grip of night.

The Gravity of You

The world is loud, a constant rush of tide,

But you are where the restless waves subside.

Not in the grand or cinematic part,

But in the steady drumming of your heart.

It’s found in how the morning light will lean,

To find the places where your touch has been,

In whispered words and glances, soft and deep,

And promises we didn't know we’d keep.

I do not need the stars to align or glow,

To tell me what my spirit came to know:

That love is not a lightning strike or spark,

But the hand that holds my own throughout the dark.

You are the home I never had to build,

The empty space I didn't know was filled.

A quiet truth, a grace I can’t explain—

The sunlight breaking through the silver rain. 

Critical Thinking 

In a world of noise and shifting sand,

Where "truths" are sold by sleight of hand,

The student stands at reason’s gate,

To choose a path and navigate.

It’s not in what you’ve memorized,

But seeing through the cleverly disguised.

The Art of the Question

Beyond the surface, deep and wide,

Where logic and the facts reside,

The critical mind begins to peer,

To see the "why" and keep it clear.

It strips the bias from the bone,

And claims a wisdom of its own.

The Advantages for the Scholar

 

 Keeping the "fake" and "false" at bay.

 When data screams and headlines shout,

  The thinker sifts the truth from doubt.

 

   Innovation doesn't grow

   From repeating all you think you know.

   By breaking down the old design,

   You build a future, line by line.

 

   Decision-making loses dread,

   When clarity lives in your head.

   To weigh the cost and judge the gain,

   Is how the student breaks the chain.

So do not take the world as given,

By every trend and impulse driven.

To think is not to just agree,

But to question—and to thus be free. 

The Colombo Chaos: A 2026 T20 Tale

The news is out, the boycott’s dead,

"We’ll play in Colombo!" the PCB said.

The government blinked, the ICC sighed,

And fans found their credit cards, glassy-eyed.

On the fifteenth day, when the sun goes down,

(Or the rain clouds gather to make us all frown),

The R. Premadasa will hum with the heat,

Of two nations praying for a bowling-feat.

Suryakumar adjusts his sleek blue cap,

While Babar wonders if it’s a batting trap.

The "Mauka Mauka" ads are dusty and old,

But the memes on Twitter remain pure gold.

The news channels scream in a 4K blur,

"Will Siraj deliver? Will the spin-doctors stir?"

While pundits explain with a serious face,

Why a single wide ball is a national disgrace.

The weather gods watch with a smirk in their eye,

A 60% chance of a leak from the sky.

If it rains for an hour, the logic is thin:

Both teams will claim that they would have had the win!

So grab your samosas and dim down the light,

For the "Gentleman’s Game" (well, mostly) tonight.

Whatever the score when the last ball is spun,

We know that the advertisers have already won. 

The Lion of Sahyadri

From the jagged peaks of the Western Ghats,

Where the saffron banner flies,

A spark ignited in the heart of the hills,

To reclaim the ancient skies.

Shivaji Raje, of Bhonsle blood,

Born where the eagles soar,

He didn't just dream of a kingdom won—

He settled the ancient score.

The Spirit of Swarajya

He breathed life into a weary land,

With a call of Swarajya so bold;

Not for the glory of a single crown,

But for a story yet to be told.

 * The Tiger’s Claw: At Pratapgad’s base,

   Where the giant Afzal fell,

   He proved that wit and a fearless heart

   Could break a tyrant's spell.

 * The Mountain Rat: They called him in jest,

   Till he vanished through fortress walls,

   Turning the night into a phantom blade

   Within the Mughal halls.

A King of the People

He built a navy to guard the coast,

Where the salt spray meets the sand;

He guarded the honor of every soul,

Across his sacred land.

No mosque was razed, no woman shamed,

Under his righteous gaze;

A king who ruled by the dharma’s light,

Through the battle's bloody haze.

The stones of Raigad still whisper his name,

The waves of the Konkan still roar;

The spirit of the Chhatrapati

Lives on forevermore.

He wasn't just a man of war,

Or a master of the sword;

He was the pulse of a nation's heart,

The people's sovereign lord. 

Vikramaditya

In the golden mist of Ujjain’s past, where the Shipra’s waters flow,

A legend rose in a time of strife, two thousand years ago.

Vikramaditya, the Sun of Valor, with a heart of steel and grace,

Who carved a kingdom out of chaos and unified the race.

When the Saka hordes from Western lands cast shadows long and grim,

The Emperor rose with a thunderous cry, and the tides turned back for him.

He cleansed the soil of foreign lords, a conqueror fierce and bold,

Beginning the Vikram Samvat era, in letters of fire and gold.

The Throne of Judgment

Beneath the Simhasana Battisi, thirty-two spirits told,

Of a King whose justice was absolute, more precious than his gold.

From the weaver to the merchant, from the scholar to the slave,

None feared the hand of the powerful, for the King was just and brave.

He gathered the sparks of human mind within his royal hall,

The Navaratnas, brilliant gems, who answered to his call:

 * Kalidasa, the weaver of verse, whose words like blossoms fell,

 * Varahamihira, who mapped the stars and broke the cosmic spell.

 * Dhanvantari, the healer's hand; Amarasimha, master of word,

   In that court of light, the finest thoughts of the ancient world were heard.

The Wisdom of the Night

Through the haunted woods where the Baital hung, he walked with steady stride,

A King who faced the ghosts of truth with nothing left to hide.

Twenty-four riddles of life and death, of ego and of soul,

He answered them all with a quiet mind, for wisdom was his goal.

A Legacy in Stone and Song

He was the patron of the arts, the builder of the shrine,

Who saw the spark of the infinite in the human and divine.

Though centuries have turned to dust and empires pass away,

The name of Vikrama echoes still in the India of today.

A shadow-king, a solar-lord, a mythic, grand design,

Where history meets the heartbeat of a culture's ancient line. 

The Echo of the Ancients

In the forest’s hush where the Rishis sat,

Beyond the reach of "this" and "that,"

They carved a path through the mental haze,

With words that burn through the modern maze.

"Tat Tvam Asi," the Upanishads cry—

Look past the skin, the earth, the sky.

You are that essence, the spark, the flame,

The universe hidden within a name.

No wall exists between soul and whole,

The ocean is found in the drop’s own soul.

Then comes the song on the battlefield’s edge,

Where Krishna delivers the ultimate pledge:

"Karmanye vadhikaraste," the counsel flows,

Plant the seed, but let go of how it grows.

Fight the good fight with a steady hand,

But leave the harvest to the shifting sand.

For duty is yours, but the fruit is not—

Find peace in the doing, whatever the lot.

From the Vedas, a prayer for the world to be one,

As wide as the air and as bright as the sun:

"Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam," the ancient decree,

The earth is a family, from mountain to sea.

No stranger, no "other," no border to find,

But a single heartbeat for all of mankind.

And when the shadows of ignorance loom,

The "Panchatantra" whispers through the gloom—

That wit is a weapon more sharp than a sword,

And kindness is treasure that kings can’t afford.

While the "Yoga Sutras" teach the mind to be still,

To conquer the storm with a quieted will. 

The Architecture of Effort

The clock strikes a rhythm, a steady, quiet beat,

The floorboards are cool beneath bare, steady feet.

It isn’t the thunder or the lightning’s sudden flare,

But the small, daily choices that hang in the air.

A mountain isn't scaled in a single, desperate bound,

But by placing one tired foot upon the rising ground.

Fitness isn't found in the mirror’s fleeting glass,

But in the discipline of hours as they slowly pass.

The Architecture of Effort

 * The Foundation: The alarm that rings while the world is still gray.

 * The Walls: The repetition of movement, day after day.

 * The Roof: The resilience built when you’d rather stay still.

 * The Light: The quiet triumph of the tempered will.

The Alchemy of the Ordinary

There is a secret magic in the "boring" and the "plain,"

In the sweat on the brow and the dull, steady strain.

For the body is a temple that the mind learns to build,

Through the promises kept and the duties fulfilled.

You are carving a statue from the marble of time,

Turning the rhythm of routine into something sublime.

So show up for the struggle, give the moment its due,

For in mastering the habit, you are mastering you. 

The Invitation: A Tapestry of Gold

Where the saffron sun meets the temple spire,

And the Ganges flows like a liquid fire,

A billion voices rise as one,

To greet the day, already begun.

From the Himalayan crown of eternal white,

To the Southern shores in the pale moonlight,

A world within a world awaits your feet,

Where the ancient past and the future meet.

Come, walk the streets where history breathes,

In the scent of jasmine and sandalwood leaves.

See the Taj in its marble grace,

A silent tear on the cheek of space.

Taste the spice on the bustling air,

The colors of Holi, the fervor of prayer,

The roar of the tiger in forests deep,

The secrets that silent palaces keep.

No stranger stays a stranger long,

Within this land of dance and song.

From the Thar’s gold dunes to the Kerala green,

There is a beauty yet unseen.

So cross the oceans, follow the light,

To the land that glitters, ever bright.

Atithi Devo Bhava—the guest is divine,

Come, let our stars and yours entwine 

My Publications 

The Quiet Morning (Devotion)

It isn’t always the thunderclap or the cinematic rain,

Sometimes it’s the quiet kettle, the absence of pain.

The way you know how they take their tea,

A steady, rhythmic pulse of "you and me."

It’s the grace of the mundane, the shared, tired smile,

The choice to stay for every long, exhausting mile.

Then there is the heat that defies all common sense,

A fever in the blood, electric and intense.

It’s the gravity that pulls two orbits into one,

A brightness that outshines the midday sun.

Logic is a ghost here, a leaf caught in the gale,

Where breath is short and every other light looks pale.

For love has a shadow that follows where it goes,

The price of the bloom is the winter and the snows.

To love is to risk the hollow, aching space,

The memory of a voice, the phantom of a face.

Yet even in the tearing, the truth remains quite clear:

The depth of the goodbye shows how much they were dear.

The Mirror (Self-Love)

But the hardest love of all is the one we often flee,

The act of looking inward and liking what we see.

Not a vanity of mirrors, or a prideful, hollow boast,

But being a gentle tenant to your own internal host.

To forgive your own stumbles, to be your own solid ground,

Is the only way the other kinds of love are ever found.