Sunday, 18 December 2011


Sometimes in life,
We come across somebody,
Unknown, unseen,
Someone so special, close to the heart,
It seems you do have some link,
It sooths your soul, your mind,
Fills peace, in this chaotic life,
Charm, over this dead face,
Smiling fake everywhere, all the time,
Wordsworth met the solitary reaper,
And I…The countryside lass….

That day, so hungry I was,
So went to a stall,
To feed on some sweet n sour,
Was sitting, beside the stall,
When came, to the same stall,
A poor girl,
I gazed at her,
Rubbed my eyes bewildered,
For I had never seen before,
A girl in that stall,
A tigress she was,
Prancing fearlessly in her kingdom,
So poor with bucks,
So scanty with built,
With a small kid,
Perhaps her brother, on her lap,
A torn blanket, on her shoulders,
For that was all she had,
To wrap her,
Against the icy wind outside,
And the blood freezing weather…       

She was beautiful,
Her eyes, so sharp,
Adorned with raven eye lashes,
And face, crafted so adroitly,
By the hands of the almighty himself,
Were forcing me to gaze,
At that strange belle,
And her every action, every move,
With utter magnetism,
A pleasure beyond this world,
Yes, she indeed was beautiful…

For a tea, she asked,
And then waited,
With her impassive face.
I was confused,
Totally lost in her,
Guessing about her life,
Her world, in my mind,
Whether that pale face,
Was arrogance, or innocence,
Ah’ It was a maze,
An illusion before me,
So hard to crack, still,
Making me crave even more for it…

She never looked at me,
Neither to any other lad,
Didn’t give a smile,
Didn’t talk to anyone,
Just waited in silence,
It seemed there was something,
Something so painful, in her heart,
Something so strange with her,
Tough to be deemed, to be fixed.
I kept gazing,
Till she got her tea,
Which she gave to that kid,
And then left…

But my heart couldn’t stop,
I followed her,
To her place,
Oh’ It left me dumbstruck,
With a numb heart,
For at her home,
A small hut,
Was an old lady,
Her mother in law she was,
Blind, poor, ached,
Of her only son’s demise,
Her only crutch,
For these dimming days of her life,
Her only hope, her boy,
Yes, a son, is the apple,
Of every mother’s eye,
And that girl,
Yes, that countryside lass,
Was his wife, a widow,
That was all she was,
With a son,
Which earlier I assumed her brother,
And a mountain of responsibilities,
From money, to her son,
To the old mother,
This, was her pain,
Her grief, the reason, of her silence,
In that heart, so pure inside,
And that pale face,
Was neither arrogance,
Nor innocence,
For that face, was a consequence,
A consequence, of the cruel happenings,
Consequence, of the butcher land around,
O’ I can’t forget that day…

Filled with silence,
Brimming with sympathy,
And respect for that girl,
Praying for her good,
I went on for my home,
The princess of that ruined castle,
Was indeed, The tigress of her kingdom…

                                                         -  Kshitiz Upadhyay 

Monday, 12 December 2011


Far, Far from those accustomed streets,

Life, has led me,

To this alien land,Away, from my blood,
Away, from my heart, my love,
For it is just the name,
Which roams here, in Banaras,
The soul sits silently,
Smiling at its fate,
With a girl, in that same familiar terrain,
Whom it loves the most,
For whom, its pigmy heart beats…

But it is the duty,
The hordes of responsibilities I bear,
And the desire, the deep passion,
To win this world,
Which holds me here,
Brims me with strength,
And makes me live, and go on and on…

It’s so wonderful here,
So different from the usual life,
We live in a small cage,
Our home, for a month,
Yes, it is a sweet home,
With a black and white TV,
A faint light, Two cots,
And millions of buzzing mosquitoes,
Yes, it’s an interesting job,
To share my room with them at noon,
And shoo them away,

With poison fumes, at night…

Heading towards our workplace,
We move among pigs, streets dogs,
Stray cats, goats, it’s like,
A small village,
Far from today’s limelight,
With some typical villagers in it,
Followed by a Jetrofa forest,
And the dirtiest marsh,
Yes, we cross a rough terrain,
But still it’s bliss,
Seeing people laugh,
Children running naked, playing together,
Ladies gossiping, and men smoking cigar,
O’ I love them all…

My workplace, a machine jungle,
With ear bursting noises all around,
Is heaven, for us,
For it’s a magic box,
Every day, we explore new machines,
New methods, new principles,
It’s like a dream come true,
Living with these mega structures,
So delicately made,
So skilfully crafted,
Beautiful…more than even heaven’s angels…

O’ It’s a marvellous experience,
We live, we learn,
We laugh all day,
Talk about everything,
From studies, to more gossips,
We room across the streets,
Without worrying where to go,
We stare at chicks,
We play with street kids,
We sit in stalls,
With a cup of tea,
With a puff of smoke,
Yes, we’re free, and enjoying from heart,
The true gold flakes of our lives…

                                                  -  Kshitiz Upadhyay

Wednesday, 30 November 2011


Right from the heart of this naïve,

For a girl so soft, yet so brave,

Comes out a brook, of hearty well wishes,

For she’s the birthday girl, a princess of princesses.


Like fragrances from the gardens of cherry,

Her smile can make everyone merry,

A butterfly, spreading positivity around,

She’s god’s own descendent, on this mortal ground.

Bold outside, yet an infant at heart,

An innocent soul, a paragon of god’s art,

Cares for everyone, so selfless she is,

Talking with her, seeing her laugh, is always bliss.

I wish, in life, you’ll reach the peaks,

And that kiddish smile, will never go off your cheeks,

Just work hard my sis, and see where you’ll go,

You can do wonders, your mettle I know.

I wish you all roses, on your way,

Like a star so high, you’ll shine and sway,

A sweet little bird, with charm and grace,

In an air of freedom, will grow to be an ace...

                                                 -  Kshitiz Upadhyay

Friday, 4 November 2011


Her Eyes, A majestic artwork of Picasso

So deep, like a bottomless sea,

O' I've fallen and couldn't swim,

drowning...A hallowed shrine for me...

Her Smile, A divine illusion,

Can turn the dead, pink again

O' I am spellbound, my world is changed,

She giggles a bit, and I go insane...

Her Body, An angelic figure

Indeed, a paragon of flawlessness,

I can bet her beauty, beyond all praise

An inception, inducing madness...

Her Soul, An innocent lamb,

So pure, purer than the purest pedigree

Decency and grace, beyond limits,

these simple virtues, mesmerise me...

Just sqeeze my heart, get a shoreless sea

Of love, for the Godess of Serenity

I wish, she'll be mine forever,

A Vital effigy of Sanctity...

                                          -  Kshitiz Upadhyay

Wednesday, 19 October 2011


Loneliness, a feeling of sheer pain...yet sometimes, a soothing relief...      

I was at a park,
So quite, no spark,
Dark was the heaven,
like a huge devilish raven...

Looked up high,
with a soothing sigh,
Saw many glowing things studded,
All, deserved to be headed...

But one, so big, so bright, so cute,
as itself, being the god's fruit,
So glittering and round,
held me spellbound...

So still, so innocent,
I bet I can fall in love, and wont repent,
I gazed at it, in fascination,
Was it reality, or just my imagination?

My joy, beyond any limit,
Poor Alexander won the world, but I had got it,
Though, was time to cheer,
I was happy, but in tears...

I jumped up high,
towards the sky,
to catch my love,
that bright, innocent dove...

I couldn't even touch,
But didn't worry much,
Without much care or cry,
was ready for another try...

Lungs exaggerated, air in a heap,
I took a high leap,
But still, was out of arms,
My face, began to loose charm...

Eyes now seemed to blur,
But was trying, over and over,
No matter fatigue, no matter pain,
was trying, again and again...

Hopes diminishing, lips dry,
Loosing heart, after each try,
I looked up with a frown,
The 'Mine' in me, was melting down...

Why does this heart gets wet,
for someone, it cant get,
What was my fault?...just love?
With that, 'Not so mine' bright, innocent dove...

Love is so rude, and god, so mean,
I love it truly, my heart is clean,
That dark night, with silence only,
was now stained, by this crying lonely...

                                                                - Kshitiz Upadhyay

Friday, 14 October 2011


The bond of love, between a brother and a sister, is probably one of the sweetest one in this world. They fight, they play with each other, they share moments of sweet kiddish quarrels, still are ready to do anything for each other...this is called true bro sis relation...and when one feels its importance...its becomes easy...and far more lovely...

Thursday, 13 October 2011


No matter how much innocent we pretend to matter how much decent we look...but deep inside from the core of our hearts...we all dream to live  a life like this...the ultimate dudes...

Wednesday, 12 October 2011


Man indeed, has learned to stay tensed...but by the power of positiveness in our hearts,
we can triumph all agonies...and this is freedom!...when miseries turn to melodies...

Monday, 10 October 2011


This is the other part of love...the pain it can give.
Love never accepts defeat. It takes away the soul
from the body...and leaves nothing...but loneliness...

As customary, me, out on the streets,
crawling to my place, holding a smile,
Left behind, a ruined castle,
feeling so fresh, so agile...

Walking across the streets, my eyes go round,
Look!, Ropewalker moving with grace,
Wow!, Candyseller, selling sweetest candies,
This is Arab, my land, my place...

That boy, showing tricks,
and kids, fighting around,
Mothers maddened, lashing into fury,
My laugh, without any bound...

Here's my place, a pigmy stall,
Screaming...Two pots a coin,
Soil, my god and hands, my tools,
My workplace, my hallowed ruin...

And a fine day, me,
searching for a coin on the ground,
"Two pots please...", Ahh!
That melodious voice, held me spellbound...

Looked up with a frown,
An outsider, I guess,
So good at our tongue,
Grace and decency, enough to impress...

That night, Extinct in her notions,
Thought about her demeanor, her way,
May she'll come again, Next day,
I just woke up and sway'd...

On my way, I found her,
But this time in pain,
Rushed to help her, Didn't know,
if her aura, was the chain...

In an unknown forest,
Butterfly had lost her hive,
And this newly smitten bug, ready to lead,
Enchantment was still alive...

She told me about her country,
told me, about her job,
And me, stunned, lost in her,
could see, her only, in that infinite mob...

Routine incessant meetings,
Little quarrels, giggles, cries,
An unseen bond, sprouting up,
An unnamed relation, about to rise...

Time wheel rolled on,
My soul, coalesced with her,
And I decided that night,
"Tomorrow, I'll propose her"...

Stirred up, to the peak,
Was mugging up, my part,
Ecstatic weather, took my heart,
And then came, her cart...

That Elysian girl, descended,
But this time, with a swain,
told me, he was her fiance,
Yusuf, was his name...

Silence...It felt as if,
Touched by the icy hands of death,
Entire skeleton, lost sensation,
A mortal being, with no breath...

That was her last day, at our place,
My heart, saturated with pain,
My dreams, demolished brutally,
The castle was a ruin again...

The market remained as busy,
But now no pigmy stall, just sand,
Someone heard people gossiping, A lad
found dead, with a foreign coin, in his hand...

                                                                        -  Kshitiz Upadhyay

Sunday, 9 October 2011


Actual Photograph of Rajkumar,11
(Hostel No.4,M.A.N.I.T Bhopal, India, 18/09/201

As accustomed by me,

Again I have come to this place today,

Place, where he works,

Brown wavy hair, grimy attires,

unpleasant hoarse voice, and

that ever smiling round plump face...

His wraps, loose like a cloak,

Perhaps, some teenager would have given him,

and hair, those sapless fibres,

as if not touched,

by a single drop of oil, from his birth.

All he do'es,

is washing dirty cutleries,

perhaps, more than a ton daily,

of those swarm of guys,

serving orders, and

arranging things, in that stall he works in,

in that stall, where we graze daily.


No fairy tales to listen,

no one who cares,

no good food to eat,

no good clothes to wear.

All he has, and feels joy in,

is seeing our cellphones,

coloured magic boxes for him,

and singing songs,

or I should say roaring,

in the corridors.


No slides to slide upon,

no ropes to jump,

no toys to play with,

no sweets to taste.

For rubber tubes, his slides,

spit bubbles, his fantasies,

stone pebbles, his toys,

and dry chappaties, his sweets,

give him all the pleasures,

and a steep boom,

to his captivating smile...


Still he is happy, not aware,

Of the murky depths of his future,

Of the life of the kids outside,

of his age.

Situations and fortunes,

often dwarf-en the dreams...


Perhaps whatever, going on,

is all ethical, good for him.

Better, is dying unaware of the disease,

than, by knowing it can't be cured...


As I, everybody thinks,

about his life, his future,

for a while,

with a sip of tea,

with a puff of smoke,

when his chubby face,

comes before our eyes,

but no one...seriously no one,

dares to do something for him.


All butcher hearts, paying no attention,

to that old familiar voice,

from deep inside the heart,

that something is to be mended,

something, is going wrong,

somebody, is suffering,

something, could be far better...


Tomorrow again, I'll go to that stall,

and think for a while,

with a sip of my tea,

with a puff of smoke,

"As everybody call him,

is he...really, a Rajkumar?"...

                                               -  Kshitiz Upadhyay