Unintended Utopian






She was a nice girl,

The innocent kind of attractive,

In whose jet black eyes –

One can delve and forget,

Of the moments that whizzed past,

Pretty fast!


The kind,

Who speaks more with looks,

 Than words,

But trust me,

She is quite good,

At whatever she does!


Lost –somewhere deep,

In fairy tales, love stories,

And happy endings;

Someone who didn’t really hate wild make outs,

But, was more,

Into romantic dates and picture perfect weddings.



She wasn’t strikingly hot;

Rather, she fit in more into,

The elegantly beautiful kind of genre;

In whom, you just might,

Rediscover yourself.


And then,

Into the scene,

Enter me.


Well, me –

I was different.

I preferred adventures,

Over fairy tales;

Chose random make outs,

Over romantic dates!

More into guts and butts,

Than I was into faith and trust!


I could never even differentiate,

Between love and lust.


In a world, where –

Everyone wanted a perfect match;

We were, but –

A flawless contrast!



Love was what it was,

Or so we thought,

So, we decided to go on,

Against all odds;

Ignorant –of the stakes,

That we risked losing,

If we ever tend to fall!



It was quite smooth,

Almost magical.

I fell for her eyes,

And that tantalizing smile,

Also the shy smirk,

That you try so hard to curb,

Always failing –miserably so.


I totally loved the conversations,

As she expressed in soft whispers,

And sharp shrills;

Or the way,

She bit her lips,

Pulling up a perplexed poked face,

Trying to fool her jack,

For aces!


Everything was as impeccable,

As a fairytale,

And then…


And then,

Hit the desperate desire,

Creepin’ in,

As in a slow poison,

That seeps into the bloodstream,

Numbing all the senses out!


Her touch,

Began to take me places,

Charging me up,

With sensations,

That I hadn’t felt,

In ages!


My past,

Came crashing on me;

Dragging me back-

To the desires,

That I had buried so deep.


Over time,

My interests changed.

Her curves took priority’

Over her words;

It got harder for her,

 To keep pace with my rush!


To keep myself going,

I lied;

We fought,

She tried –

To set stuff, right.

Yet, it only kept,

Breaking down;

Over and over again!

Driftin’ off a lil’ more,

Every time we did;

Until we were,

Two known strangers,

Trying hard to keep afloat!


And then,

 I let it go!


It did hurt, yes!

But, atleast –

We made it out,



I did have a chance,

As fate made me,

And this Unintended Utopian –meet;

       Yet, I lost the love,

That I intended to keep!

  •                                                                                 – Ishaan Phukan

Social Media Emotions


Faithlessly fallin’-

Tumbling downwards,

Sans control,

Into a void of lost hope and tragedy.



Fadin’ in,

And out,

Over and over again;

Into the flickering light,

Of uncertain change.


Looks quite dark,

Doesn’t it?

Atleast that is what I try,

To portray!

For negativity,

Is what they crave,

And their likes,

Is what I need!

This symbiotic affection,

Has surely got me gripped!


These social media emotions,

They are in my head,

Rooted deep,

Into my system!

Slowly –pushing,

Everything out,

Growing on me,

On my thoughts,

And shrinking –my world,

Into a suffocating dungeon!


Filling me in,

With so much of myself,

That it is almost,

Gratifyingly addictive!



I do know,

Of the depressing low that would follow this high,

Pulling me deeper into this puddle,

Of self-obsession;


I can seldom resist,

The desire,

 That tempts me alluringly;

Being to me,

What the calling of the bottle is –

To every alcoholic!


Being irresistibly hooked,

Yet socially accepted,

I can’t even scream for help

Cause nobody ever listens;

So it is only for your sake,

That I voice my call,

Trying desperately to save you,

As I fall!

-Ishaan Phukan



‘O’ Blamer


“It was never my fault,

It was yours;

But then –I know,

You’ll never accept it, of course!”


Ain’t this what you said?

Putting all the blame on me –

At the thirteenth hour,

After all the mess was made.


‘O’ blamer, ‘O’ blamer,

So easily did you put all the blame on me;

Of your own faults and mistakes;

Never once did you try to see.

Now, maybe I’ll be punished for a sin I never committed,

In the eyes of all unknown shall my image turn bad;

But I, who were a friend to you for years,

Shall lose all trust on you I ever had!



‘Yes, am a warrior,

At the dawn of the new age –was I born;

And fighting till the last ounce of my might,

Ahead, onto destiny shall I storm!


I wield my emotions as my armor,

And the weapon of silent ignorance –firmly in my arms do I hold;

Barging ahead onto the line of fire,

               I let yet another legacy unfold.    


In my foresight, lies a battlefield,

Smear’d with a tragedy so tragic an’ cold;

Of men, women and children,

Whose dignity –in dollar a dime were sold!


They ain’t hitting me with bullets,

Oh no! Nor grenades neither swords;

Only mere gossips, rumors an’ small talks,

But trust me, it does hurt a lot!


Sometimes, I do think of hitting back,

Of returning a blow by a blow;

But I do know –an eye for an eye ends up makin’ everyone blind,

So, ne’er will I let myself stoop to standards so low!


Hence, holding my head high with wounded dignity,

And my proud soul, ripped by sarcastic knives,

Wearing each scar as a badge of honor,

Shall I walk this walk of life!

Wild Flower


I am a wildflower,

All around places –in every nook n corner do I grow;

Everyone can see me blooming,

But only the ones who care –notice my magnificent glow.


Growing beside a thousand other’s,

A few true friends must I make;

For my heart’s an exquisite mantelpiece of fragile emotions,

Which , at the slightest of faults might break!


If you don’t like –trample me under your heel,

I shall be hurt but without grudges be gone;

Gone to someplace far away –where people care for me,

And in their gardens, like a precious crown shall I adorn.


For am a wildflower – too minute to be noticed, too non-descript to be cared for;

But then, you either like me or you hate me –that is all that matters the most.


Elder’s words


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Gaping through the darkness,

Guided by the dim lit moonlight hue;

Enchained and isolated in solemn solidarity,

On the crossroads,

Of traditions, old and new.


I knew where to begin,

 But I know not,    

Where is the end!

But for the elder’s content;

To like the aims they chose,

I tried hard to pretend.

I worked hard,

Day and night;

Through the hours,

Past the overtime.


For every penny I earned,

With an ounce of happiness I paid;

So by the time I had success,

I rather lamented on following,

What the elders said.


 But now, it’s too late!

For the elders have gone,

And their words have faded;

Leaving me stuck with wads of notes,


For the happiness which I traded.


                                  –Ishaan Phukan


Through the prism

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People around me,

At places high and low;

With whom to shake hand,

To whom shall I take a bow?


Plastic smiles,

Toned to perfection;

All emotions veiled,

Behind masks of austere discretion.


But now,

As I stare through the prism,

It all seems crystal clear;

As the synthetic thoughts settle down,

I see the hidden fear.

The once vibrant spirits,

Virile and vim;

In trail of wealth,

Turned vile men with faces grim.


Even at the sight of the best exquisites,

Behests are they dull and flag;

Cause ne’er do they seek the beauty,

But only the price tag.


Yet, staring through the prism,

As the glaring lights separates out;

I see a scared man hiding,

Behind the façade of flamboyant pride,

And ‘em frowns stout.

                                                         -Ishaan Phukan

Love with a stone

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The letters I sent,

Yet lie unanswered to;

Rottin’, outside your door,

Lay the flowers I sent you.


I thought of you as a friend,

And told you my secrets;

But you gossiped ‘em all about,

Leaving me scarred with regrets.


I remember when I first let you know,

The feelings of my heart;

You stood there with your friends, giggling,

As my confidence was ripped apart!


I, now realize,

That am in love with a stone;

And the horror of it,

Chills me to the bone.


But me,

Am a stubborn ass,

Ne’er will I lose my hopes,

To win my beautiful bride.



Cause, maybe,

Sometime, someday, someway;

The tides shall turn,

And my stone-hearted maiden will understand my love.


                                 -Ishaan Phukan

Too Late

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As the afternoon slipped in,

And it was time, to take a doze;

Into my grandmother’s bed,

Beside her, I crept close.


Tales laden with affection,

She narrated, as I drifted off to sleep;

Lores of concrete enmity and friendship,

And stories that made me weep.


Folklores dating centuries back,

Or of new era contemporaries may it be;

Through the day, storybooks she read,

To tell, yet another tale to me.


But with the tides of time,

Apart, our paths drifted;

The once strong relationship,

Into varied priorities it shifted.


Through the highs and lows of life,

I turned a vim spirited teen;

While she, with her profound serenity,

Stayed as she had been.



No longer, was I interested in her stories,

Rather to gossip with friends, I preferred;

And with the slippin’ hour,

To mere ‘hi’ and ‘hello’ was our conversation curbed.


‘I’ll talk to her tomorrow’, I promised every today,

But as hollow as the pipe did always the promise stay;

Until one fine day, it was too late,

As onto Mother Nature’s arms, her soul drifted away.


For the fault I made,

 I could blame god, destiny or just fate;

But my conscience shall for eternity regret,

Cause, it was just too late.


                                           –Ishaan Phukan

The times

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Infinite memories swirling around in my head,

They zoom by,

Showing little snatches,

Of times forgotten!

Golden sunlit rays of warmth,

And laughter,

Moonshine nights of tenderness,

And romance,

Black cloudy skies,

Of struggles and fear,

Lonely nights of heartbreaks,

And tears,

They’re all there,

In my mind,

Dancing their regal dances,

Smiling their poker smiles,

Holding grave secrets,

Deep inside.

Reminding me of my past,

Of some times significant,

Some which ought to be forgotten.

Of people with their colors,

And enigma,

Of the ones,

Who lived in the black and white shades,

Of the past,

Or the ones,

Who only hoped,

Of a better dawn tomorrow.

Stuck in my memory,

Like the stills of multicolored photographs,

Each color a link,

To another memory!

These times came,

And sped by,


And returned,

To add another moment to my life.


Memories of my old friends,

Shall fade away,

To make a place for the new;

And someday,

Maybe one, two or five decades away,

When from being programmed work robots,

I turn to a crippled old being,

Ignored by the next generation,

Left to die inside the four walls,

Of an old age home,

Lying alone,

In a skeleton of a bed,

Powerless to move,

As I let my imagination,

Prowl though my memories;

Only then shall I remember these times,

The times that died off with my childhood!

Hangouts with friends,

And late night spoofs,

Kisses of girlfriends,

And the stolen evening booze,

Flirts and friendships,

Short lil’ road trips,

The joys of the things I did,

And the regrets of the ones I didn’t do,

Shall all be a mess,

In my head!

My properties and wealth,

All stolen by my children,

All my hard work lost!

These bags of medicine,

Rags of clothing,

Is all I got!


These times are the things, my friend,

On which shall I refurbish,

My smile,

That I lost!


        -Ishaan Phukan