White Dove

Mindful wastage of time, it is:

this tiring passage of breaths-

now in , now out.

~

A deep gorge lies in wait,

for your dainty feet may bless it:

and lift this dreariness that blankets my soul.

~

Sweet pain it is, that sears my heart,

plunging into my soul, your smile

hangs tantalizingly in my memory.

~

Eyes, now dreary, droop : the mind

escapes to dash across the meadows, until

it somehow rests upon your gaze.

~

Like the swaying dandelions,

my heart plays with its beats:

now slow, now fast, now slow, now fast.

~

The sweet breeze that strikes

the closed eyelids of my soul:

does douse the fire within it.

~

Like a stray feather, plucked

off a dove by the wind, you make me fly

freely, until upon your brow I rest

~

and when you close your eyes,

this feather, which is me

rolls gently down your face: and falls

~

like petals on the altars of God,

I lie in peace, smiling silently

besides the soft toes of you, my angel.

~

I wait for you to wake,

for I can't bear not seeing you:and there

you smile coyly in your sleep like a content child.

~

When you wake with the sun, 

you give flight to the birds,

to which my heart is akin.

~

The chirping of the hurried birds,

is silenced as soon as your lips part

to produce unheard symphonies.

~

The days are dreary, they repeat

like mindless parroting of hollow words:

but your presence : forever new.

~

White dove:

go fly. I am not caging you

so I can soothe my soul looking at you.

Letting you go is the best I can do.

~ 

You

~

A touch of yours etches a

tattoo upon my soul:

splashed with myriad hues

of rhythmic notes

that comprise the words

that fall through your lips. 

~

A glance of yours, swells

tides upon the sea of my heart,

like the moon does:

and agape I stare, mesmerized

by your unearthly luminescence,

that echo upon my eyes with persistence.  

~

Is this love i am falling in ?

.
.
.
.
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My own T-shirt !! :D

So, I'd been meaning to paint my own T-shirt for a very long time now. Finally i found the time, patience and will to do it. Although I used Poster colour, which means that it is going to be lost once it is washed, i am not a bit sad ! I am elated !

Here's the front Part of it

Hind Part

Me having fun at CR Park

In case you are wondering what they mean :-
The front part simply says that Life may be an n times differentiating function, but I am e to the power x. (warning: I'm a maths buff). In lay mans term, life may try to screw me as hard as possible, but its not gonna affect me. (since, e to the power x is not affected by differentiation or integration :P :P)

The hind part is copied from a pic I saw on Facebook. It was supposed to be barbed wires turning into flying birds (screwed up barbed wire part). I added a few things like the message to break free and the two suns (red, rising. black setting) to symbolize the transformation.

This was also my first attempt at painting !!!

:D

Darkness

and they thought there were no shades of darkness :

mere absence, ain't it ?

Yet, were they blinded by the dark rainbow,

that had lit up their setting sky.

'How dark can darkness get ? ' they said.

But alas! Its not the darkness you see

but the one you feel

dancing upon the closed lids of your resting eye !

~

Running away !

The wind is never still. Never silent. If it was, it would not be wind any more. What is it running away from? Or equally well, what is it running towards? Restless, it seems like a child wanting to break its shackles and run, without knowing how to. The frustration further fuels its ferocity as it lashes out left and right, unto itself. And yet, within it, a strong want for peace lingers alone in a dark corner.

What of wind that 

wants not to blow ?

But rest lightly

still, upon thy brow.  

~

Jealousy

I look at the little boy 

running around naked in the rain

And I think why can't I ?

I look at the old wrinkled

face that cracks into a smile

And I think why can't I ?

I look at the mother brimming

with love for her child

And I think why can't I ?

And he tells me,

of the stifled laughter

and dammed tears:

Of quivering hands

that were never spread

and frozen lips, pursed and dead.

I look back and wail:

Trembling, ahead I glance

And forget Where I am !

Image Courtesy : http://www.taoareyou.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/jealousy-green-eyes.jpg

Cross roads

Image courtesy: 2.bp.blogspot.com

It is strange feeling of dullness. Some actions need to be taken, some threads need to be broken and some one needs to be hurt. But who am I to decide ?

How people come into your lives and get attached to you in ways you can never imagine. How you wish you could locate the exact nature of the entanglement and how on looking for it you get lost in a world long gone by.

Who are we to decide who stays with us and who does not ? Who are we to decide who gets to share our company and who does not ?

Yet, the decision lies with us, with me and with you. Because some things need to be done. Just like that. Because the entwined twigs that seem so meek and indifferent to you now, may grow up to strangle the last breaths out of you. Because a little pain is always better than a lot of pain.

What keeps us from such an action is love. Is it ? Or is it the fear of repercussions ? Fear of facing it ? And so we delay it for ever and after, until it rots within us and becomes a part of us like the moss covered brick wall in your old childhood house.

Because to hurt someone just so that you may not hurt them even more, may make no sense at once. Yet, we all come to a point where we wish things happened on their own and the words to be said were heard on their own and the tears to be shed rolled on their own and the heart to be shattered did so mutely.

Who are we to decide what is to be done ?

We are the ones who make our own destinies. 

Educational Mess -1

Education

(Image courtesy: http://images.techtipsgeek.com/post/restrict-access-website-logo.gif)


We are all acutely aware of the fact that our educational system is heavily flawed. Of course, no system can be perfect. That's why I said 'heavily', meaning that the downsides are very steep.

Recently when I met a friend who is a graduate in Economics, I came to know that although she wished to pursue Mathematics as her career, her options were very limited. This came as a huge surprise to me. The only paper (of repute) she is eligible for is JAM, whose scores are used by the IIT's and IISC. I am of course, discounting the entire bunch of private universities which are mere machines converting currencies to degrees.

This is what bugged me. If there is a person who has realized that his/her calling is in a subject different from what he/she has been pursuing before (Maths in this case), the educational system should be such that it encourages the person to take up that subject. Isn't that how it is supposed to be ? But it ain't so. Instead, the system discourages you.

It is not like someone is saying -"Okay, listen up, I do not want to do economics and I wish to do my masters in Maths. So Give me seat in the best institute."

Here are people willing to learn a new subject because they enjoy doing it and are ready to face an entrance paper which is given by thousands of others who 'belong' to that domain. Now, WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THAT? Such commitment is possible only for 2 reasons:-

->Either the person really likes that subject matter, in which case it is, i think a CRIME to bar him/her from sitting from the entrance.
->The stream of choice is potentially more paying, in which case the person is least concerned about what he/she is studying and more about what he/she would earn in the future.

The people in the first category is the only concern because instead of being supported by the system, they are being demoralized.

The argument that a person from field X cannot cope with the pressures of field Y is absolutely rubbish. If the institutes are so hard bound on getting the best candidates, why not set a paper accordingly and then let any and everyone sit for it. What are they scared of ? Do they think that their selection procedure is not good enough to weed out those whom they consider incapable of handling the particular field.

It's all rubbish I think. Educational systems should be encouraging, not otherwise.

It is sad to think that due to these illogical practices, many a dedicated students have been forced to face closed doors and resign to a life not half as enjoyable as the one for which they are ready to work their ass off. It is a very sorry state of affairs, methinks.

Solution ?
Every person should be eligible for every God damn paper. The responsibility of creating an unbiased and fair selection procedure should lie with the individual institute. 

That is the only way of having the right people at the right places.

Adios!

Good Riddance !

Remember, Remember , the fifth of November:

The gunpowder, the treason and plot.

I see no reason why gunpowder, treason

Should ever be forgot.

~

I say 'Remember Remember the 15th of September, yet another engineer gets a job' :P

Thank you Universe. Muaaah !

< : -- ))))

Will not make it

Winding the clock 4 years back

I am a confident fool who believes that solving a few questions of mathematics, physics and parroting a few structured algorithms in a computer language makes me a smart person. More misleadingly, a good person. I have no freaking idea of what it means to become an engineer. I never cared to find out either. I was in the race. Goddamn race to the end of the world. A horse with blinders or maybe an ass with blinders and a plump carrot hanging a foot away from its salivating mouth. All i am thinking of is how to get into some bloody engineering college which has proved itself to be good. No clue what good is. Asking people what branch I should take, though i had no freaking clue what I or they were saying. I simply nodded. Disillusioned fool. A sham. A blot in the name of all students of science. All my methods of deduction and inferences where light years away from the methods of science. Indeed, I never was a student of science. I was a blind follower of GOD-KNOWS-WHAT.

So i walk into my college to become an electrical engineer. No clue what that means. Never tried to find out either. Keep complaining how all these stuffs were not my cup of tea, yet preparing alongside to attempt to get into a better engineering college. Heights of hypocracy!

Seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to semesters, semesters to entire years and finally years to almost a degree.

Back to today

I am wondering how I can get the degree that is scheduled to be handed over to me in less than a year. I wonder if I want that degree ? Or more precisely, if I deserve it? I am of course, blissfully ignoring the more probable occurrence of me never getting the degree.

It's not like I have a mountain of back papers to clear. I just have 2. Indeed, one of them I got today. Hence the post. :) . However, I simply do not understand how I can get myself to clear 14-15 more papers in the coming exams. There is no motivation, no drive, nothing to fuel me. I guess this is what giving up feels like.

Maybe I could just run away from all of this. I am not completely dumb. I am by the standards of our educational system, which keeps percentages and marks in high esteem, a distinguished student. Can't I get a job without this degree ? I can make tea, I could probable sweep the roads or take a few tuition here and there (I would of course have to lie that I have completed my degree, but I guess that is acceptable)

I am not a highly ambitious person. Not someone who would go and start my own setup etc. I am a mild lame lamb. So I figure I could make my ends meet somehow. Yes, I may have to sleep on the roads or starve alone in cold nights. But then don't most people do so in our country ? What difference would one make. Maybe I could help someone by teaching him/her a few things that the educational system has put inside me. Maybe ? Who knows.

The educational system is not entirely to be blamed however. Just about 99% I would say. The rest 1% was purely my fault, that instead of trying to find my taste in something worthwhile, I found my tastes in the darkest of dungeons and plumaged  head first into it.

So what happens now? I want to fail all my papers henceforth. I want to be sent away from my university and banned forever. That's the only way i can save myself from this scourge. Or , I could quietly run away to some far away exotic land (a.k.a some street in some city). But then, that would hurt my parents a lot. And they would make the police search for me. So I should put on a disguise. A good beard, mustache, mole below the left eye, a new spectacle frame, a few torn clothes and a fake accent would do good to send the non-performing sleuths of our democracy sniffing thin air and leaving my file to rot in the cabinets with millions of others !

Is it so bad? Sometimes it is. Today it is. Right now it is. Had I not been so physically inactive right now, I would probably have killed myself already. Probably. I am not however so gallant or nonchalant about my non existence. At times maybe. Not this time though.

This time I just want to be ridiculed and laughed at and looked down upon, maybe slapped and kicked and spit upon and jeered at. Wherever I go.

A very funny scene ensues when you try to kick or slap yourself. Remember fight club ? That close.

You know if genie came to right now at this moment and gave me infinite wishes, I would probably tell him to shove the golden lamp us his a**.

My cherished distant future that I cling to, like the imaginary creeper that is coiling over your computer screen right now. 

I am travelling. Nowhere exotic. Simply travelling. Meeting strangers and talking to them. Sharing stories and cracking jokes. Nothing to carry, nothing to worry about.

I am in a classroom. And I am teaching. I am talking to young people who have new ideas and are eager to be given an opportunity to try them. People who are just in need of someone to tell them it is very good to be wrong. That 20/20 deserves less good than a 0/20.

I am telling them about the beauty of mathematics. How it transcends all boundaries. How it should be a religion. I am telling them how to waste there time pondering over stupid ideas. Because, as Tom Hanks says  as Forest Gump-'Stupid is as stupid gets.' I am learning from them to question new things, to look at things from a different perspective. I am learning from them to not be bound in traditions. I am learning from them how to live.

I am listening to music and feeling it resound through me like the breath through a flute. As Rabindranath Tagore put it - ' ..lifting me like the reed and playing through it your eternally beautiful song...'

But what are these but stupid imaginations of the mind to induce pleasure and a sense of satisfaction. Bloody games! Escaping from the reality of 9 to 5 jobs and a thick pay package, good car, a house and a spouse.

My point being that Either I die knowing the fact that I have to some degree achieved my dream or I die knowing the fact that If I do not I have no more chance of achieving even a fraction of my dream.

Die, we all must though.

As for dreams, the same old cliche goes - 'Live your dream' b.l.a.h. If not, make your life your dream b.l.a.h

Summing up with another quote that makes me momentarily buoyant before sinking and settling like the anchor of a 2 tonne ship- 'Listen to everybody, nod, smile, agree but in the end, do whatever the f**k you were anyways going to do'- Robert Downey Jr. (a.k.a Tony stark, the Iron man)

Adios !

Feather

A single feather detached itself from the fluffy belly of the bird flying high up in the clear sky. As it began descending, it wrapped itself and became stiff for the fear of what was to come next. It began drooping, as air  whizzed past it at blinding speeds and the heat generated by friction began burning it's skin.

Just then, sapped of all its energy, the feather gave up and embraced the inevitable fall. As it loosened its stiffened stand, a miraculous thing happened. As soon as it spread out its arms into the air, the rapidity of it's descend decreased rapidly. It started floating dreamily, as if dusting an imaginary hemispherical bowl in the air. The very air that was scorching its skin was now cushioning its fall, making it more delightful and pleasurable.

What a great thing to do? To let your arms wide and fall , fall with no care of where you are headed to. Fall, with the notion that you will never hit the ground. Fall, with no thought of falling but a smile on the face. Fall, and let everything else happen on its own.

The feather then saw, as it approached lower altitudes vast oceans, lush green fields and the rising and falling mountains as if teasing it to come and touch it. Much more it saw as it kept drifting from one place to the other. Lightly, with no baggage but itself, it moved all over the world, lapping up the agonies and ecstasies of everything around it. It would settle for some time at a place and then upon the slightest of whiff, rise up to go to another abode. Darting here and there like the pretty butterfly.

Don't you wish you could be as the feather ? How I wish to move freely, dart here and there, with no care for anything in the world. How I wish to let things happen and then see what I can do about them ? How I wish to settle and move and settle again only to move yet again.

Dainty butterfly,

now low, now high !

~

I'm Sorry

You may not say so,

but i can feel your voice

losing its bounce.

You may not show so,

but I can feel your heart

aching within.

You may not know so,

but I can feel your

disappointment seething.

I'm sorry Dad,

I turned out bad.

But, I am trying

not to make you too sad.

I may not say so,

but i love you a lot.

Because you taught me

one day,

not very long ago

that love was lost in words

and felt in action. 

I'm sorry that I broke your trust

I'm sorry that I made you suffer

I'm sorry that I am a duffer

But, this last chance - a must.

Thanks for being there always.

~

Thanks for being a candle

It feels so great to talk to some one who thinks alike. Like minded people are such a pleasure to interact with. Specially if you can actually count the number of like minded people you know on your fingers.

Sadly, I had reached a point where I had started believing that I was wrong all the time, or fake all the time, or simply silly, just because my thoughts did not find resonance. They did in some cases. But as time has told me, they did so for all the wrong reasons. The darkness in me found companionship and resonated fervently till it reached a climax of its own. But the other part remained destitute of company.

And then you slowly fall into the default-ness of life. You stop caring about the choices, you ignore the decisions, you let things push you around, you let people make you believe stuff you would not have otherwise, you become listless and you age - not from outside, but inside. Your spirit has effervesced and your heart aches for no particular reason. You realize that the walls are closing in onto you, choking you and leaving you with no space to even spread your arms.

And like Gandalf, who returned from his battle with Balrog, you come to realize where you are. The sky seems to toss around, the heart sinks into the pits of your guts, your head jumps onto a merry-go-round and yet a smile lies around on your face. Some realize late, some do early. Some hope to change. Some change.

Slowly, you fight the darkness , falling every now and then, learning to pick yourself up. Giving up, crying, dying, you try again. It's like crossing a huge road in darkness where cars and bikes speed past with their headlights off and engines on mute. Each moment you curse yourself for having come this way. For, while coming it was very easy - it was daylight. But now, it is endless sparkling darkness.

And like the umbilical cord, you are tied to the past and it feeds you with hatred, grief, anger and disappointment. You wish to break through, but realize you can not. You are not yet born. You wait for the doctor to come and cut it for you.

Days and nights, nights and days. They just slip by. Each day is the same. You find no difference. Each person is the same. You see no difference. You weigh a ton and even thinking 2+2 equals 4 seems to be a marvelous achievement. You are in the pit.

It is the pit Miranda had to come out of as a kid and later Bruce wayne too, albeit after a few failed attempts. But its like that. Each failure is a deathly blow.

And as they say perseverance pays, tiny chinks appear in the armor of dark-god. It seems as though somewhere out of the shell you enclosed yourself into are people who are knocking now and then, people who drop by a few times only to be disappointed by your absence. And as you casually say that you are there and that you cannot see - there are people who will come and try to break your shell from outside. Like those who rescue lives form debris of earthquakes.

Help, it seems is just a call away. You no longer feel you are alone. You no longer feel isolated. Yet, like a venomous snake a doubt lurks in you - Why ? Why should anyone help me ? Why should I be helped ? I don't deserve it. The snake makes you restless. You feel like a bomb waiting to explode. You want to run or jump from a cliff, drown yourself, bury yourself or burn yourself - but you don't want those terrible thoughts to return. You sleep. Days altogether. You think that by closing your eyes, your troubles will fade away. You are wrong again.

And while everyone else is going on with their everyday work, you have no clue of where you stand in life. Yet, you now know, more than ever before the meaning of life. You now know what living actually means. But you doubt if you have it in you to live.

You try to work your way through. The darkness is lessened. The sun has just set. The birds are calling out your name while they fly away to distant lands. The clouds are parting to let a few mischievous stars take a peep at your miserable condition. And then, they wink at you and you feel you are not lonely. You wink back.

You are now afraid of everything around you. You are conscious of yourself, your hands, your legs, your mouth, the words they utter. You start hating yourself even more. But you want to change that. And you know how. But you don't know if.

And then as you are walking along the road counting stars you meet a person who brings back a long forgotten photograph of you. You look at it and feel a warmth within - something that is alien to you now. You feel the muscles of your lips parting on their own and you feel like you have just been drugged with the elixir of life.

You are suddenly reminded that statistics demands respect. That the laws of probability are universal. That if you think of something in some manner, so do a number of other people. You suddenly have respect for people. Something that you had lost long time back.

You now want to think as everyone as equal. You want to smile and share your joys with everyone. Because  you were wrong that your joys are not acceptable. You want to go on and live your dream. You want to be free. You want to share your ideas and receive ideas. You want to respect and love people. You want to be a good person. You want to be a responsible citizen. You want to be alive.

Now, you need to. Thank you friend.

Bad is bad. Bad is what your innermost of inner gut feeling tells you in an instant is bad. That is the worst of all bad. And all bad things leave a stain.

In the words of a fellow blogger - "Move not into the darkness but into the light, for both of them exist here and there."

So much dusting to be done. Vacuuming the cobwebs, replacing dusty tablecloths and repairing the circuitry. Thanks for being the candle.

:)

Are we all Willful Sinners ?

There are always so many more reasons for not doing something than for doing it. Whatever it is, we seem to be (or at least I do) always waging a war with ourselves. Sometimes I think the person who said that - "The world resides within you, not without", was bang on. I mean, it's always so much me, me and me. (at least for me)

Am I correct ? Am I doing the right thing ? Should I be doing it ? What am I ? What is my purpose ? b.l.a.h.

Whenever faced with a problem or a difficulty, I was always told that it would sort out on its own. I never figured out how. What I figured (or rather am figuring ) out is the fact that we have many more choices than we actually figure ! Every moment we are making tiny choices that affect us. I know it is obvious, but I find it profound and scary.

I mean, to think that every moment for the past so many years that I have lived, I have made choices without being conscious of (or blissfully ignorant of, (same thing)), and that they have directly influenced my life, makes me shudder. Because every time I look back at myself in the moment that just passed, I see a stupid me. So either I am getting wiser or I am constantly stupid. Or maybe becoming stupider to the point that my apparent relative 'wiseness' in the previous moment seems to me, utterly stupid.

So why do we fight with ourselves ? When we have a craving for chocolates and we are able to resist that for , say a week, we feel so elated. Victorious. But victory against whom ? Against the one who wanted to have it, which is the same person. So I win. And I lose too. (that is, if we assume that a victory for someone necessarily means defeat for some other ones).

We are told not to compete with others. But to compete with ourselves and beat ourselves. Why? It seems as though that gives us a long lasting pleasure. (I know that by experience)

Funny little things that bug me like the irritating sound of the wood termite eating wood. (I am not sure if it eats, though.)

Sometimes I feel like there are some thousand people residing inside me, each having their own individual opinion and they keep talking to me in the head. This and that. That and this. Wow. It's not a particularly well orchestred conversation. Cacophony, more oft.

Are we all Dr. Jeykll and Mr. Hydes ? The murderers, the rapists, the child abusers, the terrorists, the pope, the caring mother, the 'good' people - is each of them a result of the victory of one over the other ? Does a rapist have within him the person who would lovingly tend his own mother or daughter ? Gandhi had a lot of issues with self control. (apart from other things)  Or was he designed/engineered by circumstance to be such ?

Or in general, do mistakes actually happen unknowingly ? Or do we simply turn deaf to the part of us that lets us know what a mistake is, and what is not.

Are we all willful sinners ?

bits and pieces

Why do you want to be pushed and shoved again ? Pulled and sent in different directions like a paper boat riding on ocean waves. But what journey is this ? Which path is mine and which not ? Deep down I know. But do I ?

What flusters you most ? The not so unwavering waves you ought to surf or the steady images you have been into and out. 

The insides are torn into bits and pieces with each rush of fresh air. The heart aches and burns to see their smiles, and mimics, perfectly, for the world to see. 

Running away ? or running into ? It's just which way you look at things. Squandered yes. Over not. 

It's what you take from each of them. It's how you deal with each of them. 

There's this brick wall I wish to smash someday into

bits

pieces

bits

pieces

flipping

and

flopping

bits

and

pieces

over

and

over

again

and

again

up

until

then

~

And they call him mad

They call him mad who laughs 

for no rime or reason.

What of those who don't,

even when they have one ?

~

They call him mad who roams

aimlessly with no care of the world.

What of those who walk a named path,

yet know not where they are headed ?

~

They call him mad who dares

to bare his rotting body for you to spit at.

What of those who hide their rotting souls,

perfumed, for you to kiss and bow ?

~

They call him mad who goes

forth to live his dream.

What of those that rot and stench

in the corridors of your aching heart ? 

~

Image courtesy: google.com

Slipping through

It's in my grip now

Forever elusive:

slipping through the crevices of

my now-hardened fingers

or lying in tiny pools

lost in it's own thoughts.

~

The sun darts through 

the canvas of heaven:

sends an array of mute mutineers

upon the not-so-tiny pools

until each drop does fly, euphoric.

~

But as the moon comes over

and darkness casts it's spotlight

upon those that fly ecstatic-

fortunate freedom and drunken dreams

condense as dead drops upon blades of grass.

~

And I wonder if I can ever grasp

the tantalizingly clasp-able tentacles

of my mind, as I struggle

to keep water willfully 

between the plains of my palms. 

*Image taken from Google.com

सोच

वो कहते हैं कि ज़माना बदल रहा है

मई कहता हूँ कि आप भी बदलो |

वो कहते हैं कि अब उम्र कहाँ है बदलने का

मई कहता हूँ कि ज़माने की उम्र देखो

अगर वो बदल सकता है, तो आप क्यूँ नही ?

The hopes I snatch

A whiff of nectar
did embrace his senses
but before he could plunge
I chopped his wings.

The shy cocoon
was cracking slowly
but before his wings could spread,
I crushed it to the ground.

The hungry child
on the street was waiting
for the candy, before
I popped it and drove past him.

The poor kid
in the orphanage was asking
me to tell him the wonders of the world
I promised, then broke his soul.

To give a helpless, some hope
 and then to snatch it away:
I do that everyday
and say that I need hope. 

NO MIDDLE WAYS

Image courtesy: Google

When I asked my senior the meaning of Limbo, he simply said:-
"The place between heaven and hell : where you dwell"

If you want to live your life:

Go aim for the sky,

or six feet under lie.

~

Sensational Haiku Wednesday #Middle

Forget me not

At your tender age,

they kiss you, feed you. At theirs ?

Plead - 'Forget-me-not.'

~

Haiku Heights #155 : - Forget me not

He never made it

                                                     

He sat alone,
scratching on the back of his head,
line after line,
recording the stillness
with the quivering quill that was his mind
drilling holes into his soul.

Verse after verse,
curse after curse.

The little bars upon him
looked on with contempt-
'Now to keep you in,
I give up my dream'
Smiling he turns his page,
his heart, rent with ink that is blood.

Verse after verse,
curse after curse.

Sun rises,
falls
then the stars,
the moon,
they fall too.
He looks up, down
left, right.
Clenching his hair,
punches the wall -
Ah! beautiful poetry.

Liars ! hypocrites !

Asleep, he mumbles
magical incantations,
tragic symphonies,
the notes transcend,
tearing at his skin to escape-
alarmed, he rises.
The end is nearing.

Like a soul, restless
to run and hide,
the pages of his book
stumble on rapidly,
blood filling his mind.,
Oh! Genius, he marvels
his mind, his book,
almost over.
Overjoyed.

Next morn,
they find a body.
No one will mourn.
From nothingness to nothing
he has now gone.
Yet, his mind relentless-
keeps locked his words, his thoughts -

Verse after verse,
Curse after curse !

Still a Gamble

All of a sudden I stumbled in to a realization that has left me absolutely stumped. Well, not all of a sudden actually. It's been building up awhile and it has not erupted yet. But I can see the future.
The path seems clear to me, but the consequences of each step along the path is going to be harsh on a beautiful heart.
It is like crashing into a wall and thanking God for having broken your nose because now you know how important your nose is !
It's like realizing that you put yourself in to a box on your own just so that no one else could lure you into another box ! Because you were not even visible to them.
The question is again the same - whether to believe in the future i see or to keep moving through the darkness hoping that light would ensue somewhere.

The game is new, the board is new, the dice that I roll is newly cast and yet the gamble remains the same - I stake my life and hope to win some happiness. 

Had I

"I was born on the 13th of May, which means that roughly sometime during the second week of august the year before, had my father pulled out in time, I would never have been born. Again, had I refused to be born as a living,crying child and instead been pulled out a stillborn, like the ones that shatter the spirits and wrench the hearts of parents around the world even as I speak, I would not have grown up to know the love of my parents, my sister and my friends. Ten years later, roughly in the month of December, had a good Samaritan not taken me to the hospital when he saw me lying concussed on the road in a fit, I would not be alive to realize how arrogant I had become and to understand that love is in helping someone in need. Had I been among the 13 who were killed in a freak shootout in my school, I would never have known the girl I was to fall in love for the first time and live to see the day when, on being dumped and rejected, I accepted to take my first puff of cigarette, thus beginning a life long dependence on the wretched being. Had I never smoked that cigarette, I would never have come to live among men who thought of women as objects which were made for the sole purpose of the fulfillment of their desire, and, immature as I was, become one of them    and lure an innocent soul into believing I loved her. Had I had the courage to go and tell the girl I was actually in love with how much I cared for her and how much I regretted my past and how much I wanted to be better, I  would probably not have had to see her in someone else's arm and crest-fallen start a multiple affair with Rum,Gin and Whisky. Had I not kept going back to my triad to fill my hollow cocoon with more emptiness, I would not have met the person who introduced me to a new world:- of dreams, possibilities and excitement, he said : of smuggled medicines, syringes and brown boiling liquid, it was. Had I not told my parents to leave me alone and my sister to not continuously bug me with her concern for me, which I wrongly interpreted as her interference into my life, I would probably have had my sister to cry along on all those lonely nights, when those whom i called friends disappeared like smoke does upon lingering awhile, or my mother to hug me and my father to hold me and tell me everything could be set right. Instead, I hugged the ghostly apparition of myself, tangible and tenacious, and listened to the walls whispering into my ear-'It's over '.Had the shopkeeper been, as the law in my country requires, responsible enough to ask of me a police permission instead of happily handing over a .32 Colt by accepting a few thousand rupees over the price, I would not have found myself in my room alone, at least a thousand kilometers from my family which was frantically searching for me thinking what mistake they had made, wondering whether i should shoot from the right or the left. Had i grown up, like most kids do, as either right handed or left handed, I would probably have shot myself then and there. Had I not been ambidextrous, I would not have had to taste the metal on the barrel as I thrust it into my mouth, sweating, swearing and shivering. Had I not been brave and stupid enough to pull that trigger thinking it was the only solution left, I would not have become this floating consciousness staring at my own body now gushing thick red blood like spring breaking through barren land." - he thought as he looked up unto the sky and said  - 
"I may have died but my regret lives on."
"It was not me that was to be killed. It was the regret."
Amen.

The legend of Dove

There once lived a lad,
for miles he was the strongest,
any town ever had.
His muscles were of course, huge
such that a lass
could gladly take refuge.
His face, like the moon
without it's spots, over which
the ladies would swoon.
Yet, his nature so mild,
his goodness would pour
out like savages in the wild.

Of course, he went on a quest,
one which has a king at behest,
 a dragon or another evil to slay
and a princess, which he may,
unless he looses his life,
marry and make her his wife.

And indeed did he ride,
across oceans that played with tide.
But in solitude, he must
think of the princess in lust.
For what else could keep him busy,
when everything around was so fizzy ?

As the ship hit the shore,
he fell on all his four,
for two was not enough:
and sniffing the enemy was tough.
Soon a smile took over his face,
looks like he's finally got a trace.

Oh! look the mighty dragon,
upon his cart and wagon.
I wonder where the fire is,
all i see is smoke and wheeze.
Into my ear he say's he has,
the worst of all, which is gas.

Our hero is ready for action,
Turning to the princess, he says
I'll be there in a fraction.

The clouds are now bursting,
the gods have come hurtling,
an epic, a battle ensues,
with swords and smokes and magic.
Curses and wands and all things tragic.
All I here is a wail -

The dragon is slayed,
but the hero still dismayed.
He lies on the ground crying,
At these the God's go flying
What comes of a hero who weeps
or a dreamer who sleeps ?

The princess comes hopping,
to kiss her hero, mints popping.
Aghast she gave a cry,
his lustrous and hairy scalp now a sordid fry.
"Oh what tragedy to loose one's hair,
to be alone without a lady, fair"

With wrenched heart, he says-
"That may be the end of my
hair problem but
there will be no end for you my love,
my lady, my DOVE "


...and so it is said that at this the hero plunged himself into an abyss and died while the princess never married and the God's, taking pity on her, blessed her with the hero's hair (taken back from either Hell or heaven, it is not very clear) and a magical potion that kept the hair fresh,strong,smooth and silky. That nectar is what Dove is made of.( If it could keep a dead man's hair so nice, imagine what wonders it could do to your hair ! ;) )
Find out more at:- https://www.facebook.com/dove/app_127320750626819

This is a post for the contest at http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=58

So, has your mind lost you lately ?

As Vijay tossed around on his bed, waiting for the little sleep fairies to come and take him to dreamland, reading a rather voluminous book on mythology, he began wondering if the fairies were for real or they were just like the tooth fairies or Santa Claus which he had found a few years back to be a sham. It was a heart breaker for the poor kid. Vijay could never ever recall when he exactly fell asleep everyday. He could also not understand how or why he dreamed. That made the fairies seem even more real to him.

His mother turned towards him and said - 'Vijay, if you keep tossing and turning so much how can you sleep ? And if you don't fall asleep, how will your mind ever go for a walk ?'

'What walk maa?', Vijay cut in eagerly.

'You think that after working for you for an entire day the mind needs no rest. That is very selfish you know. The mind goes out to see the world and breathe some fresh air so it can work again tomorrow.', she said with authority.

'But maa, i thought the fairies took us away', he protested

'Arre beta, the fairies take you but without your mind. Why else do you think you can never remember what you dream? How can you remember something when you don't have your mind with you, silly boy', his mother said with a naughty smile.

Vijay was still confused but he was beginning to understand that he would not understand this dream business any soon. Maybe he had to grow up a little more?

'Now imagine you don't sleep and your mind goes away for a walk. Would you like that ? A mindless Vijay. Oh my god! That would be really tragic, don't you think so?', continued his mother.

Vijay was terrified now. Of course he would not want to be awake when his mind left him. That would be most embarrassing. And what if one fine day it never returned ? Nightmare. What would his class teacher say? His friends would tease him no end and the principle would probably send him away from school. After all, what sense does it make to teach someone whose mind is lost forever ?

'And what happens if it is lost ?', he inquired with concern.

'What?', said the mother irritated on being woken up. 'Have'nt you slept yet?'

'What will happen if my mind is lost somewhere and it cannot come back to me before I get up, maa. Say he goes over the bridge into that congested area where the Saturday haats are held. Or he goes beyond the tower and near the highways or if he is hit by a vehicle. What will heppen then maa', said Vijay, stretching his childish imagination in all possible directions.

'What mind ? What are you saying? Uff, badmaash its so late already. What are you saying?', said his mother half awake half in sleep.

'Maa....Maa', cried Vijay as he shook her trying to get her up.

'Hmm... yes yes whatever you say. Now let me sleep', said his mother, lost to sleep.

'What are you saying maa. I think you are - ' Vijay stopped and jumped into a sitting position on the bed and staring at his mom with burgeoning eyes he exclaimed - 'Maaaaa, you have lost your mind. I know now. Your mind has gone roaming. And you will now go to dreamland. Haha, maa you lost your mind. You're a mindless maa now.

No response. The initial moments of excitement had died out for Vijay and he was getting worried now. Now he was thinking what would happen if his mom's mind never came back. Who would cook his breakfast? Who would pack his tiff-in? Who would get him dressed?

He began wondering why he depended on his mother so much. He realized how helpless he was without his mother. He began to promise to himself that he would try and do more things on his own from now on. Then  he would probably not have to worry about his mom's mind getting lost.

It was getting too much for Vijay and as he juggled with these ideas, he felt as if something escaped him. He felt light and at ease. The bed melted into a giant pool of water with chocolates,strawberries and various colored toffees floating around. Far away he could see a mountain ,with something written on it - but upside down. It seemed English to him but he could not read it well.

.............

"Wake up beta, you will be late for school. And then you have to take the shortcut that is full of nasty dogs that chase young children', Vijay's mother said as she packed his lunch and put it inside his bag.

Stretching himself and yawning, Vijay looked up at the clock. It was getting really late. He got up and started brushing his teeth. As he looked at the mirror he started accounting for the events of the previous night. He was not sure whether it was a dream or not. Or more precisely, which was a dream and which was not.

Having brushed, Vijay collected his uniform and started dressing up on his own for the very first time. He had always been a drama queen, asking his mom to dress him up.

He struggled in front of the mirror as he tried to adjust everything perfectly.

His mother walked into the room to get him dressed. "Oh", she exclaimed, while hopping a small hop with both her palms coming together to form a clap and planting a kiss on his shoulder, added teasingly- "What's the matter beta, you are dressed up pretty smartly today."

"Oh, nothing much maa. Just a dream I had.", he replied, his mind wandering back into the night. The only thing he remembered clearly was telling himself that he would dress up on his own from now on. He could not remember why or how. But it was done now.

"Must have been a really good dream, then", she said with twinkling eyes.

"Hmm.. Okay maa, i am leaving now. Bye. Love you", saying so, Vijay sped down the stairs and into the road, not wanting to get any more late.

Sighing, his mother said to herself - "Congrats, this plan has succeeded it seems. Though serving an entirely different purpose."

"Nonetheless."

About a Different Kind of Love

Date:- 30th June 2009
Time:- Between 9 and 10 p.m


Sameer was seated on the comfortable red bean bag neatly placed upon the corner to the right of the entry to the room. As smoke swirled over him, seducing his frenzied mind with various evocative images, he could but manage half a smile.

On the bed lied Assad, a dark skinned muscular youth, heaving breathes out of his pouted lips. Sameer could not help notice the perfection of his body. Every part having only as much fat as one can live with. Every muscle well toned. His hairless chest with its two dark pointy nipples rising and ebbing calmly. The calm hid the energy, the passion and the animal like strength within it. His eyes slowly turned to his own arms and his hairy body. He ran his finger between the valley that his man-boobs had carved and over the hillock that was his ever expanding belly. 'Such a strange combination', he thought.

As he smoked his Benson & Hedges, his eyes followed the darkness around him- a shabby little room in the congested Zakir Hussain nagar of Okhla. One bed to the left of the entrance, currently occupied.One table covered with a black table cloth with a jute pen stand perched upon it, just opposite to the bed so that the gap between the two served as a passage for visitors. A table lamp on the far right corner, deservedly so as it had long finished its utility. It owed its existence, as many of us do, to sentiments alone. Just beside this lamp, Sameer was seated. Nothing more.

Exhausting his cigarette, Sameer slid in beside Assad. Assad always had a calming effect him. Within, his little self would leap and soak in ecstasy. Without, his normal tense self would float around with a new found buoyancy. He glanced at his watch - 9:45 already. He had to leave within an hour.

He let his round fingers roam freely on the huge playground that was Assad's bare back. His digits moved around covering every inch of the known territory. It was like playing the piano. Only more exciting. Slowly, his right hand made its way through the cavern of Assad's armpit into the hard muscles of his chest. It felt like a freshly mowed garden. Meanwhile his left hand had, own its own accord, gone on to caress Assad's silky black hair. As it sifted through the grasslands, he could feel the sweat, like dew drops, upon the palm of his hand. This hand finally rested upon the crease of Assad's forehead, its fingers dangling over the crescent eyes. Like a charmed snake, the forefinger of his right hand started making circles over Assad's pretty dark nipple. Spiraling in, he could feel the excitement akin to a child discovering a new plaything. It was not new to him, but it always felt new to him.

Assad was aroused by this action. Flinging Sameer's arm aside he cried - 'C'mon. Take a break.'

There's was not a God sent pair. Assad, a hefty Muslim, resident of Delhi from many generations, was an unskilled machine operator in a factory which produced Motors. He no longer spoke to his family. He had become an outcast 8 years back when he realized he was different. He could not let his family face it so he ran away. Now he lived in this tiny room in Okhla that he called home. Sameer, a second generation migrated into Delhi Punjabi was unlike other Punjabis a bit bulky. But the sweet smile more than made up for that. He was a student at Delhi University pursuing History. Assad was seven years elder to him. But he never felt that way. Indeed, he did not even think of Assad as different from him. Sameer, Assad, Assad, Sammer ... they were all the same. When he looked at Assad, he did not see Assad, but saw his own self reflected. Maybe that is called love.

But there's was a love scorned by society. There's was a love that was shared within the walls of the room, hidden, hideous like a monster. There's was a love that no one could understand, no one could feel and no one could accept. There's was a love shrouded with fear and insecurity. Yet, it was the love of a child. The playful engagements of two lovely,lonely souls. It was a love that melted the physical boundaries of the body and entwined the soul into a singularity. There love was beyond this world.

Assad was now up. He looked up at Sameer and felt a sense of gratitude towards God.

"You know what date it is, Sam? "
"Yeah. June the 30th. What's with that ?" replied sameer, who was busy trying to light another cigarette.
"2 more days, pyaare. 2 more days and we shall be out of this disgusting existence", Assad replied dreamily.
"You mean the verdict ?" Sameer was now cursing the lighter at the top of his voice-"Bloody sister - fucker, why won't you light, you slut !"
"Yes. The verdict. Imagine, two days and we can then walk hand in hand in the streets of Delhi. Two days and we can live like Normal beings. A normal Life, do you understand that Sameer ?", asked Assad.
"Oh Fuck I do. Yes! see the bitch is alight now", sameer replied indifferently.
"A life where we need not hide, need not fear, need not face the world with bowed heads. Hell! I might even get a better job, what do you think ?", Assad rose to wear his T-shirt. "Are you even listening, Asshole ?", he added.
"No don't that", sameer said sharply.
"Don't do what", demanded Assad with his hands on his hips.
"Don't wear that T-shirt. I prefer you otherwise. You are such a beauty. Why hide it?", retorted Sameer.
"Okay, baba, whatever you say", and added "Say Sammy boy, when the verdict comes, we will have a party. We'll go to the best Discotheque in Delhi and if they stop us we'll tell them to go fuck themselves. We'll have the time of our life man. I can't even wait for it."
"Well, you've got to, you know. Can you think of the number of people who are working their ass off so that this thing is not passed ? And its a court, remember. And in India. We might as well become old and still be waiting for the party to begin", Sameer replied haughtily.
"You're very negative man. Think well. Always", Assad replied, as he took the cigarette from Sameer's nicotine stained fingers. He rarely smoked. Today was one such occasion.
"How about a quickie Old boy", said sameer, always ready for action.
"No Fatso. I need to get up early tomorrow. And you better be leaving. Its 10:30 and you won't get the bus.", replied Assad, adding- "Besides I also need to sleep now."

Sameer looked towards the door and sighed. The long journey home. The constant questioning of his family members. The beating and insults of his father. The tears of his mother wiped by her 'dupatta'. The ridicule of his neighbors and the silence of everyone around him. It was the kind of treatment that AIDS patient in India got a few years back ( and even do). "I donot have a fucking disease.", he often thought, but feared to speak aloud.

Sameer got up and looked around. "Fuck my fate", he said, as Assad started guffawing, "Who would fuck a fucked up filthy mess ?", he said as he punched Sameer on his tummy. Sameer had a grin on his face. He hugged Assad and turned to leave.

"Be careful and take care" were the last words of Assad as he closed the door and the sound of closing of latches reached Sameer's ear. Sameer started climbing down the stairs, counting 161 of them as he reached the narrow lanes of Zakir hussain Nagar.

Though he was skeptic, his mind was full of activity. Full of thoughts about the verdict and what it would mean for him and Assad. Of how it would give them a place in the world and an identity to put a finger on. Of how it would give them confidence and bring others like them together to form a community. Of how it would make them human and --

"There is the mother fucking eunuch", came a splitting voice "Saala Naamard filth dirt vermin come here to defile our homes. Look at him fellows, he not even human - a disease a rot don't go too near him lest he latch on to you and castrate you." It was a voice full of hatred and also stank of country liquor. There were about 5 other with him, all eating out of his hand. Sameer was used to all this nuisance.

"This mother fucker will now live with us and eat with us with his head held high. Seeing us in our bloody eyes", he said "Thoo", he spat at Sameer. "With what the world has come to, it is for us to rid our society of this offshoot, this disgusting excuse of a human.", he said frothing with anger as he took a step towards Sameer. The six of them were now blocking Sameer's path so that he was forced to listen to all this.

Assad was listening to evrything from his room. He too was used to it. But somehow it did not feel very right today. He hesitated first and then opened the door and shouted to Sameer - "Hey! Should I come ?"

"No. It's all right. These illegitimate sons of bitches can do me nothing", shot Sameer at the top of his voice.

The drunkard charged at him and with a swift blow, while Sameer was looking towards Assad, drove a clutch knife between his ribs while he spat at his face and the rest packed punches and kicked him as hard as  they could. Hearing Sameer's shriek, Assad rushed down the stairs and hearing him approach, the hooligans fled the scene.

"Fuckers. I won't leave them alive", Assad shouted at the top of his voice, his eyes bloodshed and his arms shaking violently with anger. But he took Sameer into his arms with a caress and evaluated the injury. He needed a hospital. Or the blood loss could be fatal. Assad was hoping that the knife had not punctured Sameer's lungs, as he pulled him over to the pavement and asking Sameer to stay awhile, ran to get an auto.

Sameer was lying with a blank stare at the sky. There was no star. No hope. Just darkness. Only a while back he was so hopeful and gay. And now he lay distraught and stabbed. This was the reality. This was his and Assad's and many more like him's reality. Thinking, he closed his now heavy eyes and passed away.

Assad was besides Sameer as they put him on a stretcher and took him to a room. Questions then ensued-
"How did he get hurt ?"
"He was stabbed."
"Have you reported to the Police station ?"
"No....Yes....they know about it.", he lied.
"What was he doing so late out?"
"Just visiting"
"What is he to you ?"
He stopped at that. He had never thought of this. There was no answer to it. "What is he to me?", "What is he to me?", Assad kept asking himself. "What is he?", "There is no he. He is me and I am him. His pain is mine and so is his smile. How could he explain it to the Nurse filling an innocuous looking form. "

As Assad turned to the blood stained stretcher where Sameer lay, a new emotion surged within him - Love and anger and pride and hope in never found proportions. He looked the nurse in the eye and said - "He is my lover. And I, his. That is what we are to each other."

Out of shame or disgust or pity, the nurse looked down on the form and quickly added- "Okay, let's put that down as friend, alright ?"

"Yeah. He's a friend too. But i love him. Please save him Nurse", said Assad, now more confident than ever before. He had nothing to fear. In a society where rapists and murderers and child-molesters and wife- beaters could live with dignity and without a guilt, why could not a lover do so? His sin was so trivial -  he saw no boundary in love. A glow came upon his face and pressing Sameers wrist, he said - "We will make it, Dost." And as if to agree, Sameer made a slight motion with his forefinger scratching the thick palm of Assad.

Date:- 2nd July 2009
Time:- 9 am in the morning


Assad brought a beautiful bouquet for Sameer. He was not the romantic sort but today he was happy. Today he could kiss even his enemy.

He went into ward No.212 where Sameer was kept. He had recovered quite rapidly in the past two days. Assad could not see him often as his family members had come on hearing the news. They thought he got into a fight. Assad knew that Sameer would not say otherwise. He was too wise for that.

The sunlight was dancing gayly upon his face and Sameer looked beautiful with his charming smile. Looking at the bouquet, Sameer started laughing - "What's that ? 2 days and you already found some else to cozy up to ?"

"No fool. It's for you. And I would not be with anyone other than you, Fatso", Assad said and added "Listen I have a good news for you. Do you remember the date ?"

Sameer thought for awhile and looked up to Assad in disbelief. His face flushed with excitement and he sprang up like a wily leopard, grabbing Assad by his shoulder, he said with guarded joy, "Is it then ?
We now legally exist ?"

"Yes, my love. We now exist. The high court has passed the verdict in our favor !", Assad replied.

They stood there, arms on each other's shoulder. Feeling the moment. How does it feel to know that you are something ? How does it feel to know that you exist ? How does it feel to know that YOU ARE HUMAN ?

 I will never know as well as Sameer and Assad found out at that moment. I will never know how it feels to be born again and remember every second that passes. I will never know how it feels to be in such love !

                                          They are all the same, the tame and the maim
                                          From one they come, to one they go
                                          Yet they hate each other so.
                                          The merging colors of a rainbow,
                                          Bury this hate, and love do sow !


This is my first attempt at a meaningful short story. It also clearly presents my stand on the LGBT issue. Compassion is what we live for, i believe. Nothing less.


Please do let me know if you hate it or like it. 
Cheers! :)

Curse of a Porn Star

I read somewhere that our behavior is controlled in a huge way by our genes. They are simply eager to 'mate'- to impregnate and spread their mutation into the next generation. That's what comes to be known as the 'sex urge' or 'the drive'. The hormones run havoc and we become slaves of our senses.

Apparently, had we not evolved into this complex thinking machine, our sole goal would have been to make sure we produced as many babies as possible. (Bulk production)

That made me think about our Macho Porn star. Imagine going through the process of sex as a career - sounds very lucrative for a while, but in the long
run Naaah !

That's what it is. One thing that is supposed to be an act of pleasure becomes harangued with paychecks, performance, audience, deadlines and critics ? Not to say a boss and the video camera guy. And yes, the overall assumption that "Oh ! Porn star ? Must be hell of a life buddy !"
Hell, indeed it is.

Yes, and that's what they make. (male Porn stars). 200 $/scene - around 1 to 2 days of shooting, multiple ejaculations, painful extended erections and God knows how many mg's of Viagra - not to mention pounding headaches and flushed faces (courtesy, viagra). And yes, in case you mess up(as in timing !) the all-so-important Cumshot, you pop a pill and everyone on the set gets a 1 hour rest before your batteries are up again.
Hell, some people even die because of 'Over Inspiration' :-

Et tu, Viagra ? (An example of death due to Viagra)

All in all, i rest my point - Being a male pornstar is a 'high risk career option'. On the outset it may seem lucrative but like any other Good-looking book, it does not make a good read on the inside !
And just in case you think that it's an easy way of becoming a celebrity (minus the theatrical skills), all stardom and all eyes are reserved on the fairer sex !
So the next time you go about seeing a Porn, spare a thought for the poor performer.
Adios !

इनके लिए तो हम बस खेल हैं

कल का दफ़्न सूरज

आज शर्मीली आँखो से

ओस भरी मैदान की तलाश मे

अपने किर्णो को बिखेर रहा है |

धूल से लदी यह फ़िज़ा,

कभी खाँसते तो कभी चीखते हुए,

इधर उधर गलियों मे भटक रही है,

कि कोई आवारा मित्र मिल जाए |

एक हमारा मित्र,

मस्ती मे मग्न

सपनो के संसार मे डूबा,

क्षण भर का इतिहास रचे जा रहा है |

की कुछ नर्म, कुछ सख़्त,

गालो को गुदगुदते हुए,

उसके कानो पे फुसफुरते हुए बोल पड़ा -

"शुरू हो गया है | अब चलते हैं | "

आँख मूंदकर देखा तो,

न भय दिखा न क्रोध,

होंठो पर खिलती ही मुस्कान,

और आँखो पर दुख की निशान |

नींद से ग्रस्त टांगे,

अभी रेंगने को तैयार न थे,

कसकर अपने कंधो पर,

लादकर चल पड़े वो थे |

"अच्छा अब तो बताओ,

क्या वही पुराना खेल है ?

हफ्ते भर की क़ैद,

और फिर लाशों का ढेर है ?"

"हाँ, इंसान मे बसा

हैवान का दहाड़ है |

जलते हुए सपनो

की चींखती हुई पहाड़ है |"

"अब मे समझा -

वो मुझसे हैं, जो अपनाते हैं

कट्पुतलियों को, मगर

फिर खेलकर, उन्हे दफनाते हैं |"

"बनाया था उसने,

की रहे जहाँ दो दिलो की मेल है,

सही कह रहा है तू -

इनके लिए तो हम बस खेल हैं | "

यह पोस्ट इस प्रतियोगिता के लिए है -  A picture can say a thousand words..  WriteUpCafe.com

Of Fallen Petals

A new flower is born-
still and smiling.
It's innate innocence, reaching
out in radiance ravishing.
A dreamy look hovers
upon its dew filled eyes,
whose fleeting glances
thank the lord for her chances.


Here come the bees,
the buzz and the dances-
whispering to her keen ear- 
of things they love,and things they fear.
She longs to know-
"Where cometh the light ?"
So gladly she trades, her nectar for flight.
Slowly they suck, and leave her deprived.


The wind howls havoc,
encircling her, his traitorous lips do part-
"Come with me princess, I'll take you afar
Beyond brooks and boundaries that mar-
Be not so still, listless without a song,
Come with me, now come along"
"Let me go", she pleads to the plant-
though the wind tugs along, she can't.

All done, the little flower droops
sapped of nectar, sapped of food.
The sun above, doing no good.
Seething, the wind strikes back,
turning her frock, her coat, all black.
And as the dust seeps into her
one final act, her soul does stir-
unto the sky, a prayer unfurls !


And when the heavens ,
in answer, open.
From slumber, her smile is woken.
Laden with hope, goodwill and rain,
taking away tear,fear and pain.
She rises afresh, 
a life to be lived
and a dream to be dreamed !


Yet, in as swift a manner, as
hope seeped into her, 
something swooped, giggled
and effortlessly plucked her.
"I am now free,
Oh! where have you been ?"
Only for those pretty hands to chuck
her to the floor, Alas! How mean ? 

What are we ?

What are we,
but the insignificant sigh
of an ailing mother
who sees her son die!

What are we,
but the invisible puff
of smoke that lingers, then spreads
not strong, not rough!

What are we,
but the last clinging leaves of autumn
waiting, yet fearing
the fall to the bottom!

What are we,
but moving mass
and twitching muscles,
the gliding dew drop on blades of grass!

Sometimes I wonder how a tree that flowers at night would feel. As the entire world wakes up to a new morning, the poor tree has to see each of its flowers falling. As the trees around it bloom upon the brandishes of the bright sun, these trees, bereft of their flowers, languish in their nudity. How often they might cry little dew drops upon the ground where their pretty flowers lie to be stamped upon by civilization?

One that blooms in the darkness

'What of me?', said the shiuli
to the Lord.
Blooming alone  in the darkest
of silence.
'Who will hold his breath,
while his eyes marvel my depth?'
'Who will sigh a sigh,
and smile without a why?'
'Who will let his face,
reflect my radiance?', she says.
'Who will?'


'Who will come and sit by me,
in the death of each hour?
And as the black engulfs everything,
blinding my very soul,
Who will come and stroke my boughs?
Or caress the petals of my dying flowers-
as they cling precariously for 
their last leap?
When the Sun will come marching,
glamorously banishing the darkness,
Who will console me, for my little flowers
that now lie lifeless on the floor that feeds me?
Who will?'