Nostalgia

From the cusp of ever-growing memory,
Some words spoken and unheard
are uttered,
but lose their natural glare in the shade of lamps,
Words that are born yet buried, under the invisible thickness of dust,
Words that make a difference to the indifferent heart,
They are lost in the burnt smell of smoke,
Subdued by other humanly voices and artificial noises,
Words that are born ghosts,
disappear into the cosmos, and stay, Forever.

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Acceptance

I have made friends with the voices
Voices in my head,
They have been there
Like now,
And I know they shall be
But now unlike previously
They don’t disrupt my tranquility of mind,
Now I listen to them
Their whispering speech of the consciousness
That paints the picture of the world,
That is about everything
Trapped in the cusp of nothing,
Nothing, but a trained and evolved intellect,
That sustains my life
So that I can listen to these voices,
Voices in my head,
That keep me awake, keep me treading further,
Keep from from falling dead.

 

Where is Life?

Where is Life?

Where is life if not here?

Mumbai was in floods few days back

And Florida still is,

where you gonna go?

China has plastic rice

and Korea is high on nukes and is begging for war,

The capital is choking

Tabloids still feature divorces of Dukes.

Where is life if not here?

Japan still has shakes

Cars are jacked in Cape Town

And Syria is still in flames,

Dubai has got too many laws for me

And there are far too many buildings in the UAE;

Brazil is hot, Mexico is not

Pakistan is hell-bent on doing all that she should not.

Then where is life

and where is it naught?

Paris has got promises to fulfil

The villages in Myanmar are all empty

Kenya had black men and now white giraffes

Children are all soldiers in North of Africa.

Where is life, if not here?

Where are you gonna go?

The shores of Athens are bathed in oil

And UK is out of her of home

Australia is high on energy

New Zealand has got Chinese spies.

Where is life, where it is naught?

All visages are alike,

what use is it to sort?

 

 

 

 

 

Leave Poem

Leave Poem

I did not go to the office today

Today, I avoided my work place,

Why? I am unsure

Maybe I just did not feel like today.

All night the previous night

I twisted and tossed and turned in my bed

while my mind in a fit vomited

Puked thoughts all night

And it puked so much,

that there came a little blood

And all I night I could not sleep

Lying awake, neither could I smile

nor could I weep.

When I woke up

the throat of my mind hurt,

From the incessant passage of thorny and prickly thoughts

And now it does not say anything

or think anything

Whilst I cried with a headache.

And the only words that mind could utter

were ‘I am Tired’

And cannot remain in the cage of these thoughts;

It cannot stay wired,

So my soul in the matter interfered

And decided that it did not want to go

to the office today;

for there I shall find people,

who are as alien as the moon

I see their light and the monster that squats

But I don’t see the beauty

I cannot feel the warmth,

So, I decided to not go and see them

I kept my eyes closed and stayed,

And I realised that I do not like what I do there

And hence I go to the office today.

 

 

 

Words of the World

Words of the World

Why do you hide your thoughts
behind the veil of your state-of-the-art vocabulary?
You talk about society and secularism from the knowledge you gained in the library.

Come down here,
Amidst the men of this earth, this country, state, district, village,
Set your feet amongst these men of the world;

See how they see and what they see
The torture, deaths, debts, and rapes,
Feel the burden of falling economy on their tired and old heads,
Walk with them on the drought-stricken lands and
Share with them a-day-old rotten bread.

And when you have known how they live,
When you are aware of the truth, the society, the people
Then talk of them, write, and preach
Your ideas in their language, in their words;

And only then will your words ever have meaning,

Else they will just be passionate masterpieces, meaningless verses
About bells, ghosts, and birds;

Afterall what story is a story, or a prose, or a poem
That is full of words, but empty of yourself,
unclear to the people of the world.

Me

It feels great to be myself now,

not a son or someone’s in law,

neither a friend, nor a foe,

Nowhere to come from,

not a place to go.

My myriad faces and their scars,

the body, mind, and my soul,

It’s great to be left only with them now,

Nobody to ask a question,

and none waiting for an answer.

There is nothing to lose,

No fortune, no fame

And there is no one to blame.

Now, it’s just me

And it feels great,

It feels like god being just me.