In nakedness

There is vulnerability in nakedness

And there is strength, power, and shame

 

There is grace and disgrace

There is a catch, a chase

 

In nakedness, there are geometrical shapes

 

And there is passion and love

Crime, art, and pain

 

There is a moment, a story

Courage, ecstasy, and glory

 

In nakedness, there is a false and destructive theory

 

There is a blame and game

A propaganda lame

 

In nakedness

There is freedom and truth

 

In nakedness, there is nature and god.

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Creatures

We are so pathetic

Self-loathing beings

We need clothes for shame

And make up for fame

 

Think about it

No other creature except us

Does what we do

They do not need a dress to gather attention

 

Zebra, tiger, or a leopard

They are as nature made them

Bold and proud

They live, hunt, multiply and die in freedom

 

And we Homo sapiens are born bound in thousand chains

Of society, religion, and money

We are divided from ourselves and scared of ourselves

We are predators to ourselves

 

Clever, cunning, and corrupted

Our mind, our heart

That looks for a purpose to get by

Such lowly we humans are, with no love for life

 

Searching for acceptance in the midst of our own

Being rejected by our own

We are the ones who judge our own

We kill the living and pray to the stones

 

An entire species surviving on hope

We are the only ones who need ideologies to live by

We need Jesus, Krishna, and Hercules to fight and preach

While the fishes are fishing and the dogs are having their days.

 

On the wall

On the wall

There I was sitting, brooding

Of something I cannot recall

Perhaps a real friend, or an imaginary foe

Had occupied my temple, which was already enlivened

With the bells swung by my myriad thoughts

Unheard amidst the chatter of many a bugs and insects

that alarm the creatures of the night,

Perhaps about the rain about to fall;

When my eyes caught a lizard on the wall straight in front of me

A brown reptile with euphoric freckles inscribed on its skin, by nature

Stuck on the fading hue of the yellow wallpaper of a waterfall,

Stagnant as a statue or a Turner on the wall;

And when my vision kissed its eyes

It witnessed a dreamy glimmer that suggested

that of a witch’s, possessed by her master

And for a moment, sent a shudder through my weakened spine

I assumed that that look was not for me, but someone else

And soon found my assumptions true;

When it let out its tongue and grabbed an insect

that too was stuck to the wall

Perhaps it had come to warm itself from the cold outside,

Relieve itself from the chitter chatter of its kin,

the nearest and the dearest

or, maybe, seeking avoidance from an instant as that befell on it,

unfortunately;

And the lizard moved again, through the waterfall and vanished

Into the darkness of an ancient crevice, in the corner of the wooden ceiling

As do ghosts thin to invisible vapors, leaving behind no trace

And my attention returned back to the temple

To find that the friend or foe too had departed

With the insect on the wall

and I moved on to the netherworld,

with all my blood lost from the veins I had slashed;

And a silence, scared and stark, as that of a cemetery

had taken its place

In the temple halls.

These Eyes

These eyes, they have seen a lot

all there was to see,

and all there was not

blood on woman’s faces

tears in men’s eyes,

the incessant silence of life

the ceaseless screams that follow death.

 

These eyes have seen,

lost lovers and betrayed friends

roads without ends

rescue boats and fighter jets

desolate mountains and captured coasts

virtue sold for banknotes

and broken heart melt on a broken bench.

 

These eyes, they have seen

fools ruling over fools,

blown up tête-à-têtes

and truths buried in secrecy

bags of happiness thrown over piles of miseries

sleep choked in the grasp of reveries

witnessed only by the lonely, noctilucent clouds

who told the stories of earth’s pain to stars deaf.

 

These eyes, they have seen

Foolish saints and clever nuns

mass murders in the name of religion

forgotten disasters and tenacious fashion trends

the cage that this life can be

waiting for rest in death’s extent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When a leaf drops dead

When a leaf in the winter night,

Pierces through the moonshine and the air,

And drops dead on the ground

Does it bear the cognizance of its death?

 

The sacred departure from this life

And if it does, does it hope for a beyond

A life after death,

Does it want another life?

 

And if it does,

What does it expect to be?

A man, a beast,

Or perhaps just another leaf on a tree;

 

I am dubious of what it thinks

When a dead leaf drops on the ground

Without a sigh or moan, in the winter night

Does it accept death as wise men do forever,

Or does it hope for a heaven, scripted yet unfound.

 

Then I imagine  the day I would drop dead

As a leaf does in the silence of the night

And I wonder if I would just accept death

Or beg for another life.