Death of a Butterfly

A butterfly, in the cold dark night

tried to fly;

But the world clipped her wings,

Cheers! Hurrah! Salut!

The butterfly? It died.

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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.

People tell me to tell them

Providence

People tell me to tell them
About the problems that I face,
The many demons that in my mind race,

But I am unsure if they will understand
If I could feel the pointlessness behind every point they make
From the people born of virgin mothers, to the ones who were burnt at stake.

Would any of them understand?
Those people who tell me to tell them
But about what should I tell them?
Which devious thoughts of mine should
I dare to share?

That I find their so called socialising like a parasite in nature,
A mutualism that sustains by feeding off each other,
Or should I tell them
That I am tired, reaching exhaustion, of the petty sarcasms,
That my ears might begin to bleed in rage,
That their exclaimations and apostrophes of “I know!”
Is infact, probably, the most stupendous act.

People tell me to tell them
But should I tell them?
That I think that what we think of each other is almost always false,
Framing and exhibiting judgements on others is not a job of ours;

It is not because we are incapable
But because we don’t know each other,
A proclamation would be either an ignorant or an innocent lie,
And I don’t see any providence in it
When we all are meant to die.

 

What do you do?

What do you do?
When you have nothing to.
Do you sit by the window,
And look out, 
Look out at the world,
Wonder, what it is like to be that bee that hums and hovers over that red rose,
Or think about the decisions you made; the path you are walking on; and the people you chose.

Are you disturbed when you are alone?
Shhh! Come close
Close to yourself. 
Its cozy and comfy and lonely,
Better than those who are but are not
And those too who want to and cannot.

What do you do?
When you have nothing to.
Do you look into the mirror
And embrace the facade,
Click yourself and then edit
Whilst nature loses its credit.
Or do you rather see into your eyes
Try to locate the scars on your soul.

Is there a want of death lurking  about?
Hmmm! Shut up. 
Why to bother with it,
Or why to try to grasp its arms,
It is on its way to you anyhow.
So, you better live and act
Before the final bow.

What would do you do?
If you had something to do.
Hold someone's hand and with them stay
Or by yourself walk away,
Chain yourself with the laws meant to bound
Or hustle to change the things around,
Sweat and bleed to carve your way, 
Or would you let go and give away,
Dream a reality
Or lose yours to a dream,
Mediate in silence
Or burst out in screams,
Try to find what you desire
Or would you lose yourself in the world's mire,
If you had something to do?
Would you hold someone's hand and walk away
Or in your solitude forever stay.

One to the head

One to the head
One said 7 times, the gun was shot,
The other said it pierced him thrice.
Both of them sure, that one was to the head,
And the next moment a human being died.
He was a writer
And a man who expressed,
And showed the World
True colours of a false paradise,
These heathens in a legion’s disguise,
But their reaction, was full of surprise.
For instead of understanding
What he was trying to make them understand,
They blamed him for his religious reprimand.
And summoned him in the court of law,
And that court was swell
And that law was flawed.
But before the law could prove his guilt,
He was condemned of sins and shot,
In the middle of the street,
Against the sun’s glaring heat,
He lost the battle he never fought.
7 bullet shots were shot
Three piereced through him,
But it took just one to the head,
To leave a writer and a human being
In the street, bloodied and dead.
Have no clue about the others,
He has my respect,
For he only said that was true,
Which others could not accept,
And that there is something wrong with the world,
Do you not suspect?

18 Martyrs

18 Martyrs

18 men 3 days back died
And they died not for themselves
But for each one amongst the billions of us
Fighting our battle for paradise,
Without one excuse, they gave their lives,
As they been doing so since long
While we sit here
In our comfy abodes
And watch their sacrifice on TV Munching chips and sipping tea,
And then
And then we just forget,
And it’s alright,
We are humans
But not this time,
Because we are humans.
Let’s not those 18 lives,
Pass by us in a daze,
Stop for moment, close your eyes
And try to feel their rage,
Who have lost more than soldiers,
They have lost husbands, and brothers, and sons
Just think about them,
Just do it for once,
And try to feel their sorrow,
Acknowledge their lives,
Respect their deaths.
For they could have done anything else,
Like all of us do,
But they chose to do what they did,
And they did for me and you.