People to Talk to

I am looking for people,
To talk to,
I don’t step out every other weekend
But that does not mean I am an introvert,
Don’t assume so that I cannot,
But I fail to find people I would want to go out with.
People whom I could talk to in rhymes,
People who have a stable heart and an open mind,
People who are not chained to the bells
Not scared of their chimes.
I’m searching for people
Who are ambitious but not blind,
Who are brave at heart and though they believe in fear
Are ready to give up everything,
even themselves for their dreams,
I want to meet those dreamers, the mad hatter’s, and the insane jokers.
People who want to grasp every star in the sky,
But don’t mind if they don’t.
I am looking for people
With capability to probe a million bizarre ideas,
Yet free from influence except their own,
People who intend to grow forever
And yet never outgrow
For people who are more than what they show.

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.

At my behest

At my behest
At my behest,
Get me a decaying leaf,
Or a new born butterfly,
Life of a dead thief,
Or demise of a woman sly.
Get it to me now, come on
Bring me a broken pencil,
Or may be a coral red,
Get me an unfilmed reel,
Or a flower dead.
Get up, will you now,
Listen! Just bring me a lantern,
Or a half burnt cigarette,
Show me a haunted mansion,
Or may be a mystical amulet?
Don’t be so rude to me,
Just bring me a candle,
Or show me a dug up grave,
Or your old bycles’ handle!
May be a hidden cave?
At my behest,
At least get me a picture,
Or instead a bottle of rum,
For all my inspiration is lost,
And my lady refuses to come.

In a desert

In a desert we sit

with a bottle of wine,

Amidst the sandy waves

under the bright sunshine.

You won’t break your silence

my jaws refuse to open,

In a desert, silent as dead

we sit with our hearts broken.

I see a picture of myself

dancing in the depths of your eyes,

Though a strange expression you wear,

It’s your face that often lies.

The wind that treads between us

is quieter than this desert,

while on the stage of my mind

a band of thoughts play a concert.

And in that moment of silence

my ear’s catch your beat,

I remember it from that eve

when you held my hand on the street.

In a desert, we sit

stretching on to infinity

diving into each others’ eyes,

we seek forgotten treasures,

A search with no beginning,

A search with no end,

A search for eternity.