To be, or not to be: that is the question – William Shakespeare, Hamlet The rain drenched me as I touched the sand, the sea had never been so tempting, … Continue reading Poem #5: Forsaken
She never spoke much. I remember
her subtle relapses in the past,
like she was alone and had no one around her,
amidst the gazing eyes, poking her and asking
if she was Okay.
I wonder how she must have felt. Blurred, maybe?
They talk of love as an unbearable pain,
if it isn’t meant to be.
They say it takes a heavy toll,
the one you can’t pay.
They say the pain is worth it,
if it’s all happy in the end.
If it’s not? What if it’s not?
I would look at her and would turn away.
That’s what I do, I turn away.
This winter is too cold, am I too cold?
I wouldn’t know.
Her sadness would deepen sometimes,
I wouldn’t know, I turn away.
I once wanted to be there for someone,
and wanted to tell her, it’ll be okay.
I couldn’t. They tell me, I couldn’t have done much
for I was a kid. How do you convince your guts?
Now nothing’s the same.
I would sometimes see her laughing out loud,
her laughter would cry its heart loud,
It was there, I could see it.
I saw a kid once, trying to entertain people by telling stories.
Nobody laughed. He sat down a little later,
He didn’t like it and I stood there looking at him,
never telling him his stories were good and I enjoyed them.
It could have made him smile, but I turned away from him.
Once she told me about her sadness
and I couldn’t muster the right words;
She must have thought of me as apathetic.
Once I laughed at someone’s misery.
It just came out of nowhere!
I was deeply saddened within… was I?
I was. I was. I know, I was.
People would imagine me cruel.
I’d like to know if he is doing fine,
for I feel he is not.
But I will never say a word,
I don’t do that.
I laugh with her all the time,
that is something I can do.
I can laugh. I laugh.
My Twitter account got hacked. I apologise for any inappropriate tweet that you might have seen on the blog. I had been completely unaware of it until today.
Thanks to a friend, I was able to deactivate it on time (maybe).
Thanks, Neha! 😀
If I were a painter
I’d have turned a blank canvas into multitude of colors,
Mingled perfectly in the shape of your smile and the dimple on your cheek.
I’d have drawn the moon that rises from the clouds below
and hides itself into the clouds above,
with that I’d have drawn my overwhelming heart – joyous and meek.
I’d have sketched my soul dancing with yours in the middle of the sea,
I’d have painted tides – high and low, treading on them, setting my spirit free.
On gloomy days I’d have painted the walls with windows on them
and the entire landscape with birds chirruping on dancing trees.
I’d have sketched the weary eyes of an old man looking at the road map,
A joyful lad boasting his beginner’s luck, short-sighted on life,
And then a man selling fruits and a woman smiling wide.
Oh but my luck! I can’t paint! I can’t use the brush and paint the tides,
I can’t move my brush and trace the right curves of your smile,
I can’t draw your dancing soul and my demon by your side,
I can’t fill the colors of agony, of love, of wonder, of freedom,
and I can’t paint the starry nights.
So, with a heavy heart and twisted words I sit down and write.
I tell you what frustrates me,
Irritating Hashtags – some with spaces, some without.
Unnecessary VDA, to which I have no doubt.
The Happiness posts that people boast about.
This is just the beginning, read on
Everything they are offended by,
Ignorant yet opinionated.
Share or like otherwise they’ll die,
Seriously? One prayer equals one like?
Butchered English, Funny Hindi
When will they learn to write?
All the ‘mahs’ and the ‘uhs’,
They’ve fucked up the basic rules.
The religious posts,
The political outrage,
Discrimination and hatred,
Mockery on outrages,
Outrage on mockeries,
This is what frustrates me.
Let the philosophers think,
Let the thinkers speak,
Let the scholars write,
You need to read.
Am I clear enough?
If you’ll never succumb to endings, you’ll keep on moving. And it’s a good thing, right? I packed my bags and prepared myself to leave, looking around every nook of … Continue reading Beginnings
The fight doesn’t stop,
The fright doesn’t go away,
Who are we? Soldiers or Tyrants?
We are being dictated names,
Printed on our badges.
Is that our new identity?
I think we are blind,
The colors are too bright.
Orange, orange everywhere,
Green, green everywhere,
Together they form Red.
Isn’t it sad?
Our blindness and our pride together?
Are we doomed, doomed for life?
Who are we? Nationalist or Extremist?
Isn’t it sad, there’s no ONE God?
It must be hard for God to identify himself!
Am I Allah or Krishna or Christ?
Stuck in the everlasting plight.
Who are we? Humans or Castes?
We are dangerous, ignorant creatures.
Like Dodos we follow,
Let’s call dusk morning now!
Dusk is morning! Dusk is morning!
You say Defame! We’ll defame,
You say Kill! We will kill,
You say Praise! Hell, we’ll praise.
I think we’ve turned into parasites.
Who are we?
Children of God?
God deserted his earth long time ago!
We are pitiable creatures,
Ready to eat our own flesh.
I don’t see Orange beneath Orange, do you?
Because when the river flows,
It bleeds Red.
Who are we?
Who are we?
We are nothing.
Insignificant in this vast universe,
On mercy of one smite.