Tell me the way home,
where the roads were so familiar that they knew your deepest thoughts and darkest secrets
where the buds of romance were crushed softly before it blossomed
where we built our chimerical future with unbridled hopes and aspirations, unbeknownst of their imminent failures.
Tell me the way home,
where we would hang out in street as imbecile loafers and other times as holistic thinkers tackling world’s most bewildering mysteries
where we were first had our lapse of judgement and succumbed to temptations and other times, we resisted with unflinching and unshakable resolve.
where we felt magnanimous in spite of our ineptitude,
where we felt illustrious even with our lackluster lives
Tell me the way home,
where there was never a dearth of persiflage and lampoonist sense of humor quickly followed by inundation of camaraderie
where we fiercely fought for the last morsel of a snack but were willing to sacrifice all for the other at the slightest hint of perilousness
where we rendezvoused near abandoned houses and spent hours and even time stood still and listened to our banter.
Now that I am home,
I feel like a stranger from another world.
Gone are the streets that knew me.
I feel in alone in a city full of unknown faces,
And the condescending neighbors with benevolent intentions
Are replaced by morose traders who will even peddle their souls.
Malls and concrete paths have replaced,
those narrow roads where we walked silently yet our minds spoke our dreams.
The home that has shut its door on me,
And the key is lost forever.
Pray take me far away from Home.
Mar 27, 2024
Mar 27, 2024 at 2:59 PM UTC
Warm woods wonder what's wrong
while winds whisper wise words
Weeds wither without water
while wayfarers wanderlust
Whole world waits
while warriors wrestle
Waging wars with the wizards
while white whales wriggle
Wuthering waterfalls.
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 12:03 PM UTC
forgotten
Now that you are big and strong, graceful and accomplished, now that you're powerful enough to surround yourself with pursuers and admirers, sychopants and flatterers
Do you remember , those who gave you the strength to pick yourself up whenever you were down,
taught you how to hold your head high
when they were being amused by your tripping'?
Just like the water that helped the sapling grow to a tree,
never feels entitled to its shade,
the hand that fed your first morsel,
will not stake a claim on your treasures,
or the hand that saved you from falling when the baby feet took the first steps,
won't hold the trophies you win,
or the one who lay staring at you waiting patiently for the first words to be spoken,
may not be there to hear the standing ovation after your powerful speech,
or the words that edged you on, seeing
a spark in you when others gave up,
won' t ask for an acknowledgement in you memoir
or those minuscule but timely gifts
that helped you through times of destitute,
won't be expecting a share in your worldly possessions.
And here you are standing at the pinnacle of success, with all those moments that forged your life, forgotten!
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 3:14 AM UTC
The trees they tell their stories
only if you know how to listen.
Close your eyes and feel as you
run your fingers along their withered bark.
Each wrinkle etched with musings of a weary traveler.
Of the exaggerated victories of an amateur warrior.
Of the sweet nothings of a resilient lover failing to impress
the village belle.
Feel the whispers from the rustling leaves,
as they sing their last song,
before they make way for another dwelling.
Like a fading opera singer
ending her act with a grand finale
to a standing ovation as the curtains fall.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Paper ***** flew around the classroom
masquerading as a cricket ball
Hit as hard but managing to hardly go anywhere
The chaos in the class would soon end,
as the diminutive figure will walk in, book in one hand
Prying eyes trying to catch the laggards
shuffling back to their seat and
pretend to be very obedient and behaved lot.
The pinch, the hit on the arm with ruler, or the words
will bring about absolute silence,
masking the transient pain and shame,
that will soon followed by snickering comments and giggles
from those who escaped this time by their agility or luck.
The pencil boxes will soon start to play multiple roles,
like the actors in a play on a tight budget,
Transporting bits of papers with probable clues to the
questions put forth, the wrong answer to which,
could lead to repercussions of varying degree..
Like standing outside like a flagpole,
but failing to act as a deterrent to us incorrigible lot.
Lunch time will be like an oasis in the day of claustrophobic pedantry
where the darwinian principles will be set to test,
hands drawn towards the most delicious tiffin boxes,
the rightful owner of which will be lucky to even find a morsel
But however mundane and monochromatic sometimes those time may be
Looking back its was all worth it
when we could pick after 3 decades later where we all left off
and engage in hours of debating, leg-pulling, sarcasm, enlightenment
not withstanding the boundaries of time, space and temperament.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
Its been by my side,
always there on my side,
when i needed it most.
But who can i blame but myself
if I strike a match I know
is not going to light
I strike many times along the side
only to bruise
and tear parts of it away
Making the match box lose its ability to light
even with a good match stick
cause it takes both to light a fire.
Next time you strike again and again
and try to light a spark
with someone
Make sure its not a damp match stick
‘cause it will only bruise more
the more you try to create that spark
Maybe its time to discard this damp stick
and try creating that fire
with a new one.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
What if God decided like any other manufacturer
to put a stamp on each of us and let us know our fate
Like the date the milk turns bad is no mystery
So will be the date a person will be history.
Will you date a person with short shelf life
or even make that person your wife?
And will you make most of a bond that you cherish
if you know for sure when its going to perish?
WIll you love one kid more than the other
if you know who is going farther?
And above all how will you live your life, if you already have a hint
whether your time on earth is a marathon or a short sprint?
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
My end is so near, yet I feel no fear.
I lay there in soft bed of white clouds,
Above all that used to be my life.
From the towering heights,
my worries, my whims and my wants,
felt so minuscule and trivial.
But what glitters are the bread crumbs
that I laid along the path of life.
The fleeting moments that shaped me,
those failures that made me,
those friends always beside me,
Egging me to reach where I wanted to be.
For now when my mind is weak and my body frail,
what remains are the bread crumbs
that I leave along the trails.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC
Lonely heart
Seeks a spark
A Ray of Hope
or a leap of faith
the beating heart aches
for a serendipitous moment
for the jumbled pieces to fall into place
To form the perfect picture
painted with the strokes of mixed emotions
Lonely heart
Still seeking the spark
To light the fireworks of life..
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:51 AM UTC
If you knew then
that the last embrace was the LAST time you will be in her arms
would you have hugged a little tighter
If you knew then
that the last fight was the LAST time you disagreed with her
would you have been more forgiving
If you knew then
that the last dance was your LAST time you would be in her arms
would you have danced a little longer
If you knew then
that the last gift was the LAST gift you would ever give her
would you have put in a little more thought into the present
If you knew then
that the last stroll together was the LAST time you walked hand in hand
would you have walked a little further
If you knew then
that the last time you saw her smile was the last time she smiled back at you
would you have captured the moment forever in your heart
If you knew then
that the last time she cried on you shoulder was the LAST time she would need your support
would you been more understanding and supportive
If you treat every moment
as possibly the last moment
would you not then LIVE in the MOMENT?
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 10, 2010 at 2:32 AM UTC