I have learned it in school that soldiers seldom die.
I have learned it in school to remain a bit both silent and shy.
The teachers in my school had huge degrees and dark sarcasm,
With which they often used to rule,
For they used to say-
“Don’t yell or shout or stoop or cry! For,
A “WHATEVER” might just come in the way....”

I have learned it in school that sharing is not fun,
I have learned it in school that to re-exist superficially you gotta run!

I have learned it in school that there’s a good and a bad,
I have learned it in school that “writing poetry makes you mad.”

I have learned it in school to finish papers “within” time,
I have learned it in school that if you’re a bit poor, well that’s a very sober crime!

I have learned it in school about much history and “NECKTIES.”
I have learned it in school about wearing short skirts and not eating rice!

I have learned it in school about chicken nuggets and low waist jeans!
I have learned “this” in school about fancy twilight books, ice creams, and suspicious inklings!
I have learned it in school, about a classroom- “A FISHY MARKET.”
I have learned it in school about high esteemed mediocrity and about so many things.

The fat bottomed teacher did teach us about science,
I have learned it in school that “IMAGINATION MAKES YOU BLIND!”

I have learned it in school that you need to have a shave every day!
I have learned it in school not to yell or to shout,
For,
A “WHATEVER” might just come in the way...

I have learned it in school that the president is nice.
I have learned it in school about both virtue and vice!

I have learned it in school to keep myself calm and to proceed...............
I have learned it in school to love myself more, “MORE” than “I” should “Thi(M)nk.”

I have learned it in school about both “BOYS” and “GIRLS”,
I have learned it in school about both shame and fear!
And, I have learned it in school about both heaven and earth.
I have learned it in school that only with a good grade, comes a joyful mirth.

I have learned this in school and about so many things!
The teacher did teach, they did teach well!!!!
I have learned it in school never to shout or to yell
I have learned it in school that I have nothing else to tell!

I have learned it in school to manufacture myself as a product,
As to Something which I Can sell.

Pretty Well.

I have learned it in school about such a fairy tale,
For,
A “WHATEVER” might just come in the way...

Mostly it was the sky that never changed.
The same star pictures were there years after year.
The Moon grew from nothing-
to a thin silver,
and then to a round ball,
and then back again into nothing.

When the moon changed,
the women used to bleed.
Sometimes they used to shrink down at noon.

He used to stare at them with awe and wonder.

Faraway lights blinked in silence,
and they planned to obey the rules.
For, Rules were sacred.

The stars were far away.
When he used to climb up a hill or a tree,
they were no closer at all.

And clouds came between him and the stars.
But the moon never ate the stars.

He thought they were his children.
They flickered strangely,
cold white faraway light,
many of them all over the sky,
but only at night,
he wondered what they were.

But if the stars were holes in his skin?
He became afraid!
He never wanted to fall down through a hole,
and into the flame of power.

He moved. He survived.

But, One day there was a storm,
with much “thunder, lightning and rain.”
The little ones were all afraid.
And sometimes he too was afraid.
But the secret of the storm was hidden.
The thunder was deep and loud,
and the lightning was brief and bright.
Maybe to be a wolf was bad.

Someone was angry, maybe up in the sky,
he thought for a second.

But then after the storm,
there was a flickering and crackling in the forest nearby.

He went on to experience.

It was a bright hot leaping thing, yellow and red.
He never saw it before.

He named it “flame”.  
It carried a special smell.

In a way it was alive, he countered.
It ate food.
It ate plants, tree limbs,
and even whole trees if they used to let it.

It was strong but not very smart.
When the food was gone, it died.

It never walked, never danced,
but when there was more than enough food,
it gave birth to many flame children.

One day he had a brave and fearful thought,
to capture "the flame",
befriend it a little, and feed his taste of desire.

But the flame children were weak, they died.

But still, he used to shout out loud,
with all his good wishes-
“Do not, no, no...never die. Never! Never Die...”

When you wake up and you have 600 clothes to wear,
enough thread notes to curl your hair,
parmesan, strawberries and indigo red wine,
You should innovate for such an absolute reason to rhyme.

Butter
between
Burnt Bread.

Demand supply,
Absent present.
Tense.
To suffer is to exist.
The surprise of a surplus,
In nature.

The east was drenched in the color of liquid gold,

The waters of the river were lapping against-
the edges of all the boats,

The sun and his soft beams,
had the coolness of the dawn,

And the toe of the river,
was tracing patterns under the rocky shoals of time,

But still, The coward has always been a beast of burden.

High speed. Shouts and screams.
Cool air, and the art of lost rhythms.
Make up, blush, black doozy mascara,
An overdose joint production!

Just when the caterpillar thought-
that the world was over,
It was turned into a butterfly.

One should not confuse motion with progress,
A rocking horse moves,
But it can never feel the pleasure,
Of a linear growth.

Well, If you have cancer, I will be by at your side,
And, If you have gaping holes-
and you worry like a fool, you can tell them to me tonight,

I wouldn't care,
If you have a Burger,
and well, I might just take one bite from you,
If you're frightened enough, I
would be there, to lighten your life, it's true!

Trust me, If you're going to the world out there,
all alone,
I Would be wanting
to steam out all the trouble
with just a small tipsy fare,
If you're a pizza,
then I would be a stain of cheese on your shirt,
I would praise you
just before the rush of a ten thousand years flood.

Remember,
to breathe, and bake and branch out like a tree,
I can be the interest of your heart,
and I can bid goodbye
to the process,
of such a compounded misery.

Let us transfer some
pressure from the bottom of my brain,
Let us look like beauty
as they're seen in movies, my friend.
Let us wander
around the forest of doom and death,
Let us seek
the pleasure of easy money and fictional regrets!

Let us assume
that an iron gate might be able to die,
Let us attach
the gloss of hate and a humdrum in a dice,
Let us disdain fortune and-
be the serpent underneath,
Let us be like beautiful people,
as they're shown in movies,
in brief!

Are you home from the sea?
Did you sing the slow melody?
You've Weathered a storm, your heart unafraid,
You've Crossed every ocean in the boat that you made.

And all the glory falls around you,
You do not know the story of an age, untrue!
And there up in the sky,
The stars fritter like encrypted codes,
Wishing to hearten a timid lamp, you see?

Are you home from the sea?

And the vagabond wind whispers over the bay,
The songs and the laughter are carried away!

Far from the mysteries of roasted profit and games,

Are you home from the sea?
Would you sing the sweet melody?

I Dig, You Dig, We Dig,
They Dig...

It's not a beautiful poem,
But it's very deep.

The sea turns white,
Like a diamond too bright,
Like a death too dear,
The seething eclair.

The sun burns like a bomb,
An artistic womb,
A warm cozy place, with no memories,
In front.

The roads were in two,
The ruminations were true,
Like a rocking horse moving with motion and force,
But no progress or life to feel the sea.

Mirrors in my room,
And the nature is in bloom,
Like a fortune at sight,
The sun was clean and bright!

I became death, like a wavelet in pause,
Of all reasons I am, I am the effect of effort and cause!

The reasonable tragedy lies in the fact,
That there is no such thing called-
an invincible summer!
And You fantasize about A Pi? A rotation?

I have a mountain to climb,
And, I have a desert to design.

I am a forest without a soul,
And I am young and I am old.

Comfortable in a room,
A power window with a powdered view,
Five fuzzy skulls.
Fresh air, force.

Hermits meditate along the lines-

I am old and I can be young like peoples_you see,
And, I went to the lights, to sell my body for such a mystery.

And you beg for options?

Cameras were invented to capture memories,
And to not burn memory space.

An essence, and its immediate objective essentiality.

It all, actually comes down to a single choice, really.
To be innocent like a softly spoken Blooming tale,
at night.
You can Sell the meaning for art's sake.
You can Read and rejoice and remark like a story,
unavailable.

Walking within the measured lines,
all but circling against the plot.
And, thus Nature is in Bloom.

And The Principle of a behavior is,
****** out from the marrows of life.

And You scream like an idiot, an experienced fool, you are! for him-
there's a script of skinny tales,

And, Nature is In Moody Blues, My Friend, again.

Like dizzy doses of death and weary wallets of wishes,
you hear a whisper of grunge.
Sauce and butter and eggs for Lunch.
Walking within the measured lines, you are circling against the plot.

You can Nurture the secrets of stars from,
up above.

Joy, O! joy,
Bleed like a metaphor, a maze of magic moss-
and there are red violins for beats,
Cheap and sold the meaning in brief.

Eating the doses of measured griefs and groans,
And, Nature is In Moody Blues, My Friend, again.

Talk like a glassy shade of impermanence at sight,
I can find a mountain to climb,
A soft nestling place where a sickly smoggy winter craves,
For Breeze and beats and boxes of hope.

For, My Nature is In Moody Blues, My Friend,
to clean the little bruises on my soul.

The king in the courtroom boasted like a bird,
"I can sing like a Nightingale, if I stay a bit alert,
I mean alert about the notes and pitches and scales,
Heigh **! You pianist play some music that sells."

The piano made music as soft as a feather too bright,
G sharp major said the singer at sight.
"Yes Monsieur, surely and at once,"
And the king went on singing like a donkey in a trance.

Etched and wavy, and linings of link less placed tones,
The pianist went on smiling, as if the king was like a dog with all his bones,
And the courtroom listened and everyone was but happy, "there, go gentle gales."
And The king nodded to the music, as a dog wags his tail.

Everyone clapped like a good old cheers to the king,
The pianist went over to say, "Monsieur! O! Monsieur you are the only one who can sing."
The queen kissed his hand and greeted him all the way,
But it was music and the piano who had nothing else to say.

Next morning, the town knew that the king sang out loud and good,
And they told their families that all music might be dead, but not the king as it never should.

"These days you are not at home, Somu,
The rooms seem blackened like a dying dumb ghost,
dead and deaf like an ageless planet, you see.
The walls breathe silence,
like flowers which bend with the rain,
And, I twist and age with time like grapes of wrath.

Dear somu, I saw you in the photo, on Facebook dear boy,
To be honest you have become fat, like your mother when she was six,
Eat less cheese and burgers and cream, to fix these things,
Try veggies and salads to make you look thin.
I am storing up some money, this year,
To send you some sweets,
During puja, we had fried chicken and fish kebabs and rolls,
I made it as you liked it, a bit saucy with corn flour and chickpeas and all,
Next time when you come, I would make it again"
Read the letter,
Signed, Your grandma Mini.

Somu, as known as Somnath at his college, MIT to be honest you see.
A good student and an economist to be soon,
Somu is told to be the young Stiglitz,
Who gets a bit sentimental at certain gloomy afternoons.

But this letter came to him last Monday, at work,
He couldn't read it properly as being busy is the way to look more and a bit more, tough and sharp.
And as he came home today at nine,
Like whiskey and lemon and contradictions which never seem to rhyme-
came another Telephone at around ten,
Informing the youngster about the death of one of his grandparents.

"This is Baba, Your Mini is no more,
Today at six, we found her collapsed at and over the toilet floor,
Come home as soon as you can..."

And He was Still holding the letter,
helplessly within the shivering thrills of his cold and goofy tired hands.

It was 11 at night and he was reading the letter once more,
He was all but telling to himself-"this must be a dream to be sure..."
He was thinking about so many things at a pace,
And he felt about the world that he brought his Mini some disgrace.

The key to happiness is lower expectations,











Lower,







Much lower,





There you go!

Winter breaks my heart,
Stops at my door, while she flirts like a *****,
Bleached like a paper,
Soaks in all light,
Brimming with puerile and infantile tales,
Winter! O  winter! You break my heart.

I look out for care and sun burnt mirth, I extend my hands,
To the distance of heights,
I partly cross the station of pointed conversations,
And my moon smiles and nods,
Like a lucky charming dream.
Winter, my fractured existence,
Lives and dies, within.

I am born with cash,
I get old and young with leaves of grass,
I blow out the smoke, visceral tubes, you see,
Winter breaks my heart,
Like an aged old ghost,with jovial histories.

"May his liver be turned into water,
And his bones crack in the cold of his heart,
May dog fennel grow upon his ancestor's graves,
And the grandsons of his children be born without eyes.

May whiskey turn into clabber in his mouth,
And every time he sneezes,
he would blister the soles of his feet,
And the smoke of his pipe, may it make his eyes water,
And the drops fall on the grass that his cows eat,
And poison the butter that he spreads on his bread.

He would die like a stranger to the beauty of such an,
existential Dread."