Ragged, bruised, *****- yet a happy small boy,

Roams around the streets of this wretched town

He’s a small bundle of misery with a bit of subdued joy,

He greets but he’s met with an unsolicited frown.



The town folks are irritated by his situational ploy,

He has no one in this world he could claim as his own

But he has all the sands of this Mother Earth to enjoy,

Why is his life like this? He hasn’t even a sin to atone.



He talks to a girl although, his only ray of hope,

Her name he doesn’t know but knows she sweeps,

She drives him forward in life’s steep *****,

But today while playing- she doesn’t smile, she weeps.



She says with teary eyes and a broken smile,

“My father has set my marriage with a washer man”,

It was hard to comprehend; he stood there confused for a while

“Would she run away with me?” but quickly discarded his plan



For what could he provide her with? He hadn’t even wealth,

Love can never be sufficient for he didn’t even know if it was love,

He knew he couldn’t even provide meds for her health,

So he let her go, he let her fly in the sky as a free dove.



He attended her wedding for afar with a cold heart,

He wanted to cry but his tears were adamant in his eyes,

He knew it was over- they were forever apart,

“She was just a friend, I wasn’t even in love” coping with lies

But letting her go wasn’t easy- it burned,

He packed his things, and took pain as his prize.



He moved on from the place, never returned,

To a new nest, with no answers or goodbyes.

I picture myself in a realm of love and grace,
With my beloved- away from this society’s ties,
I picture waking each morning in your warm embrace,
Share a deep kiss whilst staring into your eyes.

Our bond is an unspoken taboo for this world,
What’s nectar for us in their eyes is blood,
We want love nonetheless, but hate is hurled
The serenity of our love disrupted by this society’s thud!

What has my identity to do with love?
When all that matters is- he loves me, I love him.
What has my gender to do with love?
When all that matters is- she loves me, I love her.

Love is for the brave, not the coward at heart,
They might whisper, shout or even try to tear us apart
Love is for the brave, it’s neither profane nor sacred,
And ours is fueling the fiery pyre of hatred

Live with love- Live with pride!
Kiss me now, let’s rise and glide.
They’ll hurl their dogma, their hate, their lies,
From our burnt ashes, we’ll yet arise,
Let us break bonds from our chains,
Kick off the hate and rinse off our stains,

“Love is for the brave”
“Love is for the brave”

A silent weep and some tender sobs draw me close,
Close towards the shadowy figure standing in the distance,
With every breath – every step, the urge in me grows,
His cries get louder, matching my footsteps as I advance.

Around his neck is a garland of flowers and his body -pitch black,
His stench of cremation and deception is that of a wack,
He starts crying violently with every breath I take,
“Oh! Shut up, I’m just trying to help for God’s sake”.

(In a manly voice), “They killed me! They took my money”
(In a girlish tone), “They mutilated my corpse! They thought it’d be funny”
(In an ageing voice), “They killed me! They killed me for my property”
(In a sobbing sense), “They killed me for my thoughts, they called it Blasphemy”

Startled I yell, “Don’t you dare pull a prank on me!”
I know your goon ways and I know about mimicry,
At that moment he looked at me with hollow eyes and nothing else,
Suppressed black it was, the feeling of cowardice in me nonetheless

“I’m the embodiment of dead souls”, he says,
“Millions and Millions reside within me
I take in these wandering, tormented souls-
Unfortunates who never reached their goals.”
A betrayed lover who slit his nerves
A soldier who died on the field he served
A poor pregnant woman who died during labour
A poor fellow who was out of nature’s favour
“I am the home for all of them and soon yours”

“What?” I yell out, giving out a confused smile,
Then, it hits me:
I’ve been dead for a while
A drunk driver hit me and I lay there dead, alone-
Today was my birthday and was in a hurry to rush home
I couldn’t move now that I had confronted the unknown.

He took my hand gently and added me into his collection,
I was one of the Poltergeists, one of his many complexions,
I shed a tear when I realised I won’t be seeing my loved ones anymore
A strange feeling came over me when I realised
I was NO MORE

I was but a Poltergeist!

Is it merely just a paper?

Born from nature, molded by hands

Timekeeper of history, curator of mortal demands!

From the moment a kid scribbles their first doodles

To the moment a person records his last.

Is it merely just a paper?



A child’s canvas of boundless dreams,

Where letters dance, and colors gleam.

An artist’s appetite for creation,

Where he shapes his imagination.



A man’s plea of proposal, a revolutionist’s voice

A royal decree, a gift! Or a nation’s cunning ploys,

An innocent airplane, a love letter or a terrible ransom,

A waste or a cheque of money- quite handsome!



It has the power to bring tears or a simple smile,

A bridge between hearts, across many a mile

In ink, in lead, in blood or in gold,

Written in it are valiant stories to be foretold



Written in it are-

“A B C D”,  “1 2 3 4”

“Apne matbhedo ko bhuljao aur Halla Bol !”

“Rohit weds Archana”

“He fought with honor”

“Sorry mom and dad, I couldn’t make it”



Carrier of Joy, Carrier of Sorrow

Plight of yesterday, Flight of tomorrow!



Is it merely just a paper?

A note of 10 rupees flies through the damp sky,
Perhaps some well-to-do might have dropped it,
Perhaps he might have even forgot about it
Or just didn’t give a **** about it.

The parentless piece of cash floating carelessly,
Finds shelter in the tender palm of a young boy,
The No-worth paper finds immense value with him
It’s now become something of great joy

With the cash in his hand, he leaps off of happiness,
With colors of imagination about to paint its spoilage,
“Should I buy the machine that roars?”
“No No, I’ll buy myself a castle!”
“Or should I buy some toys with this?”
Perhaps he’d never seen paper of value,
All he knew of wealth were some old wrinkled coins,
“Aman”, yelled his partner in crime,
“What do you have there?”
Both of their eyes gleamed with innocence,
The Cash allured them to spend it, To waste it

And now- As they walk proudly,
Acting like the richest people in the world,
They get the shock of their life.

They wanted to buy the whole shop of sweets,
But
The Shopkeeper handed them few pieces of toffees
With gentle hands clenching on the sweets with young rage,
With disappointment and realization they exit the stage.

I know a place where the Sun doesn’t shine,

Where kids rejoice and the adults whine,

Where Glacier of lies and rivers of deception intertwine,

Where they enrich the young with the money and the adults with wine,



The Ministers lie through their teeth and promise upliftment,

The poor are deceived and are fed more punishment.

They have no concept of Day or Night,

Anytime-Every time they struggle to fight,



The Kids exuberate innocence and liveliness

While

The Adults showcase fatigue and tiredness,

It’s been years since they’ve heard those promises

It’s been months since they’ve opt for progressiveness

‘Impoverished, Imperfect, Unimportant”, call them what you may,

But when you’ll see their  hungry eyes and tiring demeanor,

You’ll have nothing to say.



Their generations

And their generations,

Will keep living this way

Unless the bureaucracy decides to help them,



Their generations

And their generations,

Will keep on suffering

Unless those in power come to hold them,

Till then,

For Eons and Eons and Eons and Eons to come

They’ll keep on wanting,

They’ll keep on crying,

They’ll keep on living,

They’ll keep on surviving.

There erupts a quarrel between the five senses,

Who among them has the most significance,

Is it the eye who is the perceiver?

Is it the ear who is the observer?

Is it the nose who is the moisturizer?

Is it the skin who is the sensor?

Or is it the tongue who is the taster?



The Eyes says it's him who is the mightiest!

He sees the beauty, perceives the stars; the shiniest!

Sees the flowers, trees, bugs; even the tiniest,

However, he lies, he says he sees the inner beauty,

But we know, he's after the external; he's guilty!

He can't see purity- limited is his duty.



The ear goes next, she is the master of interpretation,

She gives us pleasure, the sound of nature and it's creation,

The calm sound of streams and birds without filtration,

However, she is not perfect, she prefers to hear gossips,

She is the reasons for dispute and strains in friendships,

She is evil and intrigued to break relationships.



It is the nose's turn, he gives us sensory pleasure,

He identifies odor- sweet, bitter, lovely-All flavors,

From flowers to soaps, ranging to natural odor,

However, he fails to smell the foul in the air,

Gives us dissatisfaction, sensetive to anything near,

It gives up instantly, as soon there is something it can't bare.



Skin's turn is up next, she comes in all colors,

Unique and special in it's own tone, like flowers,

She senses all natural gifts, she senses nature's showers,

However, she is unruly, she is a distinctive status,

Only favoring some, it becomes an inferiority apparatus,

Between sensory love and physical lust, towards the latter it is gratus.



Finally, it's the tongue's turn, he presides over taste,

Gifts of God- fruits, edibles, he engulfs without haste,

Anything that gives him joy, he never throws it to waste,

However, he is highly defective, he likes drugs,

The taste of it, puts his adrenaline high- sugar rush!

Verbal abuse is his thing, after this don't expect for hugs.



Hence, we conclude.... All the senses have their pros and cons,

The eye with blindness for internal beauty,

The ear with deafness to morals,

The nose with blockage to nature,

The skin with insensibility to hugs and love,

The tongue with nullness to moral taste....