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....

Dubert, Dubert! I call, a voice echoes in a silent room,
A stressed look, a stern smile and a dark gloom.
His silence speaks of burdens, deep and grim,
Responsibilities he shoulders since marriage welcomed him.

It begins with,
“Oh, it’s a boy! A future bearer of the crown,”
Yet whispered critiques cut, “Too fat, too thin, an unsolicited frown.”
They warn, “If you don’t work, you’re a ghost,”
Societal shadows cast by those who judge the most.

"Men ****, they cannot be *****,"
"Men ****, they cannot be killed,"
"Men are ruthless, men are cruel,"
"Men steal, men break every rule."

"You're so fat, a bus won't fit you,"
"You're so thin, a breeze will blow you,"
"You're so short, the park's your place,"
"Look like an ape, the zoo's your grace."

Kindness finds no soil to root,
In this graveyard world where empathy is mute.
A graveyard of love, a desert of care,
A wasteland of kindness, with poisoned air.

Dubert, Dubert I call, the silence now profound,
In his room, an eerie stillness, no sound.
Tied to a rope, eyes fixed on a fading reality
In his hands, a note, perhaps his final plea:

"Accused of ****, I swear, not me,"
Injustice carved in tears that none can see.
Tears roll down mine, a river of sorrow,
Silently I weep, I won't see him tomorrow.

Dubert swore it wasn't him,
Yet the world’s cruel mistreatment grew dim.
Truth he claimed, but threats he received,
Alone, deceived, his spirit aggrieved.

With fading strength, he climbed the chair,
Fear a factor, betrayed by those called "Dear"
"Oh! Cruel world, may you release me,
Oh! Merciless God, in darkness, seize me."

Dubert is no more, a life unjustly taken,
Dubert is no more, a soul forever forsaken.

I am Icarus as I yearn to fly,

I am Icarus as I sore through the sky,

I am Icarus as I want more and more,

I am Icarus and the sky, I Adore!



I am Icarus as I tend to forget

I am Icarus and later seem to regret

I am Icarus and greed gets the best of me

I am Icarus and only a fall can break me free



Even when I'm gone, my absence will hurt them,

Even when I'm gone, generational will be my name,

Even when I'm gone, I will leave a mark,

My wings burnt and withered- Illuminating yet Dark!



Reliant on aesthetics, I tend to forget nature,

I can't bypass it, Afterall- Human is my stature,

Such madness over crossing human bounds you might ask,

Penetrating limitations might be my greatest task.



Damnation and Mockery- my reward for such foolishness,

Satisfaction and Idolation- I yearn for completeness



My wings might be a commodity,

But my flight is a necessity,

You might forget or might you'll remember me

The leap I took and what completed me



I am Icarus and you might call me a fool,

I am Icarus or you might think my act was cool,

Well It doesn't matter to you, Does it?

In the end I'm just a fragment in you memories!

But for me and for generations to come,



I AM ICARUS!