The old man comes to the park every day
He walks with his left hand outstretched
******* poking out, waving in air
As if that's the imaginary walking stick
With which he controls and coordinates
He turns and his other hand slides up
His slender arms like a bird's wings
That flies him to places we cannot see
And many may call him mentally *******
But I say, he lives in dreams

I speak from the landfills, dumpsters and gutters
I speak from the corners you ignore
Because you don't want to acknowledge your contributions
You know you add to it more
Everytime your car passes
Your inner voice rants and screams
But you look the other way
And scrunch your nose up silently
No one wants to make a move
While we live in our fantasies
Away from the rag-pickers and sewage cleaners
Who segregate our waste for a mere salary
Who clean our **** while we throw some more at them
Who are not treated as human
We just want to get rid of things so we throw
Throw on the road, in the rivers and lakes
In the forests, in other peoples' place
We urinate and spit red paan on walls
We do our business on railway platforms
We live in a such a mess
We are such a mess
Our ideology is as filthy as these places
So I'm sorry, for such a disturbing poem
But it's time you better be disturbed
"Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny..."
70 years ago, these were Nehru's words

Every morning she woke up early
When emptiness would invade the court  
But she would break her each sweat
Being crystal clear about her goal

Her every victory and her every loss
Made her improve from who she was  
She had dreams to achieve, races to compete in
She didn’t have time to give up

She recognised her weaknesses  
Determined and earnest  
She toiled alone each day  
She worked hard to be the best  

Slowly, patience seemed to wear out
The results weren’t in haste
Loss after loss gave its taste to her
She accepted it as her fate

She let the thread loose
The fire inside of her seemed to be dim
Things that she cared so much for
Seemed so far away, so slim

She was made of passion
Of a driving sensation
And all she amounts to now
Are long lost appreciations

It's after midnight
And I'm listening to The Doors
And I think in Jim Morrison's symphony -
I'm a Rider On The Storm
With People who Are Strange
But I say, "Hello, I Love You, can you tell me your name?"
I beg them to Light My Fire
But they don't even try...
How long will I try to Break On Through To The Other Side?
Love Me Two Times, before I say I'm goin' away

But maybe I don't have to feel lonely
As long as there is good music out there

Forgive me father, I'm about to sin
But these desires burn like fire
They cannot be extinguished by the wind
The trickle of pleasure runs down my body
I try, but I can not control the feeling
I might be impure but sated all the same
Please, I need it more than anything
Barriers of right and wrong leave me in confusion
But the heat against my skin lulls me
Even if it's just for a moment
Please, I need some peace of mind
I'm not a sinner, just worn out by life
When he runs his fingers down my bareness
I feel a divinity that religion can't define
The pleasure of the present is much more
Than the atrocities of hell in banishment
Maybe it's immoral or unethical  
Unacceptable or evil
But in moments of loneliness and pain
My heart tells me it's worth it

Music inspires me
And I look outside
The silhouette of
Leafless trees
Against the dawn
And I think of anyone
Anyone, I know
Like life
I changed
For good, for bad
But I left you
Without reason, just
Fear of being faked at
And I wanted to
Tilt, to go back
But it was too late
And curse me
Your memories
Will be of that
All the older ones
Will evaporate
And when I'll leave
They'll ask
"Remember her?"
And you'd say
"An altered acquaintance
She was"
So I'm sorry
I hope you'll forgive me