As I look at the blank page, I see so much to write.
Scribbling across, I begin to rant, the page pure- is no longer white.
I feel a force, raw power within.
Not of violence, neither of sin.
Of an emotion far greater than this,
of an expression that is pure bliss.
This flow of words, the taste of rhyme
is exhilarating such, worth many a dime.
I have the power, vested in me,
to think so deep, so much, so free.
Abusing this power, think- I do,
abusing this power, away goes my blue.
Looking at the rant, it has no meaning
either that, or one’s grey cells have been leaning.
For each word writ, articulated-expressed
there is great inner meaning, that cannot be stressed.
It is upon one to detect, to see
It is upon each one, to genuinely be.

Adulthood is a complicated stage.
It’s the start of a journey, the end of a phase.
Often we don’t feel like an adult,
often we wish to be part of a cult.
Yet you must know, in you we believe.
We’re always by your side, never shall we leave.
For the sake of this bond, this trust, this friendship,
for the sake of each milestone, in the course of our trip.
You’re our favorite, the one we cherish.
So this is for you, this awesome wish!
Looking back at each joyous joke,
laughing at each friendly poke,
remembering the memories made,
knowing they shall never fade.
For our bonds are not so weak,
our friendship isn't that bleak.
We love you for who you are,
the truest best friend, by measures far!

Surrounded by many,
stuck in a crowd.
Midst numerous persons,
midst noises so loud.
I’m often in groups, in herds, in throngs,
meeting new people- Punjabis or Bongs.
Laughs and greets
as though in trance.
dancing on beats
as though having a chance.
I seem to be calm, normal and happy.
I’m far for thus, I feel so ******.
Truth be told, I’m the classic case
of being alone midst many a face.
But when the darkness surrounds and
helplessness sets in,
I remind myself
of what it takes to win.
We come into this world
single, alone.
Exit the same way,
ensuring it shone.
Keep up thy spirit- it’s what counts the most.
Ensure your life deserves a celebrated toast.

Midst the steady heartbeats
a new beat I feel.
I embrace my new born angel
all my aches do heal.
I’m sure the love I feel
is felt by all.
Little do I realize
I’m in for an awakening call.
Far from love, away from care,
all my girl gets is an angry glare.
She’s looked down upon
by those who sought a boy,
Oh! What shall happen to my little bundle of joy?
Will she also suffer, the way that I do?
Will she be traumatized?
I seek for a clue.
Will she ever know how to read?
Will she grow up as another victim of the creed?
Will she be wed at an age too young?
Suppress her wishes? Keep her will unsung?
Will she burnt at her husband’s pyre?
Whether or not, it be her desire?
NO, I decide, it shall happen not.
History shan’t repeat itself,
it isn’t what the leaders sought.
My daughter shall grow, she shall succeed.
She’ll prove to the world, and all of the creed.
A girl can attain as much as a boy,
in fact much more, to a mother’s joy.

There he is.
Lying on the ground.
Alone in the cold, waiting to be found.
He's oblivious to the cries, the terror, the hate,
oblivious to his slowing heart rate.
The hard earth beneath is slipping away.
Death is doing its all to make him pay.
For how dare he not cry out in fear?
How dare he smile when death is near?
Yet his resolve is solid, intact and pure.
His sacrifice is his pride, his nectar, his cure.
The bullets that tore his body apart,
left untouched his mind, his heart.
Flooded with tales of his homeland's wins,
He's overcome with emotion as he thinks of long gone sins.
His lips curl into a contended smile,
his thoughts are away by many a mile.
In the jaws of death, his mind on his nation,
His soul is adrift in obvious celebration.
For what way to die is better than this?
Giving life for your country is such a bliss.

Back in those days
when I was young and strong.
Pristine, Noble,
as pure as you'd long.
White as a dove,
handsome as a king.
I'm a token of love,
far greater than a ring.
My making contained
both good and bad.
My maker being
a hot headed lad.
Blood as blue
as the skies and seas,
I stood along the riverside
enjoying the occasional breeze.
My history is both
wonderful and morbid.
My beauty-spoken of,
I'm known by each kid.
Lovers cherish me,
write songs of my presence.
create tales of their own,
activate every sense.

And now when I speak,
when I look at my current state
I'm sad, deeply sorry
at my distressing fate.
Handcrafted marble
whiter than milk.
Quality as such,
smoother than silk.
Today has eroded,
decayed and died.
It matters not
how much I've cried.
For it all falls on deaf ears
while factory noises expose my fears.
My white is no more,
I'm a deepening gray.
I see pity in the eyes
where once admiration lay.
The pride of India,
its biggest glory.
The life of Agra,
this is my story.
Being the crown of the nation,
the jewel of its eye.
A wonder of the world,
I feel like a lie.
For what I am today
isn't me at all.
I've lived at great heights
survived a great fall.

It is my request
sincere and deep.
Give me no reason
to further weep.
Awaken. Arise.
the time is here.
Preserve your glory,
keep the pride near.
I am none other,
than your beloved Taj Mahal.
this is my story,
one I ought to tell.
Now my life
is in your hands.
the choice is yours
as are the lands.
Choose wisely,
The devils or me?
Perish with them
or rejoice with me?

Heartfelt joy.
Distressing sorrow.
A helping hand lent.
A smile that you borrow.
A high pitched whistle.
A low pitched growl.
An eager face.
A menacing scowl.
A shout of pain.
A whoop of glee.
The vastness of the sky.
The depths of the sea.
These components
with many more,
form my poetry-
an emotional downpour.