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Rohit Rohan Jul 2014
>A_ Your message haunts me
The one you left on the coller
Before leaving
>B_ Yeah?
I don't remember
What was it?
Must have written in a frenzy
Between tears,
I guess
>A_ But its your name that haunts me more
>B_ No wait!
I remember
>A_ :)
>B_ Mark my word
One day it will make you happy
Even if you dont know it today
You will know it one day
Gimme a call that day
Or look me up,
As they say
In case you don't have my number
>A_ :)
>B_ :)
Rohit Rohan Jul 2014
Ms. Monroe -
I had painted her on my wall
In that room
In that time
That was once mine
Like herself
And is now gone..
She is still there though
Beneath the layers,

Painted over
Blind to the common eye
But if you look closely
Her traces linger
He outlines distinct
And her curls ever-flowing
Even the mole
Still there
Under layers
Of paint
And various other things
Becoming a layer,
But she's still there

Etched once upon a time,
Now fogged by their layers
But I still see her
More fortunately,
Still feel her
On that wall
In the minds
Where she shall always be..
I had painted a mural of Marylin Monroe on my wall in MICA during my final year there. It became a symbol of the room and largely of my presence in the place. Her flowing curls and her neat features caught everyon's eye.
After I left, as is customary, the administration painted over the walls to prim the rooms up for the new students to come.

However.. I can still close my eyes and see her beaming down on me.. I still feel, she's still there..
Rohit Rohan Jun 2014
Crazy people, scientists!
They say all our breaths are atoms
Of this system
And we breathe in similar atoms
With similar breaths
Similar memories
That live on

Sitting in a different place today
Different glasses
Different poisons
New people
Different lives
Same stories

Guess those scientists
Were right
Rohit Rohan Jun 2014
In the lie
Lie all the beliefs
And in the belief
Die all the lies

From stories of "gods"
Who create the thunder
To the lies of love and kinship
Of societies and their wonder

Lied into religion
Educated about virtues and vice
Lied about a happy future
When happiness itself is a lie

When you break it down
Down to the last
Except that matter, everything else dies
So if its that we are all made up of,
From where did good and evil arise?

Where did the tales of myth come from?
How did this system surmise?
Wasn't it all supposed to make us feel happy?
Ah! But they were just plain lies

Lies to breed more further lies
And yet more to bear the older ones
Robbed of all the will in the world
Forced to believe the gods in the stars and the suns

Yet, the funniest irony about the beliefs
Was it a linguist's private joke?
An accident? Or just a plain riddle?
For does not every 'be-lie-f' we hold
Has a 'lie' right in the middle?
Rohit Rohan Jun 2014
Work to feed
And then feed to work more
Rent is high for such a life
Yet one must work
Work through the bone
Work for a home

Sell one's soul
Dream to buy it back
One day...
Day, every day
And after dusk
Complaint, crib and moan
The dream I was projected?
Where is that home?

At swords with the people
In awe of the walls
Frantic attempts
At life
Dissolve it with time -
The difference
Between a house
And a home

Leave home each day
To save that dreamt dream
Stay away
Labour on
Hold on to it
Before its gone
All for love
For dreams and promises
Of a life without stone
Of a life in a home
Work away in irony
For that dream called home

Come back to the doorstep
For another night
In the rented motel
Away from the bosses
Closer to home
Tired steps
Heavy feelings
Fatigued and torn
Thirsty for the warmth
And hunger unknown
For that place called home

Dreams of childhood
Long buried in grandma's garden
The reality of the world
Very heavily borne
With hopes of a quite afterlife
To be spent cosily
Happily alone
In that nest called home

Sometimes the walls
They implode
Family's quarrels
Doors bang angrily
After a long day's work
Mornings leave an escape
Nights are lost
While batteries recharge
For the next day
The next fight
When days are lost fighting
And forgotten are the nights
Hurrying to collect pieces
To build that dream-filled dome
That place....
....called home
Rohit Rohan Jun 2014
Maybe someone sits up there
Puffing a cigarette
Blowing out whiffs of dense air
Creating clouds of smoke
Strands of soul
Filling them with lives
Making them swindle
Dance and intermingle
Dance together
For their short while
Filled with life
They dance
Hand in hand
In twos threes and as many as they can
And then drift apart
Fade out
Into the oblivion
Calling an end
To that while called life
While they danced
Like creatures conjured
Out of his puffs
That dance together in groups and in a pair
Before they scatter away
Like mist in the air
Maybe someone sits up there
Rohit Rohan May 2014
The first time I missed a bus
I ran down the street
Behind the bus that was fading away
I cried shamelessly
While still chasing the bus down

I still miss buses
I still run down the street
I don't cry anymore about it though
Guess I have grown up
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