the maid in our house raised me
and she loves me like her own I see
but when she asked for a raise
my father said she wasn’t worthy of such praise
And it kind of put me in a haze
for I see her working 16 hours a day
in freezing winters and in the middle of May
without so much of a complaint
no matter what she’s going through a smile on her face she’d paint
I’d come to see her as a saint
For she ironed my clothes and kept me fed
& didn’t mind my temper and some lousy words I’d said
She forgave everyone before going to bed
and never had time for a tear to shed
long mornings and short nights
She lived separated from our world and it’s heights
Thinking of the mouths to feed millions of miles away
So she worked till her feet ached without any dismay
My respect for her was always great but my anger is greater
Because what is this world where money and wealth kills us sooner or later
and we are never equal
because someone is a pheasant while others are regal
my paper planes don’t equate to your steel ones
and yet I should smile I say that money isn’t everything
While someone starves eating mud while you some show off their new diamond rings
so tell me how is that fair?
can’t god give everyone their decent share?
Or does he see their suffering and simply doesn’t care?
call it blasphemy, but I can’t bare to see despair
on the face of millions, because it’s something we can repair
Yet no one lifts a finger or gives a penny to spare
Because god did not make us equal
& that’s the truth when it’s bare.

In a world with less fortune,
Where challenges surpass the highest mountains,
Where hope fades into heavenly obscurity
We still work tirelessly and find a way.

In a world with wealth and peace,
Where potential surpasses the highest mountains,
Where sorrow fades into the tales of history,
We try our best to seize the day.

In a world, indifferent from our own,
Where philosophy surpasses the highest mountains,
Where issues remain in a limbo-like trance,
We enjoy our lives, everyday.

if heart cells have formed
you take away our rights
you take control of our bodies
though what’s inside
is smaller than a grain of rice

neglected by the ones
who claim they’re pro life
they must be mistaken
there’s no sympathy in sight

to hell with the poor
and those seeking asylum
to hell with healthcare
that’s not a god given right
and to the lives taken
at the hands of a gun
thoughts and prayers to you
i’ll continue to have my fun

why don’t you say it to our face
we mean nothing to you
you simply love control
but that, we already knew

On solstice day I meet my favored friend
To mourn the ailing boy among our trench:
Avenge his death! We wonder to amend;
Caress his hair or keep away from stench?
Oh holy night, my pious soul becomes
Enthralled by devil’s work; I suffer to
The darkened venom: kin spreading crumbs
Upon the poor. Proclaim me free in lieu!
On dinner, gold in sight, I think of glee;
Abundance lies within, or may it be
An adage set by men to bypass fees
Of countless nights consuming petty tea?
Unfold me, great immortal pet of all
The feeble mortals; keep on, make them crawl.

The poor bless the rich,
and the lowly bless the mighty;
Even as Jacob blessed Pharaoh,
And the giver blessed.

death’s entrancing lure and charm,
I’m far away from my heart,
questions to reach an aftermath,
my lustful youth murmurs the sea of weeping void,
gentle flames to climb the sky,
above death’s veils and tempting allure,
the swan would stare close to the shore,
picturesque face upon night’s bright dispersal in the darkness of a mind,
pearls to shine an urge of power,
swan’s pure demeanour changes the faith of time,
spiritual emotions,
both in its poise and weeping beauty,
a nymph would stare back at the boiling water,
Earth’s harvest burnt like vanishing disasters,
eyes to eat a song of luring infinite,
I travelled till the end of human life.

fruits break out of the tree,
comets fall,
bringing the richness of the nature of the Universe,
through time, light and darkness,
through Hell and Heaven,
the water of the shadows of gemstones,
the world is an evolving organism, a creator,
rainfalls of stardust shattered by gravity,
fire holes and big explosions in the Sun,
tender spell upon its heart,
the sleeping silence waiting forever to be awakened.

Dear Granny,

I saw someone
a week ago,
In the streets
on my way back home..

Her wrinkled skin burnt by the Sun
Her attire frayed and patched with dust
An empty oil can of crumpled tin
A humble sum peeks shyly from within
Her hand stretched, a cup formed from her palms
It shakes too furiously to beg for alms
She speaks a language alien to me
Yet her eyes tell me a universal story
A tale of a debt that was never paid
Kindness was dealt a hand of apathy instead
And the care with which a seedling grows
Was not returned as winter crept close
Because fall came and went, and the old leaves are spent
Shed across the city streets, with none to speak for the dead

Like the world around me I know not
why I should care
Her face is that of a stranger to me
Yet I keep waking up
on account of these dreams
A similar picture, a similar scene
And at the heart of it
The face is yours,
Granny.

Love,
Soham