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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
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
Rohit Rohan May 2014
Once there was a lady called Bright
Who could travel faster than Light
One day, she set out on a friend's way
And returned the previous night
Rohit Rohan May 2014
There is a number in my phone
That I never call
But its just there
There is a promise I made
To never call
So its just there
Its impossible to erase it
And there is no reason why its there
But its just there
I never message
Or call it
Or get a call
Or a message from it
But its just there
If someone ever asks me for it
I’ll probably say I don’t have it
Or that I never had it
And they will not trust me
But that’s what I’ll say
That its not there
But its just there
I know it by memory
It will probably change someday
Get new random digits
But it does not matter
It is not there only on my phone
Its not just a number
But its just there
Its probably out of my call list
Or not
Coz I keep deleting all others to make it be there
Or when it goes away
I just dial it to have it on the list
To know that I know the number
To know that its there
I shall never call the number
It will never get answered if I do
I shall never get a call
I might not answer if I do
But its just there
And if someday I erase my phone
I’ll probably feed it back in
But won’t ever call the number
Won’t ever get a call
But I’ll just want to have it
To know that I know the number
To know
That its there
Rohit Rohan May 2014
As foes they head
As friends they pause
At every step
At every cause
As such we have been
Right from birth
Our mornings are loud
That muffle our mirth
We here say we are better
And across the line
They say its them!
Wearing a past forlorn
A present torn
We puff up at each others loss
Whose fault is it?
Who is to blame?
Shame on us as we both are the same
We need confession
We need to admit
To clot the blood and dampen the heat
But no!
We have no needle to stitch the cause
So fight we say
And do fight!
Sticking to old ways
Like lizards,tight!
Such meanness we show
Small sentiments and feelings so low!
Nor do they owe us
Nor do we owe
They call us foe
We call them foe....
Rohit Rohan May 2014
The bus roars on
With blinding speed
Sparing nothing behind
Crushing each object on its way
To where it goes?
No one knows.
Passengers sit
Going along
Towards futility
Pockets heavy
Like never again
Expressions dead
Like never before
In a trance
They were not so always
When kids,
They'd never known of the bus
Till while growing up they heard about it
And till it finally made
That perilous halt
Right at their doorstep!
Yet they wanted to keep away
But were stealthily enticed
Pushed into!
Inside the bus....
On the bandwagon
And once inside
The noise and shine
All shut their eyes
And blinded their eyes
Froze their brains
And now
They became one of them..
Them travellers...
All in vain to be...
If only I'd stayed behind
away from all this show
I'd have had so much more!
Who wants the comfort of these seats
Or the delicacies they serve here
Niether the coins of gold and silver
They keep stuffing in our pockets
Making them heavy
So I can't get up
And run out
And I guess
No matter how much i wish otherwise
I have to stay
So that each time I pass my house
I can throw all coins I've collected
And yet
Each time my pockets feels light
I wish to go out
More coins
Bigger and shinier
Would be stuffed in
And the weight
Would anchor me down
I miss all of it!
All of what is out there
I can see
See... but do nothing
I look around in the bus
Eyes with fulfilled hollowness
And underlying concealed longings
So devoid of joy
Or any emotion
Blinded by ever increasing ambitions
Yet decorated
With memories
That slowly drain away
When did they last sit with friends
On a careless bench in the park
When did they last stop
To feel the air all cool and comforting
Dance around them?
When did they last feel
The joy of the innocent raindrops
Hearing it pitter patter on their umbrellas
See it skip in the water
And then feel it dissolve in their skin.
When last did they sit with their mothers
And cried their hearts out?
Or just talk with her
Thank her
And tell her how much they love her
When did they last spare moments
To forget all world
And get lost in old photographs
Remains of the past
Of time that was the sweetest
And that which never again would be.
When last did Anton who sits all faded at the back
Paint with his beloved brushes
Coloured the canvas
Coloured his world
When did Raghav
Who now lies beside me like a lifeless carcass
Last flirt with his romantic guitar
Wearing music
That made him look so full of life
Their fingers are all decayed
Under the load of crude machines
When did that old man
Last hug his son
And kissed his daughter
What was the last time when
That woman danced
To her favourite songs
Not at a party
Not for concerts
But for herself
To give her that joy
And the sheer euphoric high
We have missed out so much!
Stray walks in the parks
On cold grass
Thousands of sunrises and thousands of sunsets
Gazing at the ever changing clouds
Dancing with the winds
Talking to friends
And family
Who are real and not just some animated strangers
Who appear each night for an hour
And then ravish
We have missed out on those walks in the sends
Just staring at the opera of water with ripples and wares
Admiring the night sky
Watching those many birds
Fly high
We have missed out on those unbeatable flavours
That mothers conjure.
Those rides on the bikes,
Away from worries.
Those strolls with the beloved.
Those heartiest of laughs with siblings.
Those cleverest of pranks.
Those sweetest of quarrels,
The sheer enigma of accompanying silence,
When we sat with ourselves.
Oh! We have missed it all!
Now the world is this bus
Where each one travels
Willingly or otherwise
Passengers keep adding
Once in,
You cannot go out
And the slightest of attempts
Raises so many brows
And all stares are on you
And so you have to let go
Just continue sitting in the bus
Lying there like a prisoner of our own law
And what you get in the end is nothing
Just pass on the legacy
To travellers who come
Keep coming.
I know how much I've missed
I know how much I've lost
Oh! How I'd give anything to get out
Where i could have all that i really want
This world with its ways
Constantly suffocates me
Darkness smuggles around me
My tears are all drained out
My voice lies buried somewhere within
And emotions have long extinguished out
Driving me mad
As each second counts ahead
I see the bus marching gallantly
Destroying all dreams
That are strewn ahead
Some of them are mine
Or were....
And more of them will come
And be destroyed
And can I do just nothing
But sit here hopelessly
Be led
And driven
To empty glory
Away from all that I have?
From all that I steadily lose?
From all that I care for?
From all that I want?
Oh! Enough!
I have had a lot of this ride
Now make way for me
I am done with this confinement
And now I reclaim my life.
Ah! They stare at me again
Raising their brows
Horrid expressions
As if I am wrong!
Who cares what they think!
I am now going back
Some of them want to come with me
But are scared of others
But I have seen a lot!
Take these empty coin of yours, I say
Throwing them all away and rising up
My breath is returning and so is my voice
I'm going back to where I'll be free
And happy!
And be able to live and not just drag on!
And so the bus slows and I shout to the driver
Stop this world!I want to get off!
Rohit Rohan May 2014
The train would leave in ten minutes
He came up to the window where I sat
And looked at me
With his hungry,
Longing eyes
And I at him
With a sudden rush of charity
And helplessness.
He must have been my age
Maybe younger!
With his eyes still seeing mine
He slowly bent down
And picked up his kettle
Which lay on the box full of glowing coal,
And he poured me a cup of tea
In an earthen cup.
He never asked if I wanted it;
Only stretched out his weak arm
Covered by an untidy rag
As if pleading me to take it
As if knowing that I would.
And all i could do was take it.
He stood there
Biting his lip
And staring at me
And my clothes
And the novel that lay on my seat
And the packet of biscuits beside it.
Catching his eye,
I offered him the biscuits.
First, his hands rose
But suddenly backed off.
He shook his head
And looked down.
Pride wounded.
I looked at the cup in my hand
And then at him
Thinking,"Did he make it himself?"
And then he smiled at me
As if saying "Yes!"
I felt a pain urging in me
And my throat was choked
I wanted to curse this heartless mob.
Wanted to do something,
To help him.
I sat there wondering a thousand things
What did he eat everyday,
If he did manage to eat at all
Where did he live?
Did he have a family to look after and take care of?
Or worse..
Was he all by himself?
The engine's alarm brought me back
And I saw him
Still staring at me
With haunting eyes
That howled with pain
With pleads
And dreams..
And were yet, so hollow
Someone gave him a coin and whisked him away
Asking him to vanish
But he stood there
Staring blankly at me
We hadn't spoken a word
Yet he had become a friend
In just ten minutes
It seemed as if we had been pals forever
I smuggled out my wallet
As if I was committing a horror
And I stretched it out to him
Silently asking him to take it
He looked at it
And then back at me
I nodded
And he hesitantly accepted my gift
Who knows how much it was worth
Pocket money
Of a few months, perhaps
Then the train began to leave
He stood still there
Gaping at me with eerie eyes
A tear running down his thatced skin
His figure getting further as we moved
Moving away as the train carried me away with it
Standing on the platform
Where people came
Drank his tea
Threw some coins at him
Smashed his cup
And moved on
Banishing him into oblivion
'Drink it.. Or it will go cold'
My neighbour nudged me back to present reality
I looked out
There was no more of that station
Or him
Then I turned back to the man ans sighed
'I don't drink tea'

— The End —