A row of tabs with titles in hiding,
Each one a witness to the weight of today
The clock ticks louder, each second sharp,
Echoing the resolve she’s forced to obey
When did life slip into this solemn tone?

Her hand hovers, drawn to a magazine,
Its cover untouched, still crisp and clean
She peels it open, and there it is—
The faint smell of paper, a balm for her soul.

Not pages of profit or the season’s couture,
But the world of Bobo, the blue rabbit and friends
Bright illustrations, laughter tucked in each corner,
A refuge from journals and theories that age her too soon.

Here, she remembers a simpler time,
A decade past, when her world felt lighter
This magazine, still standing, still waiting,
The same one that sparked her love for the written word.

She smiles,
Because even amidst the seriousness,
A pause is enough to bring her home.

Frozen joints in a Georgian garret
Grudgingly stirring the fifth peasant soup
Shuffling shiftingly to share it
As lower eyelids, sleepless, hang and droop.
A right for some, a job in lands abroad
The luxury of learning dearly bought
And dearly payed for, still stalwartly moored
And chained with a ball, for living, sought.
I payed for a train to take me back
To the passion that will make a slave of me
But the company never had my back:
For two more score they would yet have of me.
What country fit for heroes is this?
What cradle for young hearts and minds make we?
And cushioned by the green stuff, dismiss
My wish that you may go where you take me.

These days in budgeted decadence
You twist on your thrifted finery
And leave me to mine own
You are children marching the cobblestones
Like soldiers into lines that you know very
Little of, together and alone
Collective and individual struggles fought
Black coffee for the morning
Ethanol for some inky hour after twelve
None of your souls have been bought
Yet, and I hope they won't in the true dawning
From the cutting of the safety net, may you delve
Into futures sufficient and abundant,
All ye heirs apparent.

A locked grave, a confined space
My heart pounding, a tight brace
the strongest oppression: time’s pace
alone and lost, I was chased.

Run, run, run, as fast as you can
Or do as some say: start, lest it began
But now it was too late, the attacker was behind
Edging close, a knife in her hand -

We will soon meet, at the time she feels
But there was a last resort, for those who were weak
I could leave the chase and fall off the cliff
Or just remain and receive death’s kiss

Arriving time, time has arrived
Slash, slash - a blood splash
A red boundary formed, impossible to cross.
Deadline - that’s what it was called.

Sausages and good beer at half past five
With dawn in the window yellowing
White walls and a collage of abstracts
Mismatched chairs at the table

We are only young if you see us
To hear our voices we are older than time
Cynics and lovers and philosophers arrogance
We have already been too much

This is where life happens
Where the loneliness beneath the tinsel lays bare
And brute honesty takes itself walking
Like a great black dog in our shadows

This is where we talk
Put words to what is dormant wordless
Dark brown ale between our teeth
Dark blue night behind our eyes

We don't know how to live you say,
Feelings, respect,love we keep them away.
Whiling away our time in phone,
You believe our culture is gone.
We do not know how to respect our parents,
May I ask where are my grandparents?
We live in nuclear families you see,
I see you and that's what I try to be.
We are the most spoilt generation,
But did you ever find a solution?
And while throwing at us your taunt *****,
Did you ever see our heartbreaks and downfalls?
Don't throw your commands of scoring 90s on my face,
Because I am running a different race.
Running after my ranks and positions,
Did you ever ask my ambitions?
You say IITs and IIMs, they have roles.
But you never asked about my goals.
You let me out, weekly once or twice,
And then you say that it's not wise.
You describe your cricket matches on field,
But never have I,on your face, seen a trace of guilt.
You say I am grown up,
No longer can I have my feelings messed up.
So I bury my fears and feelings deep inside,
And paste a graceful smile outside.
I try hard , I assure,
But when I can take it no more,
God take me away, I pray
Then I open up my heart and I cry.
We do not need all those money to be,
We just need your time and love you see.
With your time we shall thrive,
With your love we shall rise.
These words may cut deep through you, as sharp as a laser,
But yes, this is the story of every average Indian teenager.

Sunday is church day
said childhood, Mum and Mr. Jesus

I agree
said university days, a late night and a hangover
Sunday is a day of rest,
and there are many ways to keep the faith,  

like staying in bed.