Monday, August 31

I too shall triumph

As the first light shows,
I, guilty of indulgence,
Move to plead mercy,
Be forgiven for all respite,
For once, show me some light.

For efforts, petty, I seek thy
Divine intervention to embrace me,
In time of joy, when I forgot you,
Save me from this dark, I’m contained in.

For I’ve believed in your muscle,
At all times I’ve breathed,
Show me some leniency,
Make me believe,
I’ll get more than my need.

Sunday, August 30

The night before the first light

Stand with me, hold
My hand, as I stand here, deserted
For I’m alone, the fate
Of my tomorrow, on a coin, rests
While my heart, it beats
Out of control, no sync
With the clock, on the wall

Stand with me, behold
The sky turns white, from the dark
Blackness inside of me, it speaks
A million words of, turbulence
Unsure of what it’ll see.

Stand with me, alert
Of all that’s around me, alive
Like the sky that brings, the light
That shall guide me through, the dark
As the night before the first light, shall pass.


He lit a cigarette again,
That’s burnt his soul before,
Yet he won’t stop, he won’t seek a cure
For what he burns, he wanted to save,
But then he cannot take it to his grave

So burns on the cigarette,
And burns the spirit,
The body bearing the brunt of the mind,
For a strong will would call it a mistake,
An error he should have long undone.

So burns on the cigarette,
To please his soul,
Burning ignorantly, expecting a cure
For science has advanced, and he’s playing his stakes,
For someday he might have it all undone

So burns on the cigarette,
His fellows burn too,
So what if we are buried, at least we’d be in unison,
For alone if I die, I’d stay a wandering soul,
Breathing my last breath, choking to smoke

So burns on the cigarette,
Under every excuse,
Though each one knows well, there will be no cure,
When so much burns why should I be saved?
If I have to burn, why wait for the grave?

Saturday, August 29

A lost dialogue

A short communiqué,
To start a quarrel,
Hard strikes to the face,
Blood, filling barrels

The wounded chap,
No thought, no reason,
He won’t quit,
Just fight, persist

The ugly outcome,
Bruised faces, broken ribs,
Yet no penance, a virtue, too dated,
For if an oblivious, questions why,
Conflicts, you know, happen for no reason.

Tuesday, August 25

Love, just one last time...

I’ve walked this road before,
Yet I’m eccentric to this way,
I’ve held a hand earlier too,
But this touch of yours, I can die for it any day

I’ve said these words, these bookish ones,
But this time I want to feel each breath,
I’ve promised those long stories, earlier too,
But this time, its not one, I want to obliterate.

You might not like it,
You may not believe,
Yet what I say is the truth,
Each word of it, trust me
Cuz when I say, I want you forever,
I mean for once, don’t leave me ever.

A puddle of still water...

I’m awed by the power, the ocean holds,
So powerful, yet ghastly, so fantabulous, yet cold
It’s not a revelation, how much it can intimidate,
No man-made structure, to stop the destruction it holds.

Yet when I see, this little puddle of water,
After the rain, in the corner of the avenue,
Sitting idle, separated from its mother,
No direction, no escape, no company, no brother.

We all are destined, and so is this puddle,
The water it holds, shall dry with the weather,
No eye shall cry, no one shall mourn,
It’ll die leaving no trace, a puddle of still water.

Saturday, August 22

Ride On...

It’s a story I thought, I forgot
Till from the omnipotent, a reminder, I got
"You don’t have to question me ever, my dear,
You never should let reside in you, this fear."

It’s an account of the time, I last hit the road
Quite literally; my arm, my knee I broke,
Yet the adrenaline, my doctors confirm, that I have in excess,
Had kept me rolling, till, blood, I had lost enough

Not quite my pain, not even the mud on me, smeared,
It was the scratch, the dent, the blow my ride, for me, had to bear,
That kept my brain busy, thinking hard, for a long while,
Till darkness came, for a moment I lost my sight,

I grasped it’s not a joke, not the stunt on the TV,
The denim I wore was red, the blood loss had made me giddy,
The spot where I fell, had puddles of red,
Yet all I attended, a short rendezvous with death,

It’s a spirit they say, that priceless virtue,
Of a biker at heart, that pulled me through,
And so I persisted, my conviction unyielding,
And on and on, kept rolling, my ride, unfretted, unruffled.

Tuesday, August 18

Lonely, idle, no work to do

I sit up straight, eyes facing the screen,
No one around me, not even a mosquito.
Stacks of vouchers, piled around me,
Have I got work? I really don’t know.

The internet won’t work; it’s barred by the domain,
The client won’t work; his excuse, so lame.
So I make myself busy, playing computer games,
Excel sheet macros, no famous names.

Everything’s blocked here, these office domains,
You can’t install messengers, nor play those amazing games,
Boring systems these, their company isn’t as good as it seems
They’ll make you cry, bore you to death, as you stare at your computer screens

Started off with shooting,
And realized laptop mouse aren’t great,
Moved over to monopoly,
Struggling to survive, bankrupt I became,
Drove a car next,
And I soon started yawning,
So I decided to open word,
To scrawl down my misery

Office laptops aren’t great gaming stations, I reaffirmed to myself today,
So began my poetry saga, my client wondering what’s keeping me at my bay
Little did I know, what was to happen next,
As my senior came in, staring at the text,
So as I finish this little scribble,
And return back to my work papers,
Someone behind me wants to strangle me to death,
It’s none other than my senior, standing tall behind my back.

Saturday, August 15


I want to walk fast
And talk with urgency
Drive with no fear
I don’t care if people stare

Life is just once
And it sure is too short
I want to try all moves
Before they ask me to abort

I don’t want to sleep a lot
Nor eat till I starve
It’s not a great idea
If it can’t build me a niche, a slot

Don’t call me one of the crowds
I don’t follow anyone’s command
I might take your suggestion
But still I do only what I want

Life might be a lesson
But I’ve learnt alot from yours
I don’t make the same mistakes
I don’t fall right on my face

I can carry my entire burden
I can forge myself all keys
I don’t need no one’s support
If it’s easy, it’s not for me

I don’t panic on treason
I don’t follow a plan or reason
I can beat your calculation
I can betray every prediction

It’s not super human ability
It’s an act, each move so flawless
It’s the hard work and persistence
That makes me feel so breathless

Monday, August 10

A mockery of the present...

I’m a small constituent,
Of this colossal land,
Yet when I see people walking,
Barefoot on white sand

It’s not their presence that unnerves,
But the absence of the human element,
It’s not the colour that discerns one another, I say,
But the thought that makes the dent

I chose not whether I be white,
Or blonde, or dark, or coloured; like they say,
It’s where I belong to, that shows on me
It’s something I want to be proud of, not guilty!

You come to my soil, and fancy the beauty,
Yet you question my being on your terrain,
I want to befriend you, like my own brother,
Yet, from being normal to me, you refrain!

I chose not my mother, nor my motherland,
Nor my parent’s colour, wealth or status,
Yet I’m proud of my country, my fellow men,
And of all I am, with a renewed impetus.

Friday, August 7

Bond or Bondage?

I weep and cry, tears
by my bedside,
I’m still alone,
Even in your presence

You meant the world to me,
But that was then,
Today I am not sure,
If this will carry on will

It’s a shackle I’m tied to,
And you won’t let me free,
Where do I stand?
Isn’t it a crossroad for me?

It’s been so long,
That I’ve compromised,
So many times
I’ve heard you abuse me,
But not anymore, I cannot face thee.

Deep inside,
I want to move on,
But on the surface,
I fear being alone,
Is it too late now,
Why can't I go on?

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