Snippets

This is a poem of incomplete stories. A poem about a conversation. A poem which allows to hope for a better tomorrow.

“Tell me a story!”

A tattered body, a battered mind,
Dusty feet and arms covered with grime,
A broken heart and some bleeding wounds,
Yes, this is a story of poorer times.

“What about the good times?”, she asked.

Keep patience, for it is yet to be told,
Stay here if you want to see it unfold.
Because I’ve fallen a victim to the wheels of time,
And surely summer will follow these days of cold.

conversation

“Tell me about colours…”

I can see yellow, black, white and brown,
But I see no red or green around,
but I wonder, what if all was just a serene blue?
I could be colour blind without any bounds.

“Tell me about love…”

I looked for you in old lifeless pics,
A hint of love or the blush in your cheeks,
And selfishly i wanted you back near me,
Because my poetry is nothing but our crazy streaks.

“Tell me about yourself…”

On odd days, on bad days, on days real good,
Poetry flows out as I sit and brood,
And I keep hoping this time will be it,
This time I’ll say what my heart would if it could.

A Moment Of Imperfection

As always, there are doubts and thoughts,
and memories of certain unwanted sorts,
And I wish all that is bottled up flows out,
if only my soul could get lighter with a huge shout.

Imperfection

Pondering incessantly over all that I’ve done,
wishing there was someone to talk on the phone.
I think about all the ways I’ve been hurt,
all the times I’ve fallen face down in the dirt,
and yet haven’t said a word for so long,
never complained that I was being wronged.
Because life demands that I be a good person,
it demands actions without expectation.

So what if for once I turned humane,
years of silent suffering driving me insane,
For once am I allowed to be selfish in my mind?
Because everyone else is! How was I that blind?

And then you were there holding my hand,
kissing my forehead and trying to understand
the demons that always were inside of me,
but were invisible till you wanted to see,
And so I become who I was again,
because now you helped me through the pain,
And so in your lap, I keep my head and weep
while you caress my hair and I try to fall asleep.

Scribbled

Blinking cursor, erasing, moving back,
undo, redo, sentences and word files.
Scrambling for fresh paper now, fresh ink to start,
But all ends in scratch, scratch, scratch.

What do I write about, what do I choose,
and curse Hemmingway for saying it’s easier with booze!
A pebble I dropped in the pools of my mind,
shuffling, playing and putting memories on rewind.

Changed cities, distanced people and the twenties’ confusion,
a million fires from burning dreams laced with illusion,
do I write about love, do I write of inspiration,
do I write about who hurts me or do I jot down my frustrations?

Do I write happy stuff or do I make my words weep?
Do I write something epic or write something cheap!?
I don’t know what to write, I’m as clueless as a sheep.
So to hell with this, I’ll just go off to sleep.

The Incomplete Goodbye

He was sitting calmly at a corner table, earphones plugged in and John Legend’s ‘All Of Me’ beating away in his ear. He took a look at his watch. She’s running late. It had been almost half an hour since he sat down at that place. He was sitting at a window table in the café, looking at passing cars, hoping to see the little silver hatchback her dad owned slowing down at the curb.

32 minutes late. He smiled as the car stopped in front of him and she climbed out, looking as brilliant as ever. Her smile present there just like it had been the last time they had met. He couldn’t believe it had been more than five months already since that little rendezvous at the Oxford bookstore. She walked in and instantly spotted him amidst all the tables. She opened her bag as she walked towards him and by the time she sat down across him, she was pulling out the novels he had lent her the last time he had been home. But he didn’t care. All he had on his mind was her.

He had left the city five years ago to go to college in the hope of starting a new life and getting away from the people he hated there. But not her.

He came to know her towards the end of high school and since then they had been friends. He had left after that but still they stuck together. Friends, great friends and then best friends. She had been an invisible, untouchable and inseparable part of his life for five years now. He never failed to come home in the break and never failed to meet her at least once every time. But not this time. She had finished college and got a job in another state. She was leaving in two days.

They both talked for almost half an hour. Actually she talked and he listened. He couldn’t get a word out for the life of him. What would he say? That he’s going to miss her? That he’ll never be coming home again? That she meant the entire world to him? They both knew that already. He wanted to get up, pull her to his feet and hug her as tightly as he could in front of all these people they didn’t know. He wanted to look into her eyes one last time for he did not know how long it was going to be before he saw her again. Damn, I wish I could kiss her!

A unknown voice pulled him out of his daydream. Son of a! it was her older brother. He had always been afraid of the guy. He had come to pick her up. There was packing to finish, last minute stuff to be done. But! BUT! This isn’t enough! I haven’t even hugged her yet! And they walked out together. He smiled as much as he could and tried to make conversation with the big guy. As they reached the car, he gave her one last look. There she was. Still clueless.Sigh! He smiled and mouthed two words, “good bye.” He turned and left. He didn’t want to but he did. Every brain cell screamed out at him, asking him to turn back. Turn back and run to her you idiot! Give her that hug! There’s still time! But he never looked back. He reached his bike, pulled on his helmet and drove away into the opposite direction.

The city wasn’t going to be the same without her. Things were going to change. And they both knew that.

goodbye

Open Door

*beep* “I’m gonna miss you”

“me too”

*beep* “no you won’t!”

He smiled at his girlfriend’s text, wondering how long it’ll be before they were going to see each other. They both had different flights to catch the next day and they both needed to sleep. As he let out a sigh and rolled over in his bed, he felt slightly chilly and heard a soft thud. Wondering what was wrong he looked towards the windows just 2 feet away from the head of his bed. It seemed that the last window, the one near to his roommate’s bed, was slightly open. Muttering under his breath, he got up from his bed and walked towards the window. As he stood facing it, looking at the university road outside, he heard the soft thud again! Turning as fast as his baby fat would allow, he saw the door slightly ajar, letting in a thin strip of light from the corridor. He walked towards the door pulled it open and stood in the corridor, looking to both ends of the well lighted wing. Feeling confused he looked at the clock on his phone. 2:59 AM. WTF!? He was pretty sure he had bolted shut both the door and the windows before going to sleep. I did, didn’t I?!

Cursing under his breath he gathered his empty water bottles and started his journey towards the 3rd floor of the empty hostel where the only ‘working’ water purifier existed. He passed room after room in dark corridors reprimanding himself. I should have filled those bottles before going to sleep. The hostel was spooky in the middle of the night. The phone in his pocket silently vibrated almost making him jump in surprise! Whipping it out, he felt better. Smiling again at Sandhya’s texts he carried on his task, his mind almost forgetting the odd fears as he got busy trying to convince his girlfriend to fall asleep while filling up the empty bottles.

***

WTF! How is it open!?? He shouted out in his mind looking at the open door to his room. He was pretty sure he had bolted it shut before going. He looked towards the end of the corridor where Arpit’s room was. The only person in his wing who had stayed back in the hostel for a project. Making a mental note to himself to kick Arpit in the balls next morning for this stupid prank, he went into his room and drove in both the bolts on his door. He kept the bottles on his desk, looked around the room once again, stopping for half a second at the empty bed on the other side of the room and switched off the lights. He looked at his phone again. 3:19 AM.

He laid down on his side and started to type “Babe you won’t believe what just happ…” not noticing the breathing over his neck. As he turned around to switch sides, he froze in fear.

A pair of eyes. Floating eyes.

***

The next morning the door didn’t open. Gaurav had missed his flight.

Age Of Innocence

KidsHere comes the patter of tiny feet,
Innocence looking up at you with wonder,
With bright eyes and shining smiles
All like a million sparks of a bright flame,
pure as drops of dew on a summer morning.
A single stroke filled with a million colours,
these little angels of joy lighting up the world,
slipping, at times falling, yet unafraid.
Fresh as the flowers in a garden,
laughing and dancing to yet unheard melodies
and unabashedly talking to unseen friends,
finding shelter only in a mother’s shadow.

Mischief varying like the melody of a flute,
borne out of souls yet untouched by vice.
A silent hope that they don’t grow up,
and stay scattered across our lonely skies.

The Real Hero of The Great Indian Elections

(As a writer i feel it is my duty to reveal the truth about why Modi really won in 2014 elections. So here goes…)

I would like to start off this post by making my political allegiance clear. I bear no loyalty to any political party. My support lies with the person who turns out to be the lesser of two evils (let’s not kid ourselves; they’re politicians after all. Evil comes in the job description.) And while the social media is flooded with posts and tweets and barks about ‘MODIfication’ and how “change is coming”, please forgive me if I choose to be human and be skeptical about all this glorification until I see the tides of change with my own eyes.

So now that I’ve criticized properly as any concerned blogger of this country should, let me come back to the point at hand. Underneath all this joy and merry making, we seem to have forgotten one true fact, the one true reason why a once-upon-a-time tea-seller stood to become the leader of the biggest democracy that ever existed. I dedicate this post to the people of India who divided by caste, language, region and religion came up united against brazen corruption, unwarranted inflation and misgovernance. I take up this opportunity to remind the people that it was the work of 551 MILLION+ heroes that this great country now has a chance at ‘change’. A record turnout of 65.85% (beating closely the previous record of 63.56% in 1984) goes to show that a democracy is indeed “of the people, for the people and by the people.”

Even Google Agrees!
Even Google Agrees!

I finish this post by borrowing a section of the Inaugural Address by Mr. Ronald Reagan,the 40th President of the United States that certainly befits my motives:

“… We hear much of special interest groups, but our concern must be for a special interest group that has been too long neglected. It knows no sectional boundaries, crosses ethnic and racial divisions and political party lines. It is made up of men and women who raise our food, patrol our streets, man our mines and factories, teach our children, keep our homes and heal us when we’re sick. Professionals, industrialists, shopkeepers, clerks, cabbies and truck drivers. They’re, in short, we the people …”