The Good Weed (Poem)

The skies were so cold that they made the moon look pale.
The sea couldn't help but watch the moon,
with the same old awe,
as the moon was still shaping its tides.

The skies were so cold that they made the blue sea look pale.
The water droplets resting on a leaf saw the diminishing blue.
But they smiled,
they rejoiced,
when the trees turned the sea into green.

The skies were so cold that they made the trees look pale.
But up above a thousand miles
stood the massive mountains,
who admired the tree's generosity for the air.
The air that was magic.
The air that made life.
The air that they could never feel.

The skies were so cold,
and every part of the nature looked pale.
There stood a weed. Straight. Strong. Inspired. With Hope. Holding a wish!

Mai Azad Ho (Poem)

Take me to the time,
When the trees were a little high
And the stars were a little low.
Take me to the time,
When the sun was a little shy,
And the streets were a little slow.
Take ME, to that time!

The time,
When rage could meet every eye,
When 'nation-love' was our greatest ally,
When the brave made the minds blow.
Take me to the time that was a little while ago!

There, among the yellow fields, a 5 year old sow sticks to turn them into guns.

Bhagat Singh

(source: www.eyeartcollective.com)

There, thousand miles away from his soil, a man sketches his nation as free.

Subhas Chandra Bose

(source: www.kamat.com)

There, hiding behind a tree, a warrior shoots himself as getting killed by whites is not in his nature.

Chandra Shekhar Azad

(Source;proud2bindian.blogspot.com)

Take me to that time,
When you'd kneel down and rest your ear on any man's chest,
with every sound of his heartbeat you'd hear a scream:
MAI AZAD HO

Let my motherland become a war zone,
and may the white blood wreck my land.
Their bodies will be buried in my soil,
And thus will come that day
When our kids would walk over the place
where the whites silently lay.
Come with me to the battle zone,
We'll sing a war cry together!
And when the enemy stands before us with a rifle in his hands,
we'll look him in his blue eyes and shout:
MAI AZAD HO.

Or Take me to that time,
Not to die,
but to meet those great men and tell them that now we hate half of the people they died for.

Inside creative minds

"There have been lives within the dirt,
Sow a seed and let them live again!"
He thought.
She thought.

"Let's start with a seed."
He thought.
She thought.

"A little kid with his friends might be the perfect people to sow that seed."
He thought.
She thought.

"The seed will sprout above into the darkness that the kids live in. Piercing through the soil, it'll introduce a pinch of green into that black."
He thought.
She thought.

"Little kids will be there to cherish the green they've made. They'll water the seedling until it grows into a healthy plant. During the same, they'll be oblivious of the greens that their own brown bodies were made of."
He thought.
She thought.

"The end should be tragic"
He decided.
She decided.

"A storm comes. The plant is gone. Little souls are now heavy."
He sighs.
She sighs.

"This will be a hit"
He smiles.
She smiles.

He took out his paintbrush while she searched for her pen.
He had a canvas.
She had a notebook.

Battle Cry (Poem)

My father was a fighter.
Who took an oath for his nation, he'd die.
My father was a soldier.
His last breaths were a battle cry.

But I wonder why he died
For the people who always lied.
For the men who never cried.
And all the bad that lurked inside?

For nights, he strolled
For the leaders who are so cold.
For days, his skin got bruised
For the blood having shades of blues.
He prayed for the lives of his friends
And dropped tears when he saw their ends.
Until the day when he said goodbye.
Tell me, you Fighter! Why did you die?

I yearned to reach him among the clouds.
I wanted to fly
and ask, for whom was his last battle cry?
So one day I fly to the sky
And ask him what I had to.
With a voice pretty bold (as now he is a ghost)
He says it was for the ones he loved the most.

He then asks me to leave as clouds were not a place for me to stay.
I say "I'll come back, when I become you one day!"

Princess (Poem)

In the kingdom of his reverie map,
Resides the lucent princess he dreams to grab
When,
A hint of sunlight falls on his lap
He looks for its path but fails to trace back
So enthralling would it be to hold the spot, he visions
Gonna be MY OWN LIGHT of princess which glistens

He tries his hand, curves it, bends it
But fails in every effort bit by bit
As with each hand's drop
The spot of light queened the top.

Maybe she's meant to be like that,
Maybe she was too bright for all the wreck
As his hands weren't tough enough
To hold the princess within that hazy fleck.

You'll try to bewitch her by your charm
And fantasize her in your arms
You'll dream of the fleck in your hand
And paint it with the color black.
But oh boy, you'll LOSE
As with every step, she'll paint your heart with
Not only black but darkest of the blues.

You'll try to trace her
You'll try to pick her
You'll try to grab her
And you'll strive to blow her
But still she'll shine bright
Leaving you desperate to catch a hint of her light.

The invisible man ( Poem)

God, Allah, bhagwan, almighty
- as said by the religious clan
For me, he's the imaginary invisible man.

I see despair, I see poverty
Children with no legs, no eyes,
Living with unfair atrocity.
I see happiness, I see rich
Children with legs and eyes
Living within unfair niche.
God, I've been told you're wise
But such chauvinism within kids isn't really nice!

Hear almighty!
Malice is smiling at innocence,
Rude is laughing at polite
Irrational kicks out the sense,
While darkness shoves out the light.
Beautiful is losing to ugly,
Guns are winning over flowers
Where are you, my lord?
They said you had the sacred powers.

You go to temples and you pray,
Make a wish, envision a dream,
You summon that God's with you
Well, that's not part of the scheme
Allah slaps you with bad luck when something goes wrong,
And watches you day and night
Well, what's the device called?
No wonder, he is the *ALL-MIGHT*

"The earth is HAPPY"
Is the lie we always say
But we are the glimmering sun
Which burns within night and day.
This surface brightness is because of you O' God!
But what about the 'dark' inside?
Is this wise or an act of fraud?

Wise is innocence smile at malice
Wise is polite laugh at rude
Because wise ain't no God
But all of us glued
Let's make sense kick out the irrational
And remove dark out of the sun
Let's make beautiful win over ugly
As wise is choosing flowers over guns!

Let's try to make the world wise
And that's impossible with God's bias.
Love, altruism, empathy is wanting among us fools
Let's make GOOD is GOD the new worship tool
For giving renders the most satisfactory grin
Only then the earth will shine from within.

But maybe people need the invisible man
As he gives the assurance of 'I can'
But wise is knowing it's not him
But our own voice from within
Now, while the theists read this poem and moan,
Here's me, trying to be wise and doing it on my own!

I am a writer (Poem)

I am a writer

Is a lie

Being an engineer

I'm short of words yet full of skills

Writing's about thoughts. The truth is

I'm bad at it

Mugging from textbooks, writing exams

Is an easy task

Turning words into gold

Won't play my part

The big white coat and gloves

Are what I look up to

Authors, poets and drugged phrases

Are hard to chew

Now there's some change of thoughts, that

You'll find when you flip these lines.

(Now read this poem from bottom to top)

I fear (Prose)

I fear that woman, walking on the bridge with orange flowers in her hands. She drops them into the river and smiles, relieved that at last with the river's flowing water her sins would wither away. But never did she realise that her deeds have made the water go stagnant.

I fear that guy you see everyday on local streets. With a 'being human'  printed on his shirt, he walks with revenge in his eyes, vanity in his walk and guilt in his hands.

I fear those who teach. People who suffocate little curious brains within the educational boundaries set by the big gamers. With the Nobel that they do, their wanting walks along.

I fear our leaders. Between what they say and what they believe in, there resides a thin line of our work and their grins. Grins of opportunism rests below their most promising claims!

Search for a word (Prose)

Is there a word for all that is altruistic in this world?
When you stretch your arms and people start throwing stones, he embraces you and bear the hits on his back.
When you look down at the clouds, there's still someone who lifts your head and makes you see the untouched vastness of the universe,
for the brightest colors in the painting of your life have been filled by him.
Is there a word for someone who makes you believe that despite all its harshness, this world is still a beautiful place?

Is there a word for something that heals your scars?
Is there a word for the courage in his eyes which bucks you up whenever you feel low?

Is there a word for the feeling when you realize that you're someone's most precious gift?
Is there a word for when you stand among the highs and look at the stars, there's always him lifting you from the lows?

Is there a word for someone for whom the least I can do is just smile, wondering he's already aware that the reason behind my curved lips is him.

"Yes, there is one", he said,"it's called LOVE."
No dad, it's MAGIC!

Dolly (Poem)

She's almost half my height,
With the cutestest of smiles
And apparently one of her teeth's like one of mine!
Dude, have you got any bones?
'cause all of you are a soft spongy ball,
ready to get embraced tightly like a doll.
How you match up with your name, I have no clue,
But I'm sure of the fact that friendships are made up of YOU.

They say love gets designed in heaven,
Its architect - the almighty Lord.
Never did I hear where friendships are made,
No matter the designer's a tough fight for our god!

You never valued friendship, nor did I.
But we knew something weird was building up,
Heaven knows why!

For us,
Friendships seemed to be made of fairytales,
Its magic could enchant only the stories we read.
But with time, the weirdness grew,
Myths surrounding our elucidations touched us and flew.
So I now declare,
Friendships are made up of YOU.

They said they've seen you in multiple versions.
Did those pricks ever pay heed on their own masks?
I realize not what perceptions they drew,
As I knew I was special,
'cause I got the best version of YOU.

Murphy's law can act so well on you at times,
But I've seen you dig out happiness from scariest of the mines.
So wait for the light and senses of a new day,
For the sun is old but not the hope it brings every day.

It's weird how you can make me write you so much,
So as I write,
I want each one of my words reach your smile,
I want them to reach your soul so that with every breadth you take they sway with your happiness.
I want to make you travel the uncertainties beyond the horizon.
I want to make you believe that this world's a beautiful place just like the one you knew,
'cause I have the broken pieces of friendships made up of you.

Before you get emotional and hug me after reading this poem,
Here are some words of wisdom:
There'll be times when people around you will stay close, not to support but hit you.
Times when the trusted will become the cracks of your life.
Times when you'll realize that you're the only colour left in this painting of "the living"
Those will be the times you'll get alone.
And that's when you'll win!

Thank you winter (Prose)

You pushed me down on my knees and made me face your freeze,
So that someday I could cherish the summer sun,
Someday I could feel the beauty of autumn,
Someday I could breathe in the spring's aroma to fill my lungs with vibrant shades.

You made me face your wrath and showed me how strong I was.

You remind me of the color BLACK - absorbing every bit of light just for us to see the brightness of WHITE.

No wonder TOP has always been supported by the underrated BOTTOMS

Without you, blooming flowers have no meaning
Without you, being strong was a mere act
For what is HAPPY without some bits of SAD?

You're no Sinner
You're the 'dark bottom' lifting the 'white top'
You're a silent lover.

So beautiful a tear is! (Prose)

What can be more inspiring than a tear's  endeavor to drop down from your lovely eyes ripping out sorrow from your soul and then meander through your cheeks cleaning every bit of its softness.
So beautiful a tear is that once dropped down it looks back in the hope to see you smiling with bright shiny cheeks that has been his most treasured work of art.

       You're not what you seem
   You're not just water and salt
             You're an artist.

Privacy (Poem)

"That dumb girl wearing red Capri"
You were the *sick dudette* as how my eyes could see
Bad conducts, bad routines, bad regards
Sick walk, sick phone, sick choice
Until I realized
You were the girl with a voice
As when they called it BLACK
You named it ELEGANCE

Ours was a forced friendship
Rules, commands plus sway-centric
You didn't like it much
But that, girl, was one wonderful stroke of luck
Neighbors we were, but not the usual ones
Our conversations ended as fast as they'd begun
My words filled loudness, your silence - arrogance
But you my friend
Named BLACK your ELEGANCE

Doubts faded, friendship grew
*phone* was a mystery you always knew
Mystery? - your smile had always been one
No matter,
You were as dark as the glimmering sun.
*dream* made you ache wide
Yet you turned on your funny side
*dream* made you bleed
Ha! No way would you concede
But *dream* made you sad
Black elegance was now not what you had
Gone was the smile that was beaming
The girl with a voice had stopped dreaming.

Sorrow filled your heart
Just because you dreamt one day
Miseries, blood, taunts, you faced them all,
And finally braved them away
"Adversity is my greatest ally"
That's your special knack,
Because you had the nerve
To make your elegance black.

So here is the real thing
DREAM was the bitter sting
A sting which would circulate your body and rip off your sole
Maybe DREAM WAS AN ASSHOLE
You know your passion , you know your skills,
Nurture them with all your 'I wills'
'Cause you my friend have the wits
And by the way
DREAM WAS A TOTAL SHIT

Although our first meet is still a mist,
You're among the toppers of my list
Phone mystery was a wonderful use of your gray
And yes,
"You're a desbo", was the greatest thing to say
Dude, you're the most unpredictable on land
Or maybe Gemini are truly difficult to understand.

So while you continue doing stuff privately
Here's me, trying to convert my black to bliss, quite elegantly.

The winter voice (Poem)

I see the flowers, the grass, the crops, the birds, the tress.
I feel the wind, the warmth, the love, the good, the breeze.
I sense the beauty, the colors, the array, the perfection, the brilliance!
'Spring', they call it. Thanks to the creator.
"You beauty", I say
not only for the enthralling spring,
but for YOU
your beauty, your perfection, your brilliance.
The way how the creator chose every bit of you,
and assembled them to something as gorgeous as the landscape view.
BUT YOUR VOICE CONTINUES TO DISAPPOINT ME.

Wrath of winter strikes in,
until the touch of spring brings in the love.
"You're the cause of my happiness", says the cheerful dove.
Flowers bloom, colors rise, melody booms.
"You delight", I say,
not for the bliss of spring's crew
but after the wrath upon me,
the happiness I felt on the first look of you.
BUT YOUR VOICE STILL CONTINUES TO DISAPPOINT ME.

You're the warmth of spring,
yet the cold of winter.
You're 17 muscles up,
but you're 43 muscles down.
You're the jolly wealthy man,
but you're adversity within the clown.
You're the green spring leaf
but there's autumn to it someday.
You're a smile on someone's face,
and a relief for someone's heart for a day.
And your voice continues to disappoint me.

Still I wrote this poem,
hoping that someday one of my readers would tell you,
that in the mist of your unknowns,
there's a little girl who still writes you
and despite your winter voice,
here's me, waiting for the spring in you!
 

What's in a scar? (Prose)

I'm 6. 
I shed tears when I got you. Watching your wrath grow through the lengths of my skin was painful. 
But now, you are my pride. 
The wrapped bandage around my leg is something to be proud of. I continued playing with my ball without bothering over you. Not caring about you is my idea of staying cool. I show you off and hence make you my strength.
With time, you're fading.

I'm 26.
You were a patch. You resided where your fading is something overly seldom. It's my heart which retained you. My feelings were enwrapped around your mighty thorns and all you did was wrong them.
But now, my scarred emotions won't stay long as I'll be showing you off and will carry on with life without bothering about you.
You were my idea of cool.
You are my idea of Strong.
With time, you're fading.

Same thing. Different setting. Same solution.

Scar is no patch.
Scar is no thorn.
Scar is the SYMBOL OF STRONG.

If I were to have a son (Poem)

I would want him to be STRONG,

Not to shield or impress young ladies,

But to protect himself –

Protect himself from LIFE which is gonna hit him hard,

Until he falls down on his knees,

Only to get back a straight punch,

When he tries to taste some breeze.

If I were to have a son,

I’d want him born with a strong mind.

I would want him to FAIL,

To feel as if entrapped in grim mighty dungeons, and quail,

But teach him to never cease trying,

And HOPE

Him to climb this illusive inimical place,

With dirt all over and a smile on his face.

If I were to have a son,

I’d want him born with thoughts that would fail.

I would want him to be GENEROUS,

Substantially for the other gender,

Who are no less, no more, but equal to him,

And order him to look them in their ‘eyes’,

NOT BELOW THEM,

As when a man’s eye goes down,

He losses all his gem.

If I were to have a son,

I’d want him to be born with a sense of equality. 

I would want him to LOVE,

To find the right girl,

And make her see the world through rose-coloured glasses!

 I’d yearn to see him love her more than me,

And with all his fondness

He’d kiss her on her forehead,

And never let hauteur cross his head,

-         I’ve always pled.

If I were to have a son,

I’d want him born with love in his heart.

I would want him to be WISE,

enough to know that GOD ain’t the ultimate might,

but are our own strengths and willingness to fight,

enough to know that there’s no harm in doing anything ‘like a girl’,

besides in real once you’ll echo,

you’ll do it right.

If I were to have a son,

I’d want him born with clenched fists – strong yet majestic as the midnight sun.