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!