Thursday, March 31, 2011

The Bells

The carved figure of a man that stands,
Tall enough to shadow his own fate,
Holding the balance, which weighs his pain.
He stands tall, brave as he does,
But his hands shake, and uncertainty looms.

He has seen pain, or so he believes,
For no one cares, he writes with his blood.
I am alone, and I am weak to take this burden,
This burden that life has bestowed on me.
But does he know that he ain't the one burdened.

He looks up to the sky, the dark blanket of gloom,
He looks to earth, the parched source of hope
A painted smile that adorns his face,
A drop of tear that trickles through the paint
He is weak, and is broken by the burden he bears.

He looks at the trees as they swing,
His hope to swing along is crushed by fear.
He watches his hands tighten around the bells,
The little bells that would ring aloud one day,
Ring to the tunes for the devil to dance to his death

Tuesday, March 29, 2011


I heard him stand on the mountain and shout,
"I am a box, and you think in me", he said
I shout back at him, he is beaten and broken
But still he stands, to shout at a mirror.

He is crying, but a smile plays on his lips,
His arm tingles, where the blade would touch,
Was it the love he was looking for that betrayed,
Or was it his own soul that took the shot.

He is closed within from all sides,
Jumbled with his emotions as they stab in,
He stands once again on the mountain to shout,
To shout at his own reflection in the sun.


A cold sweat, on my brow I wipe,
As my heart pumps fear in my veins,
A shrilled laughter replaces my silence,
And a shivering arm, a stable one.

I miss those days when I felt fear,
When excitement used to fill me up,
I miss those days of restless sleep,
Days when my heart refused to pump.

I have lost a part of me, a part afraid,
There are no scary dreams, they are just empty.
I miss a part of me, a part that was afraid.
For the silence has replaced a silent prayer.

Have I lost the hope to live, or am I brave,
Or I grew powerful enough to overcome my fear.
Have I nothing to lose, or I lost to grief
For now I miss him, I miss a friend known as fear.

The Frozen Dream

The dream had to be compelling, something which could scare the living daylight out of me. I tossed along in the bed, just praying to the sleep God, to give me just an ounce of the sweet nectar of sleep. The clock ticked away slowly chiming into the night. Hours just crawled along, slowly fading, fading into the nothingness. It had to be a long night, I had told my self, but I lay there not yet prepared to accept the fact. I waited for the first ray of sunlight to save me from my misery, to show me that I was not dreaming. I lay there, just drowning into my dream.
Was it a touch or a knock I couldn't tell, but something did wake me up. I was sweating, with a fast beating heart. I grabbed at the water that lay by the table, sipping, gulping it down. I could hear the water flow down my oesophagus.
"A bad dream?", a voice rang up behind my head,
"I don't think so, Just my regular late night marathon", I had to be sarcastic always. I couldn't help it though.
"Dude it ain't the time for kidding around, you got job to complete. Boss won't want you screw this one up.", Now I could clearly recognize the voice, may be I came out of the sleep or the mention of "BOSS" and "SCREW" brought me back to my senses. I couldn't tell though.
I think I was well prepared for the hit, but as nature has its own way, I couldn't actually pull the trigger on time, and that was the first time I had screwed things up. Then there was this girl who didn't die when I was actually paid to kill her. So I had a pretty long history of screwing things up. It was time for me to step down, give way to the younger and the hotter blood, and so I had decided, it was to be my last hit, last assassination as I would call it, or the last murder as the cops would call it. The money had been delivered, and I counted, 50% it said, and the rest after the work was done. I had cleaned up my gun, screwed in the silencer, loaded the magazine, and was prepared. The photograph of the lady whom I was supposed to kill lay besides the money. She wasn't old neither was she young. She looked more of a brunet than that of a redhead, but I couldn't actually say. She had a good face structure, with a good pointed nose, "An expensive nose job" was stamped all over it. I had studied her routines for a while now and I knew where would she go to walk her pooch, where she would go to hang out with her good for nothing brats. I knew her house, I knew her life. It was my job to know, and I was paid for it. I packed up everything neatly into a suitcase, took the keys to the car, and drove off. I had to reach the coffee shop before 9. It was just around the corner which she would be crossing, walking her stupid little dog. I had to wait, most of the days. Sipping some really crappy coffee. I saw her coming. The little dog running after everything it could get its mouth on. I tucked in my gun into my coat pocket, and walked slowly towards her.

"POLICE, don't move, just lay there with your hands above your head." The cops shouted as they barged into my bed room.
“I already have'em up officer, so please can you stop shouting into my ears early in the morning.”, and I was responded with a jab in the rib. Real bad, I could have died, but they know places where it hurts the most without taking even the slightest of your life. I writhed in pain for a while, and then was dragged up and taken to the station.

“So why did you kill her.” Finally I could say now, I had been sitting in the same place for about 2 hours. I should have walked around a bit, should have gotten my restless feet some exercise.
“I was paid to kill, you see I am an assassin, so I kill to get paid.”
I heard a light laughter, then another jab, this time into my jaw.
“That fucking hurt.”
“Who would pay such a clumsy person like you to kill any one ?”
I wanted to tell them everything about our organization, how it worked and how the targets and money were delivered. How much work was put into each target, but I couldn't. It was the organization's protocol not to talk about it to outsiders and cops were like a big no.
“You have killed 10 people, out of which two of'em survived, who wanted all these ten people dead.”
“I can't talk about it”
Then something I was not at all prepared for started to happen. The cops got the pictures of my previous victims. The table was turned into a display board, with the pictures sprawled all around the table. The pictures were gruesome. I almost threw up. Then something hit me, something which people would call as reality. None of the victims had died by my attacks. I had always used guns to kill, one single shot to the head and they die, but these victims were stabbed, slashed and god knows what all else.
“I don't kill like this. I use a gun”
The they showed me the picture of my latest victim. The head had been severed. I instantly threw up. I had to get my self out of this now. I hadn't done it. Some one else did, but not me. I started with the organisation. I knew I would be killed if I tell the cops about it. I told them how it works, how the money is handled, and who the boss is. I even gave them the way to reach the underground headquarters.

After spending four days in the prison cell I was transferred to a white building. Couldn't tell what it was, but it did look freaky. I was made to wear a white gown, and was locked up in a cell yet again. It didn't bother me, I was any way locked up before also, but what bothered me was that I was being punished for crimes I hadn't committed.
“We would like you to meet Dr Yanders. He is the head psychatrist.”
“Have I lost my marbles ??”
“It seems something like that.”
Dr Yanders told me that I had actually killed all my victims with a knife and not a gun and it was the most horrendous butchering ever seen by him. All of my victims were females, surprisingly, whose implication I couldn't understand. I had always thought that boss had some disliking towards women and he was just getting it out by just getting hit cases on women.
The next thing I heard practically made my heart stop pumping. All of my victims were bellow the age of 16.
Well I just recalled that one screwed up case, but Dr Yanders had other things to say.
I was kept in observatory for a while, before they told me what exactly was wrong with me. I was told that the underground headquarters I had talked about never existed. The place was just a drain dump. There was no Boss, or the delivery boy who delivers all of my tasks.
It took me a while to come into terms with the reality. A little too long. No one paid me, no one wanted those women or kids dead, no one actually cared about assassination. I couldn't look at my self, I was broken, I had done the most heinous crime, I had butchered 10 kids to death mercilessly, thinking that I was some hotshot assassin. Later on doctors told me I had schizophrenia, and that the gun, the Boss, and the delivery boy were all my imagination. I had to get out of this guilt. I have to live a guilt free life, It had to start with prison, but I had plans. Plans to easily get off that guilt.

It was one late evening when I finally found my self alone. I had to do something about my guilt, something about the guilt of killing those 10 innocent girls. I couldn't think of anything else. I put my hand in my pocket,

I found that gun I was hiding.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Noise-Deaf to all Else. ( Thank ye Pauly :D )

Cream layer on the pie,
night and day in the sky,
Left to right marching by,
Left alone to cry and die.

Twinkling radiance that shines,
Sing a song with infinite lines,
Chose a corner to climb the fire,
Kill the reaper, and live on fine.

Spiral bound in your memory,
I can't hear what you say,
Open an eye, or close the door,
Shut the light or flip the floor.

Drown with me in this Ire,
Wrap around shouting lier,
Meaningless, you blabber on,
Reaping, what you have sown.

Special thanks to PAG. :D :D

The Blue Butterfly

The tender smile, that adorns her face,
The small little eyes, with hopes in them,
The little butterfly, that flies with time,
My little friend, and my little angel.

Is it her smile that makes me calm,
Or is it her love that makes me smile,
But every time I lose, every time I fall,
She is there, to show me that I am not alone.

The little kid, that grew in front of my eyes,
Now she stands as tall as me, smiling wide,
And I smile with her, a kid like her,
We fly, like the blue butterfly.

Dedicated to my dear little sis Dewika.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

The Stranger

A voice that rose, deep within my heart,
A gentle touch that said "I am here"
I have waited pretty long for that voice,
I have seen pretty much for it to fade.

I saw a rabbit peak out of its burrow,
Wander long enough for it to turn red.
I let the hand raise against me, in anger,
But never did I try to see what it meant.

Paths fade, but memories remain intact,
How much you try, a caring heart I can't create
If its a smile, I can give, or I can fake,
But if its rain, Oceans are better

Friday, March 18, 2011


I knew a man, long ago, back when the birds used to chirp and the trees used to swing. He was fond of killing, taking life, but only in talks. He liked the concept of death, which was something every human being feared. He was fearless, he never cared about death or for that matter about any thing else at all.
He used to say, "We humans fear what we don't know, and if you don't care about your ignorance, you don't fear any thing".

He was brave, he was mighty, he could have led an army of thousands of men, but he never did. He loved his imagination. He loved to think, to think he had the power to take that which was most precious to all. Power to create his own world, power to destroy what he created.

He used to say. " This is intriguing, I love it", then after a while he would say " I have lost interest in it, its nothing more than a regular human dumbness.". He used to despise human life, despise the way they used to live, loving, caring and worrying about tomorrow. He had loved once, just once. I don't know what went wrong or what went right, for he never loved again. He loved to teach though. Rub off a bit of wisdom on his fellow beings, and I just happened to be one of those he used to teach. He was brilliant, he was marvelous.

His desire to take life, dominated every other desire. He used to joke around " Lets kill some one today, Its too boring to live without a li'l bloodshed". He had the resolve to kill, resolve to take life, but he was too gentle to even hurt an ant.

Then one day I saw him kill, I saw him kill what was most dear to him. He said he had to get out of all the attachments. He had to get rid of everything this world had to offer. That was the day I started to fear him. Fear the very man who existed within him. I had never seen blood on his hands, but today he stood soaked in blood. His daughter lay next to him, drenched in blood as he was. She didn't move, she didn't blink an eye. She lay there cold, shriveled, in a pool of blood. I heard him laugh a bit, then he swung the knife. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move. And before I knew anything He fell, next to her.

Thursday, March 17, 2011


Once under the green sky, a boy sat,
Winds whispered into his ears, and he said
I am the king, I am master. Let there be no one like me,
I have seen what it is to be, to be what I see

Was it the sun, or the bright burning fire,
He didn't know, what gave him light.
But he just wanted to be the king, or so he thinks,
He just waited for the sun to die.

Days and days he waited for the sun to die,
But tired was he, and bored to the skin.
I don't want to be the king, he thought,
I want to be the next sun, says he.

So his search began, to be the sun to be the fire,
To set his step on, where nothing could even survive.
But little did he know, that the bright burning fire,
Was the last thing he would ever survive.


Was it the see that roared, or the mighty thunder,
Under the sky, I saw a sign of fear and hunger.
I want my revenge, said he, I want it right,
I want my ire to burn bright, even in the freaking night.

I walked days, under the sun, waiting for the night.
Shallow seas turned to dust, and the desert flood.
I am the God of retribution, came a voice from the high,
Flood is nothing new to me, nor the fury of the sea.

They say they don't care, we can rebuild the cities,
But I am the God who made you, I can take what you see.
Where is your faith in times of trouble, broods of viper,
Where is your fear in times of joy, when the fruits are ripe.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Rules of Insanity.

Love, when it defines, means,
Waiting on the stairs of life.
Waiting for the time to crawl,
A foot ahead and a foot back.
It would fall, It would raise,
But the sphere won't grow.
Even if it grows, It would still remain
As the moth that crawls by the fire.

Raise your eyes to the sky,
The moon awaits your presence.
Lower your gaze to the ground,
Where the light begs for your care.
Is it the horse that throttles,
Or the honey bee that stings.
Welcome to the world that can't discern,
What you speak and what the wind hums.

I swing, I slide, sunshine smiles with me,
I dance, I fly, the clouds pour with me.
Butterflies sail, with winds as their mates,
And I do fly, and petals fly with me.
Rules are for mortals,Rules are for sane,
Caught in the box, they never shake their brains.
Crumbled with the dry leaves, I do remain,
A thorn on a rose, what people call insane.

A special thanks to Rahul Göma Phuloré who was along with me in my madness, and my sis for choosing the apt title

Saturday, March 12, 2011


Jumbled in his brain, a bug roams,
From nerve to nerve, it hops and crawls.
He sits and the time stops,
Compressed in his imagination.

Closed within the wall he tries to be strong,
But the walls grow and the memories explode,
Was it darkness or the fading light,
The bug flourishes in the empty thoughts.

The bug crawls, eating his strength,
It walks within the square he drew.
Spine chilling laughter, a glitter in its eye,
Is it fear or the insanity that looms.

He wakes every morning, thinking of the dreams,
Clusters of memories collapse, darkness ensues.
Is it the open spaces he fears,
Or the frozen time and closed Squares.

Friday, March 11, 2011


Dedicated to my dear college which made me the kind of person I am now.

Do you fall to stand up again,
Or Stand to fall back.

Do you walk to move forward,
Or move forward to walk.

When you reach, do you look back,
On the path you took to reach

Would you stand up,
For a person who fails.
Would you raise your voice,
For a person who shames you?

Do you like some to dislike others,
Or dislike others to like some.

Do you fake your smile to hide your sorrow,
Or hide your sorrow to fake one.

What happens, when you prove your point?
Is it the happiness, or the sense of pride

Would you stand up
For the System that fails,
Would you raise your voice
For the System that shames you?

Monday, March 7, 2011

The Fragile Beauty

Dedicated to the one who makes me Happy, Calm and more of me again.

In my arms she lay,
With her dreams on her lips.
As she sang, the wind danced,
And her curls caressed my fingers.

Was it her song,
That made the clouds hide,
For the day was bright,
And I missed no sunshine.

The fragility of grace,
Made my heart leap, leap with joy.
Here she lays on my arm,
Her hands playing with my fingers.

She made me dream,
Dream of a day with no fear.
Its her eyes that I love,
Its her voice that sooth my being.

The faint smile,
That plays on her lips,
The light touch of nature's love,
That sparkles in her eye.

She speaks and I hear,
Nothing would stay, she says,
Then she breaks into a kiss,
Nothing I care for, I say.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

The Broken Mask

She stood in the cell, condemned to death,
Anger turned to sorrow, and hope to despair,
Tonight she would be burnt on the stake,
As a witch, she stands, she cries, she pleads.
Nothing is heard, as she wails in her cell.

She seduced our men, cried the women-folk,
She used them in her magic, used them to satisfy.
The tribunal heard the plea, heard their complaints
"What do you have to say against it, oh witch"
She stood there, a silent tear escaped her eye

She stole our kids, she took them away,
And she made ragged dolls of their cloths and hair,
Kids grew sick and all of them died, none did she spare
"What do you have to say against it, oh witch"
She stood there, silence, that is all that survived

Years of solitude, she had spent in her shell,
A witch by nature not by chance or free will.
All she wanted were some friends who would care,
Who would ask her whereabouts and console her soul,
But a witch she was, so the world condemned her.

And as she stands, tied and fastened to the stake
As the fire eats her flesh, she screams, pain,
The mask that covered her face, covered her soul
Is broken and her life lays open infront of all
And the town dances around as she burns on the stake.

Thursday, March 3, 2011


I waited, under the orange sunlight,
Waiting for the reasons to dawn,
Every night, I sleep with questions,
Every day I try to find the reasons.

There was this time when reasons didn't exist, I was happy, then from somewhere, someone gave me a reason for doing things. I split my self. I searched for reasons, reasons to be happy, reasons to be sad, reasons to love and reasons to hate. There was this time, when reasons became everything in life, reasons became the only reason for existence. I searched the depths of humanity for the reasons of war, why a man loves his beloved. Reasons started governing my life, reasons started directing my actions, my choices. I became enslaved to reasons.

He had this smile, when he kissed her lips,
He had this feeling, which love could only give.
He lived for her, and he died for her,
But today he asks, 'why should I without reasons to give'.

If there were a purpose for survival, I would search for it, but why, I would still ask, "Reasons" are like Ideas. They destroy the very instinct to survive.
I am just afraid that someday I may start asking for reasons to survive, "What is use of life itself. No reasons.".

I miss him, the kid who did things without reasons. I miss him, for he was free, free to do what he wished for. That kid grew into a man who needs reasons to exist, reasons to survive.

I feel like the third servant of the rich man, who hid his money, without utilizing it. I feel like him, and I am afraid that on the day of judgement, I would be asked "Why didn't I utilize the talents that were given to me?", I am such a shame, a failure, just because I ask for reasons to share. I am afraid I might start asking reasons to care and to love.

He waits for the rain to go,
As it floods his inner soul,
Is it despair or a quest for reason,
He doesn't know, He doesn't ask,
Soon silence will descend,
No reason would exist,
Then again he would ask,
Give me the reason, reasons to survive,
Give me freedom,
freedom from the reason that enslaves
Give me peace, and give me life,
For reasons exist, for those who seek,
Those who seek the reason to Life.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

The Butterfly Face

Was it fate, or a mere coincedence,
That our lives were to collide,
Under the dreary day, and a sunny night,
What more could the nature provide.

A flap of a wing, or a flutter of an eyelid,
Was it the beauty that blinded my sight,
As for my fate, oh a twisted one at that,
so how come you are my magical sunlight?

She flips her mane, and raises her face,
Like butterfly wings, they float in air.
She brushes her hair and smiles at me,
Dazed I doubt my newly gained sunshine.

She walks, with the tender touch,
As the butterfly floats along,
Like the water, her body does sway,
And like moon, her beauty does shine.

She is a nymph, with beauty untold,
Carefully crafted, by natures own hand.
The elements of life, dwel in her,
The elegence of beauty, crowns her head.

She does live, but in my dreams,
Where butterflies I do chase.
She will be mine, forever more,
The woman with the butterfly face.