What If...

It was one of those beautiful mornings,

When he last spoke, 

'Mother, I feel lonely', he had said,

My nature took over, 

'Your life, your rules', I finished the thread.

It was one of those beautiful mornings,

When the knock came to my doors,

A letter he held, between his fingers,

'Ma'am, your son, he killed himself'

The world crashed, 'What if', the thought lingers.

It was one of those lovely evenings,

I heard the ring of the phone,

The dipping sun, beauty of the twilight,

I ignored the constant ring, annoyed I cursed,

The twilight grew into a cold night.

It was one of those lovely evenings,

When my father opened the letter,

'I tried to talk, but there was no one home',

'I am lost', my father couldn't read no more,

The world crashed, 'What if',  I had just answered the phone.

It was one of those silent nights,

The ring broke my sleep, and I answered,

'Can I talk to my sister', he pled,

'She is asleep', I ignored with a retort,

The night was a bliss, into my dreams I fled.

It was one of those silent nights,

When her mother wrote,

'Your brother is dead', she would write,

My life stood still, and guilt played her tune,

'What if' I had woken her up, that night.

- Tim
Inspired by a post in 9gag

The Other Me

Have you opened your eyes yet,
'No I haven't', I reply,
Have you closed the books yet,
'I have, but why?', I ask,
Its time to be me.

Have you cleared your thoughts?,
'No, I haven't', I reply,
Clear them, for they are mine,
'Who are you?',I ask,
Its time to be me.

Have you bid farewell to past,
'No I haven't', I reply,
Have you made peace yet?
'Why should I?', I ask,
Its time to be me.

'Who are you?', I ask,
Silence is my name,
'Why should I be you?',
You need to be complete.
I become you, I am me again.

The Black Horse

Step on the shadows,
Ride to the edge,
Take the reigns, 
Let go of the fear.

Step on the light,
Ride the darkness,
I am the night,
I am the knight.

Step on the blaze,
The burning thunder,
A hundred years,
Of cringing pain.

Step on the blades,
The death makes sense,
A millennium, passed,
Decades I count.

Step on the dead, 
I am lost,
Lost, lost I belong,
The rider of yesterday.

The Bloom

She winks, 
The mischief, twinkle, 
She winks,
The silent grim,
And the bloom,
That saw no sun light.

She winks,
Death she cribs,
She winks,
Nothing makes sense,
I blink at death,
The existence, a pain.

She winks,
Makes stories,
She winks,
Kill the horror,
Fading light, escape,
The scene of thousands.

She winks,
Cradle of the undead,
She winks,
I was a friend !!!
Kill the messenger,
Peace I believe is myth.

She winks,
I cringe with pain,
She winks,
Fire burns less, 
The flower blooms,
Night, no light, no witness.

Who killed the Santa

The chiming bell, tolls, tolls, tolls,
Ringing in the mid summer sledge,
Who has seen a rain, dear,
No, I haven't, its just an elk, see.

Croak, the swamp sings,
Croak, the crow swims,
Croak, the world spins,
Croak, the bell rings.

The deafening silent bell of the north,
Oh snow flake, you would wither, 
Wide awake, waiting for the ash,
Settle, settle, settle, subtle sounds.

Bleak, the southern wind,
Bleak, the minute print,
Bleak, cold breath mint,
Bleak, I sleep, I wink.

A twig breaks, the sledge plunges,
The great northern wind screams,
The winters are here, here and here,
But where is the misty chill.

Drip, the water slips,
Drip, the sweaty lips,
Drip, the clammy hips,
Drip, the sunken ships.

And when the sun sets,
Far away in the northern chills,
An old man turns, shivers and sleeps, 
The question still remains though,

Who killed the ghost of present.

The Dwellers of The Refried Bean Can.

This Poem is dedicated to the stranger named Eki.

The day was long, and night no different,
So he sat pondering over an empty can.
And long did his thoughts run, 
Wild did they go before dissolving into night.

At length he stood up, to throw the empty can
At length his thoughts failed, he had no plans.

The can spoke, a feeble voice,  or he thought, 
'The nights been long, I should sleep'.
The can spoke again, scared he dropped,
'I am Eki', the voice echoed through the night.

He was startled, 'My mind is playing tricks'
He was startled, 'I just heard a can speak'.

'Who speaks, I demand to know', he asked,
Scared white, and ghastly pale, he asked.
'I am Eki, and I live in this can', the can replied.
His sleep was lost, and darker grew the night.

'Why do you live in a can', he mustered some courage,
'Why do you live alone in a can', his thoughts ran strange.

'I am not alone', replied the can,
'Who else lives there', he sat besides the voice.
'I don't know his name, call him Clyde'
'And I love this can', the voice sparked the night.

'I must be tired', He thought to himself,
'I must be tired', to hear a can talk some sense.

'I was in Nebraska, before I moved in',
He couldn't help, but listen to the  talking can.
'And two years old I am', giggles, to tease the scared man.
'But Its dark in here mister, and Clyde is scared of the night'.

He couldn't help, but listen to the story,
He couldn't help for he felt a little sorry.

'I can help you move out of the can', 
'No, we like it here', retorted the can.
'So what do you call your can.' He seemed interested,
'The Refried Bean Can', the voice sparkled into the night.

They talked for hours, into the darkness of the night ,
They talked for hours, till the morning sun light.

Somewhere through the talk, his sleep caught up,
A small nap, as the morning rays hit his eyes,
He woke up, found the can in broad day light,
He opened it, searching for Eki, from the night.

The can lay bare, empty as from the night,
The can lay bare, Eki was nowhere in sight.

Idol

Well its been a long time since I wrote something nifty and useful, and I guess I won't be doing that yet, but somehow, I realized who my idol was. There was a time when I was so confused with the "You need a role model to look upto and grow", well I was always kind of a guy who din't want an Idol or a role model to look upto. Basic reasons : Never found any one good enough for me to look upto, and remarkably that same characteristic is shared by my Idol. He doesn't look upto any one, he looks upto himself.

So what makes my Idol so unique.

I never wanted to grow up, to be a person who was driven by emotions, and instead wanted to be a person who saw reason in everything, ( well there are always exceptions, and I believe I won't be repeating my mistakes again.)

I had to let go of Gandhi, he was way too non practical. Well I liked his idea of non-violence and self sacrifice, but he used to put a lot of people in harms way to get what he wanted ( not saying he was a selfish being, but still).

Then as a christian I have the Christ himself to idolize, but still, he was way too philosophical and always had a wrong and a right and was never ready to compromize.

Then came the hardcores as I got into music, but again they had no reason or no logic. It was all emotions and feelings and frustrations out in the form of music, so I couldn't idolize them either.

I had an option of idolizing someone real, but again my ego won't allow that, knowing that all of my idols would die one day, or are already dead. So I wanted my idol to be immortal.

I listed down some of the characteristics which my idol should have. ( well its stupid, but I am enlightened.)
1. Immortal
2. Not driven by emotions while making judgement.
3. Practically with a high IQ.
4. Some one who won't do something wrong or non righteous. ( That puts out all the brilliant villains - including Joker, out of the list.)
5. Some one who has no attachments as such, yet would do anything for the ones about whom he cared.
6. Some one with a good taste in music.
7. Some one who loves to know about things, yet makes sure he isn't cramped up with information.
8. And a genius in his own field.


Well knowingly or unknowingly I have idolized this man who satisfies all of the above characteristics, and have somehow scripted my own likes and dislikes based on them, So yes I have an Idol, whom I look upto and who inspires me to be me, yet isn't real enough to make people say "Oh look there goes another one of his kind, he was great, but these posers just ruin his credibility.".

I look upto my self.

Enemy Of an Enemy

The little rat ran, ran for its life,
As the snake pursued its prey,
Around the field the rat ran,
And soon the snake fell behind.

An owl sitting on a nearby tree,
Was enjoying the show at hand,
When it saw the rat about to run,
Run into a borough and spoil its show.

"The borough won't be of much help",
Hearing the hoot, the rat looked up.
"The snake can always follow you,
Right into the hole, you see"

"So let me help", the Owl continued,
"Why should I trust you", the Rat squeaked,
"Well I am your enemy's enemy", retorted the Owl,
"Let me think, I will let you know soon"

The rat knew that owl was right,
"The snake would follow me into the hole,
And may be corner me and eat me,
But how can I trust the owl either?"

"The owl may eat me too, if I stay,
But I think he is for real,
For an enemy's enemy is a friend",
The rat was in a deep thought.

"Help me Mr Owl, for I find you wise,
Help me Mr Owl, for you are correct",
"Promise me you won't leave here, until,
until I come back with the dead snake"

"We can celebrate together", said the owl,
And the rat stood his promise, as the owl darted away,
And a snoop down, the snake writhed in its claws,
It writhed and died soon.

The rat was happy, prepared for a celebration,
When with a hoot, the owl scoped down again,
But this time, the rat was there in its claw.
"Why do you break the promise", asked the rat.

"I never made one", said the owl,
And it flapped along the horizon,
With the new catch, in its claws.
And as it flew it chuckled to itself.

I am for sure the enemy's enemy,
But I never claimed to be the friend.
And it flew, perching on a high branch,
and feasting on its grand catch.

A Random Poem :D( aka The Eclipse )

"...Exist for a cause, wither out without a warning. For the reasons you shine, are less known to Men."

One day, in the corridor,
When my guitar failed to play,
I sat wondering, "Why me god?"
"Why does failure sadden me?"

I heard no sound, no answer,
Yet I yearned for one, as I strained,
Strained to Listen to that little patter,
And the crackling of a dry blade

No answer came that day,
With a sullen heart, I slept, I wept
Still I hoped for an answer, but none came,
Next day, I played again.

God's busy, I said to my self,
And wrote a song, for a busy God,
And I played, and I sung, and I danced along
Till my finger bled, and my throat ached.

Tired, I sat dreaming, and slowly faded away,
Into the night that never ends, I dreamt my way
And that is when I heard his voice,
Like a thunder, echoing through the rain.

"Have you seen an eclipse", the voice asked,
"Yes", I nodded in my dream
"Does the sun, so mighty, chose not to shine,
When the moon shadows its grace?"

I planed on writing more, but I am too lazy, and bored. Please do comment ( Good & Bad both, please ), makes me feel good :)

The Truth

"...The war has made me, made me what I am. It showed me that life is what I crave for..."


I stayed, just behind the lines,
Lines of brave men, ready to die.
I stood, armed to the nails, prepared,
Prepared to bring down the enemy.

We charged, as bulls fed on anger,
To devour what came our way.
We charged, with swords drawn high,
To cut every head that stayed.

With each swing came down a cry,
A cry of pain, a cry of fear.
We marched into the midst, fearless,
Ready to fall mountains, on our way.

Little did we know, about the trap,
Trap that lured us into their midst.
And I watched on, as my men fell,
Fell one after the other.

I hid among their corpses, afraid,
I hid to save my life, and I held on.
And when the enemy was done, they left,
Left me with a mountain of corpses, my own men.

Was I a coward, or a wise man, I don't know,
For I just wanted to live, and I did.
And the war made me, made me what I am,
It showed me that life is what I crave for.

The Sour Grapes

"I just wish I had tasted the grapes, atleast I wouldn't have been cribbing about them being sour..."

Smiling one sunny day, the fox,merrily rambled away,
Through the undergrowth, and a wet path covered in moss.

A vineyard he did cross, whence he laid his eyes on the grapes,
Dark-purple and delicious, they did hang on the drapes,

He sat underneath the grapes, "A grape or two won't hurt", he thought,
A jump followed the thought, then another, and another, till he tired out.

No mater how much he jumped, no grape he could grasp,
So atlast disheartened he started to march back, with a heavy heart.

There sat a crow, watching the show, smiling to himself,
Then a question escaped his naughty little beaks, as he squeaked.

"Why do you leave Mr Fox, already tired and giving up are you?",
"The grapes are sour, and I don't fancy 'em any more", sighed the fox

"But they are sweet up here", mocked the crow, in a sympathetic voice,
The fox din't reply, he swallowed hard as he walked away, thinking.

"If only I had tasted a single grape, I wouldn't have lied, I wouldn't have cried,
but now I crib about the grapes being sour, even without trying one."

The Un-great-fool

"...He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has..."
- Epictetus

I am not wise, for I lament for the things I have not, and care even less for the things I have.
"Life"
I have a wonderfully gifted Life, a life which I got through a miracle, a real miracle, but still I play around with it, tossing it around, carelessly, the chances that I might drop and break it, are real high, but still I play around with it.
"Family"
It took a while for me to understand the importance and value of a family. It would be a lie, if I said that I cared for my family, but I have changed, I have become someone who I was not, changed for good, changed for bad. And together with me my family changed. It took me two years in a practical jail to understand what family meant. Now I long to see them, long to be close to them, but the truth is, time has run out, the only thing we as human beings can't control.
"Friends"

The only thing I have in abundance, friends, I can get along with people, easily, without trouble. I have seen people who are really a pain to adjust with, they don't have friends, they just have people around them who sympathize with them, because they don't have friends and because they feel sorry for them. And then there's me, who has his own private world full of friends, and doesn't even care about them. Well I have had complains from many, "...You don't hang around with me these days, you have got better friends than me", ah well they haven't seen me hang around with the "better" friends, I hang around alone, I crib about the lack of friends, I lament about being alone.
"Intelligence"
I have enough Intelligence to last me through my old age dumbness, enough to stand for my own beliefs, to protect my own principles, but I lament, I look at others who are better off than me, and despair for their intelligence, neglecting mine. I let my brain rust, its blunt these days, it requires a good brush up, but I know I will raise again.

"...I have been ungrateful to every one around me, to my friends, who have actually been there during my hard times. My family, because of whom I am what I am. My self, without whom I wouldn't have had this identity of mine."

And towards the end, the golden touch, golden words to give me solace throughout my life, a phrase which would be etched in my memory, which I can use as a defense, to protect my own ungrateful soul from torment.

"The Past is gone, a new beginning awaits you"

Stars Among the Strays

With her little hands, she paints a happy face

The sun was hot, burning bright,
Sweaty, sticky, turned the red light,
I waited, cursing the man in front,

I waited, under the sun that burnt.

Half a minute past, I stayed at the juncture,
When a little hand, crawled up to a tap,
I looked and two little eyes looked back,
The strays of the land they did their tricks.

A small hoop-a-loop, and she starts her trick,
A small drum, the boy beats the brick.
They jump and loop through, at work or play,
Then the small hands come up for the alms.

I did feel a little pinch, she is a kid, said my heart,
I put my hands in my little purse, to pay,
But alas the driver won't stop, nor would he care,
As half a minute later green comes up on the fair.

Happiness

Typing this thing out, is the easiest way, through which I can get rid of the craving that is slowly and slowly pushing my brain, to think that it exists outside my body. Yesterday was a colorful day, with the trees being green, birds being yellow ( well I don't know how birds look like) and flowers being multi colored, and out of the blue I needed a porcupine, which actually led into a real bad mess (no wonder these animals are protected under law). Things turned out to be so ugly, that I thought it was time for my real half to disappear, and he did so and now I am stuck up here with half a brain typing this out.

So coming to the point, yesterday I was totally kicked around with a volley of fancy words, which were supposed to define the being I am, well my usual answer was "I don't care", but somehow deep within me, I did say "Please can you stop it, you are hurting me". Then there was this little pointing out where the person concerned said, "You are one f***ed up mind. Even an average boy is happier and merrier than you.", well I wanted to ask, "Define happiness dude!!"

That got me thinking, and thinking, and thinking. What exactly is happiness? I tried Mr Google for it, and he gave me a good and satisfiable answer

"Happiness is a state of mind or feeling characterized by contentment, love, satisfaction, pleasure, or joy."
I should be happy according to the definition, I am happy with my life, except for may be an occasional mood swing, which can't be helped. I feel love, I feel pleasure, and I feel joy. So according to the dictionary I am happy, but still why would he say that I am not happy.
The only possible reason I could figure out was because I only shared the sad feelings I had in my life with him, the happy feelings were reserved to my own being.

So as Mr Shakespeare once said, "All is well that ends well", I hope this phase just ends up properly.


Look at the stars, as they shine bright,

Each one its own master, its own slave,

Look at the lone flower that blossoms by,
Under the sun, its happy, it withers, dies

The river flows, alone through the land,
To join a bigger family, underneath the sand.

So why does the world say happiness is lost,
For its just a hands reach away from life.

Reasons - 2

Its been long since I actually wrote something sensible in this blog, ( well apart from the regular poetic explosions of fear and anxiety ). Today was a day I actually ( when I say actually I mean it this time :P ) tried to understand the reasons behind my screwed-up existence. I have had dreams where I was as normal as others were, where I could talk normal things. Think normally. Fall in love, have some one, who holds my hand and walks with me when I am down. Well these were just perfect examples of a perfect life.
Something happened, something which made me believe that there was no turning back, there was no returning from what I am, but as usual- "Who gives a F***". I hate it like this, I hate the reason of my existence, and everything linked to me. Thanks to a handful of people, I still breath ( not fresh air though :D ), I just wish I had a time machine, but well people would have missed "me" then.


I knew a man with no face,

No face to remember by.
I knew a memory with no name,
No name to recall it by.

The night was in its youth,
When two hands touched,
The night was in its death bed,
When the dreams were shattered.

So I stand tall, to protect my dreams,
And to do what is best for me,
So I stand up against all fears,
But still the night crushes me down.

I knew a man with no face,
Because I choose to forget,
I knew a memory with no name,
Because I hated to recall it.

The Walking Stick

A sunny sky to mark my day,
I strolled along, alone, and bored,
The park was lively, with birds chirping,
Dogs barking, and fish swimming.

A tree swayed, and a sparrow flew away,
Up soared the eagle, to catch its prey,
So on such a sunny day, I strolled,
Alone and bored, nothing to do.

At a distance I saw a boy, a kid of my age,
Play with his dog, as his grand old man,
Aged with wisdom, wrinkled with love,
Sat by the tree, and watched him play.

Next to him lay, his walking stick,
Wood of the same tree, or so I presumed,
To support him, till he made peace,
Till he lays down his worries and leaves.

The kid played along, urging his old man,
To play with him, to throw a ball or two,
The old man did budge, stood up to play,
But his weak legs wouldn't let him stay.

So he picked up his walking stick,
To play with his little kid,
Something struck me at this point,
And for long did I lose myself to thoughts.

The walking stick had become a part of him,
A part he cherished and lived.
A part which would never leave his side,
I wish I had a walking stick too like him.

Untitled-II

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.

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

Hypocrite?

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?

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.