The Street Light

The eyes of the kid, street urchin, 

Shimmered, with a distant dream, 

As he lay wrapped under my light,

Skies and stars, reflected in his dream,

And he slowly faded into the sleep.

Her mind was fixed, thoughts calculated,

The pen poured ink, on the blank paper,

Hope filled her aura, blanketed in a yellow tint,

Hope to achieve, as she sat under me,

Hope to lighten the burdens of her life. 

A tear of joy, a tear of sadness, 

I couldn't tell them apart,

She sat cuddled in her lovers arm, 

A good bye I reckon, or a sense of comfort,

My light made them whole, as they waited.

The redness of the pool, dripping, reflected orange,

As he lay gasping, against a blinking headlight,

I wish I could help him, but alas I was not moved,

The wails of a distant siren, caught my ears,

As I saw his life, disappear, under the cold yellow light.

These are my stories,

Every night a new tale,

Every night a new life.

I wait, for someone, to look into,

I wait someone to talk to.

The Song of the Southern Wind

The Sun Spoke, 
The sweetest of the words,
That befell any ear before,

'Whom are you waiting for',
A shy smile, replied.
'A love I reckon',
The sun simmered. 

The clouds gathered,
A tale they longed to hear,
Of love, of longing, of the wait.

'Why the blush', the sun teased,
The smile gave way,
'Its a secret', she replied,
The clouds awed, women of the same feather.

The rain had a different tale,
'Who are you waiting for',
They chimed, a drizzle of words,

'Why don't you clear off',
She, rhymed the rhythm,
Rhythm of the thunder,
as it echoed through the clouds.

And as the rain parted farewell,
And the sun geared with joy,
And the clouds that dispersed with awe.

He stood, all in his glory,
Seven colors, majestic, royal,
Her blush gave way to joy,
And the southern wind smiled.

The Lullaby of Lies

The world is peace,
The words would cease,
You would see the end,
The bright undertone.

The night is young,
The darkness hung,
On the sun that would raise,
Sleep, sleep is peace.

The misty lights,
Would engulf the night,
Raise to the song,
The promise, I make.

Sleep my child, 
Sleep in the lies,

One song poem: The sad man's fiddle

Wife, what art thou? Sitting by the corner,

Raking leaves, in the winter snow, 

Wife, what art thou? Singing a lullaby,

To a child long forgotten.

Wife, what art thou? Caressing my hair,

While I loath your touch.

Wife, what art thou? Kissing me good night,

When I would never sleep.

Wife, what art thou? Holding my hand,

While I let you go, a long time,

Wife, what art thou? Nursing my child,

Who decayed in the grave.

Wife, what art thou? Hiding a tear,

When the world laughs at you,

Wife,what art thou? Being soulful,

While your body gave way.

Wife, what art thou? Loving me still,

I know what you are, so 

Wife, what art thou? I do understand,

While I pretend not to

You are the sad man's fiddle.

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.

The Painted Face

"...The candle flickered, and so did his shadow, till they became one in darkness.."

The paint brush in his hands quivered, spreading splashes of red,
The giant shadow danced as the flame of the candle flickered,
A smile, he drew, then a sad face, the eyes did the talking,
He won't move, for his shadow remains intact, inept for the world.

A fine line he drew, to divide, to create, the line grew, cold,
A fine line he drew, to stop, to make, the line grew, sad.

The shadow never grew tired, for ages, it just followed him,
But today it stands, still, its calm, as the storm approaches,
Its mayhem in his head, he clutches, he screams, then he sits,
The shadow paints, the fine lines that define emotions on the face.

The candle flickered, as it ate the moth that lingered around,
The shadow danced, rhythmic with that of the flame, steady, but chaotic.

The eyes looked back, as the brush painted them, created them with a cares,
The fine lines don't exist any more, for the face as a whole is alive,
The candle burns away into the night, slowly being eaten by its own light,
The shadow disappears, and all that is left is the painted face.

Being at War

Lets deal with the devil inside,
Said the voice which had died,
And with the shrill laughter they rose,
To the moon light that masked the night.

He had a knife, and a sword in the right,
"How would you want to die, Master?", he cried,
Only one would survive tonight, this I knew,
Lets play, and lets make this night senile.

He shrieked, he screamed like a wounded lion,
And with the sword, he charged, to take the life.
I shrieked, I screamed, like the master, the slave,
And to death in glory, did I charge.

The night is long, lets drink to Life,
The days are gone, lets drink for joy,
He danced, a madman's dance, magic on his tongue,
And he danced, a firefly's dance around the sun.

And when the dance ended, he took the sword,
A slash to the right, and his own throat in line,
The blood that sprout, like fountains, as he breathed his last,
The devil was gone. so was my pride.

The Eighth Shell

"...How was i different from them?, I thought, I pondered..."

I sat by my table, with a wine glass, half empty,
And on the table were lined seven shells,
Empty, for they had served their purpose,
And as I sat, the seven memories came to life.

The streets were washed in the yellow light,
As I saw him beat her to death, with bare hands,
His eyes burned with furry, and his hands did the deed,
And I emptied my first shell, as he came crashing down.

My sleep couldn't make peace with me, as the children cried,
They cried in heart chilling screams, as I entered the room,
The mother sat there, eating away, as the kids cried to hunger,
And I emptied my second shell, as her blood splattered the wall.

It was the great war, that made us leave our homes,
And I saw the old man push along his son, youth in his prime,
An able bodied man, but he had lost to slumber and laze,
And I emptied my third shell, and he slept for eternities to come.

He was a rich man, and his richness knew no end,
And at the slave market I saw him, I saw him with his little one,
As men quoted price for her tender skin, I saw the mammon in his eyes,
And I emptied my fourth shell, his riches he couldn't take along.

"Why do they love you more?", he screamed as with an ax he charged,
"Why do they not love me the same", and his envious blows found their mark,
His brother lay in a pool of blood as he cleaned the ax,
And I emptied my fifth shell, as he fell next to his brother.

"I am beautiful", She would chirp in every morning,
"My beauty, knows no boundaries", In the evening I would hear her say,
"You are no beauty", she smirked as she crashed acid on her lover's face,
And I emptied my sixth shell, and to dust her beauty was dethroned.

I loved her more than my life, she was my soul, my beloved,
Until I found her with men, men I had never known,
I found her with lust in her eyes, as she satisfied her carnal needs,
And I emptied my seventh shell, as her naked limp body soaked in blood.

And today I sit here, with a half filled glass in my hand,
And the seven empty shells that line my table,
"How was i different from them?", I thought, I pondered,
"Who will judge me?", I thought as I raised the gun to my head.

Change

"...To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly..."

-Henri Bergson

I need to change. I need to change, and I will repeat it for one last time, "I need to Change".

Its really fun being me, change every six months and become a new person all together, and apparently the six months duration from my last change has come to an end. I actually overstayed the period. (Geeeesh, I am bored).

Ever wondered what change is actually.

Ever wondered why the things you did once upon a time seems to be lame, but were brilliant back then.

It all started one pleasant spring morning, It was my first day at school, obviously a new one. It was my first day as a Columban. Then two years just passed by, like couple of hours, It was there I learned to change.

It was here I learned about 42, answer to life, earth, universe and everything in it. 42 still remains in my memory.

Change started there, I changed from a dumb fellow into a more reserved person, I started giving priorities to people, I started thinking about life.

Then again came a really crucial phase, *boom* The Engineering phase.

It was a cloudy autumn day when I first stepped into the campus, a neatly folded piece of paper held my identification and my pass to everlasting change.

The time period of my change increased drastically, from two years to one year, 3-quarters and then half yearlies. I adapted well to the half yearlies, new semester, new things to look forward to and a bit of holidays in between so that people won't actually notice that you changed.

The latest one lasted a bit more, because of this one person, who actually did have a great deal of influence in my life.

Then again I am here, saying I need a change, its long since I experimented with my self.
I need to get rid of many things, like, the three imaginary friends I have ( Yes I need to grow up ). I need to be more mature, I need to "SPEAK UP" of all things.

Last Saturday, I was wondering why I skip my meal so often when I actually have a good source to order and eat properly according to my taste, well It dawned to me that, I am scared of ordering, BLAH, ( I just don't know why I am so scared, Maybe as D once said, "...I am not ready to face the consequences of my action, so I would rather like to run away from them, or avoid them altogether" ) Well ordering food from outside may seem lame, but for me, its important, It showed me that I was just plain afraid of the consequences of my action.

And again BLAH.

So, once again I say it, I need to change, and its high time, I am bored being me, I need to figure out a new outlook, may be a little talkative this time, or may be a little more serious and scary, or a little more jovial person, but for sure I need to change.

And to conclude this long monologue, I would like to quote Charles Darwin,
"...It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change."

And once again BLAH.

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.

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.

Untitled-I

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.

Reasons

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.