Rain

The gray of the sky, overshadowed,

With no sun to light up my smile for you,

Said the wind to the cloud as he passed by.

Its night and there is no sun, lier my friend,

Why do you try to lighten my mind with your lie

Replied the cloud to the wind, as he blew

Do you see the moon, and its radiant light,

Still why do you hide it from reaching the earth,

Pushed in the wind to irritate the cloud.

I will rain, and then I will leave,

I will rain all this sadness, and then I will let in the light,

Shot back the cloud at the wind.

Why are you sad my dear,

Tell me and I will blow the sadness all away,

The wind was in a jovial mood now.

What do you know of hardships, to carry your burden,

All you do is blow around and fly around,

Replied an irritated cloud, about to snap.

I do fly around, but I do carry a lot

I push you with your sadness all along the sky,

The wind wanted to pick a fight

And they fought along for a long time,

The wind blew hard and the thunder did roar,

And finally the cloud gave up, as she cried.

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"

The Art of Anarchy

The slow dance, of fear,
racing through his veins
The slow heart beat,
Stopping with the time.

To the tunes of fire,
He dances, all night long,
To the furry of Ire,
He devours his long lost hope,

A Drop of tear,
Mangled in the dust,
A drop of blood,
He looses his trust.

Can he stand, can he stay
For the unending change
Can he lead, can he lay,
The anarchy of change.

What I want.

It was a summer, when I practically managed to open up a candy shop behind the main market, collecting enough capital to start the business. The summers where hot, unbearable, but I could see why it was unbearable. It had to do something with the rains and all other buzz about the global warming going around in the village. It was a monster. No body had seen it, But Government had warned us about it. They said we had to use things with lesser smoke to help prevent the global warming. I started to daze down, thinking about the monster, nothing came up, but still I had to come up with something. I entered a semi-dreamy state. But still the brain had its control over what I had to say, I make up my mind and oh gosh I am bored already. I wait for the boredom to go, I can't help it, It stays there, eating me up little by little finally I slip into sleep. and Silence and sleep.

Untitled

World is so morose, lives in despair,
pointing fingers do they die,
Saying, Why? But Why me?
Do they ask, but still they die.

Rude are those who point fingers at others,
Rudeness does run through their veins,
I didn't point a finger yet, so I can say,
That I am not the herald of rudeness.

He cries, prejudiced is the world against me,
So do I die in despair, Or do I Live in peace,
But he chose to die in despair, and let the peace be
For the world was the only thing that he cared.

Puker Face.

Puker face, puker face, I so hate you puker face.
Why did you venture into the terrains of terror?
For the night is long, Days are gone.
And still the raven rants on the spoils of her day.

...Oh puker face, Oh puker face, you are so speechless.
But why did you open your mouth in the terrains of terror.
For the days are yours, but the night is mine.
And still you want to linger here for the stay.

Speechless does he stand, waiting for the gates to close,
He is lost and trapped in the terrains of terror
For when the night comes and day bids farewell,
Who will save you from the wrath of the Raven.

The Purple Room.

He scrawls, he scribbles, but never writes,
He crawls, he cripples, but never walks.
White all around, boxed around, the unending chain
He thinks, he forces his mind, but never forgets,
The Brain a cobweb, a slice of pie.

He paints purple, turns it around, but never leaves.
Thoughts constricted, thoughts constrained, within the walls
He adds a door, a window to see the world,
But still the walls contain him, conflicting his thoughts.
The Brain a cobweb, A slice of pie.

Purple all around, he feels the chill, he feels the warmth,
Purple all around, he feels the death, he feels the Loose,
Tries to step out, but the walls do grow,
To contain him, to capture him, never to leave
The Brain a cobweb, A slice of pie.