Athesse.

(continues from A'theist', http://forlorntears.blogspot.in/2012/11/atheist.html)

Thus Cupid stood by Hercules' chair, his curled hair just touching the armrests. Athena patiently, yet in a stern voice, inquired, "What, O god of lustful eyes, makes you laugh?" Smiling in a heinous way, he answered, "Nothing, O ever wise, nothing. Nothing, but the sculptures of me, Eros, the god of love, being shown as a lovely old man with two flattering wings, and a bow and arrows, hardly carrying them, face filled of wrinkles and an erotic smile." At this, Athesse laughed loud and so did everyone in the court. As the laughter subdued, Athesse, still looking at Cupid, in a fading laughter asked, "And why Zeus, does this feeble mind's arrow that struck the heart of Nesmith, much drugging him in madness of Gloria, the angel daughter of Cyclops, made him stand clapping at the temple of our brother, which Mardeyus, the grandson of your beloved Odysseus, considered as a belief to endow the so-called well wishes, has now primarily turned into a superstition?" Laughing in the same sad tone, he hurled his doubly crossed axe, flicking a little hair of Cupid's forehead that struck deep into the chair, shaking it. The hall became so silent unable to answer what was asked that the flinging blade's tune echoed through the rocks of the mountain.

Zeus himself sat thinking, looking deep into the empty. Clouds and the goddess of wisdom too were blinking in the ground of shame. Owing a ton to his precise shot, and one more to the silent hall, Athesse jumped on words, in an uncontrollable fury into Zeus. He then said, "And today, people made it a business. You all know it. Why you know not, of the fortune tellers? Why, you know not of the deceiving priests? Why speak of all this even? Why you know not, of justice being equal to all, boasted by every rock and the mouth of every follower of yours, here? How then, is some rich and is some poor? How are 2 human beings unequal??” Athesse smiled in satisfaction delighted by the silent hall. But Cupid, in fear, yet in fury, in shiver, yet in stiff posture spoke, "You know when Zeus took over the hall, when you were not even a child, three scores of years ago, and we, you and me, and Athena and Poseidon, were all the same posture. And since then, I made fun of everyone, more often in serious situations and am thrown at the legs of the strongest arms, Athens spoke in wisdom and she stands high above, seated beside Zeus. Poseidon both wrecked ships and saved too, and he lives in a city of pearls. And you", he chuckled. "And you, you challenged the rule, and live in the darkest forts, far from the sea, away from the rich fat of sheep and oxen, and the sweetest honey. Rich and poor, preferred and not, are judged by your own virtues, kid. And so is the judgement  Justice is equal to all, Hades says, yet punishments his guests suffer are different. That's much the same here, Athesse" he continued to be silent.

 Everybody deep in thought, and a hush rose and fell over the mountain, and chatters spread. Athesse grabbed his dagger under his belt around his waist and glared at Zeus. Zeus was lost in thought. And finally, he spoke, "Yes Athesse, Humans created an ideal reference to human race as an idol and help us with our troubles by sharing them and giving us a ray of hope. God is nothing but an imaginary friend who shares one's problems and soothes the pain in when the praying is in troubles. God is a friend one can find only at infinity. People are more fancied by the magic than anything else. And these humans, they will soon tear us down. They will group us and fight. The destiny is so."(Religion and caste) Thus he spoke. And Athesse's image dispersed into the clouds. He faded in the white and the song of Gloria marked the dusk. The fat and wine flowed through the air from the offerings below, and Gloria's song rose above the heavens.

Agent Orange

Pre-script: I request all the readers to turn their logic precise brains off and read the entire tale in one take.

The train quietly pulled off. I could see my cousin waving back as his figure faded black into the evening sun setting behind him. The green flag guard was waving appeared like a freedom signal where I could fly back to my friends. Tired as I was, with the packing and talking job since the morning, I decided to take in some fresh air before I get back to the classic rock and stylish punks. I quietly got back into the bus and soon set my walk on the bank of that small lake, quietly letting my mind write and arrange the records of my cousin's visit.

And there it rang. my phone that was acting dumb for the past few days. "Where are you dude? Did your cousin leave? When will you be here?" Deepak was shouting completely forgetting that he was in a pub. "At the necklace road, taking some fresh air, will be there soon" I answered, repenting for every phrase that I spoke. "Dude, grow up, it's filthy now. Come here fast, It's not your oldie pub. Did you forget?” he went off reminding me of this peculiar day pub that was newly set up at IMAX.

"A day-pub is one that would stay open till early night, and later would be converted into a banquet hall or a disco floor as per the demand" I remembered Manoj defining, much in an engineer's style. I quietly walked thinking of those old days and old IMAX as guards in polythene gloves enacted their checking on me. I caught up with them soon.

I tried not to stare at the name, but could not help myself staring at Urdu printed in green on the white lamp board. It was queer to see a mall have a board written in Urdu. Also, I further answered myself saying that this must have been why I never got to hear its name as but the day-pub. The guards there checked us for a little longer as we walked in. We ordered for a pair of Kamikaze and an Agent Orange and started talking about what we did in the past few days, running into the chicks we saw every now and then, as was our habit. Soon, we drank our first glass and ordered to repeat it. I, out of curiosity and kick, walked to the bartender who wasn't there.

I peeped into the counter to see a man quietly writing the bills on fluorescent foolscap paper records. He was a man clad in white Kurta and a blue chequered Lungi, sitting on the grinding stone, more queerly than I expected. His clothes showed a good quality, much being owned by a pride man, and his Sajjda placed beside showed his riches and beliefs. "Excuse me sir, what do you want?" he said in an old-cityish tone, looking up at me. I pointed at the empty chair and he seemed to have muttered something. "Come with me, sir" he led me into the kitchen inquiring about my tastes, picked up a few bottles and sat down preparing it.

I slowly engaged him into easy talks about the business, lastly asking him, "Why do you have a pub so traditional in a mall like this?" "As long as the drink remains the same, every single customer of mine shall be more pleased at this oldie appearance sir" he spoke in a philosopher's voice. "And why don't you engage tokens?" He simply laughed in a silent cough, his age visibly clouding his voice. After a dragged giggle, he spoke "No need of that, sir. I believe in my traditional techniques." Confidence ringed in his voice as he said it and splashed in his eyes, when he held the drink up for me. I took the drink and walked alone as he walked out of his other door.

To my surprise, the curtains were dropped and I entered into an echoing Banquet hall, wondering if it was the same room I had been in ten minutes ago. I walked back into the kitchen, which too was, empty. A bit frightened, I silently ran through the fire exit and entered into the mall in the lower floor sipping my cocktail. They were waiting right at the entrance with empty Martini glasses. I was happy to see them, sipped my drink up, and we walked, silently slipping the glasses onto an empty table in the lounge. We were walking down the stairs slowly planning for the larger party tonight as it struck me that we didn't pay the bill. Considering it much as an achievement, we walked down the stairs pacing, ending almost in a run at the exit gate where the guard again checked us. "474" he said to the fellow who was writing down some records, and we resumed the run.

I was leading the run when I saw some guys sitting in an orange Jeep, glittering in the dusk. I ran faster passing them by and occasionally glancing at them, as if I was running from them, as if they were the old man's staff, enjoying the mall-break into the necklace road where I finally paused gasping, landing my hands on my knees and bending low, only to see that I was alone. Fear ran along my spine as I tried to figure out what might have happened to them. Thinking of what was happening, I was searching my shirt for what 474 referred to, and I saw it written in a charcoal, one that could not be wiped, on the triple point of my shirt. It was my entry number, I recalled. Panicked, I began running again.

I ran faintly passing by a kid playing his red remote-controlled car, who was as busy in his own work as I was in mine. In desperation, I continued, until I stood tired and panting, as over a thousand thoughts overwhelmed my brain. Then, with sparkling lights, a red Ferrari Italia, that one dream car of my childhood, ran by, pulling over not more than a few yards behind me. I stood thinking.

Post-script: This was an unedited dream. The language is completely grammatical, and any deviations mentioned there-on are discreetly writer's imaginations. The length constraints are responsible for any lack of description, if any.

In a page of excelsior

Four tons of people all around, to meet whom daily are you bound,
read what you feel and write, and in the dark ink you shall enlight.
About your roommates and fights, about the sleepless nights,
about your love for your second home, about that place what once was Rome.

A ton will definitely read, and a hundred will belong to your breed.
And when you meet and talk henceforth, you'll be told what you're worth.
It won't be just a compliment, but an accomplishment,
for not just you are known, but so are thoughts that were blown.

How it feels to be here, in a page of excelsior,
its not about fame, its not just great,
how it feels to be in excelsior, you're in a college's year,
you will be read, and remembered forever.

If you still don't get what i said about how it feels, try it yourself blindly and you'll know. :-D

Lullaby

The time is ripe and the world is quite,
the thoughts do swipe and tangle and fight.
Your cheeks had tears and blushed in dimples,
quivered in fears and smiled in ripples.

It's time to pen all your joys,
and read your writ and again rejoice.
Learn to grow from all your pains,
like a plant from seed when it rains.

The moon and the stars, the breeze amidst the bars,
come to lull you tonight again, as you play the life's game.
It's a dark and cold night, and the world is tired and quiet,
sleep and close your drowsy lids, the days await like the hungry kids.

More and more, memories to make,
good ones to store and bad ones to bake,
more and more, life is to take,
in tears no more, and smiles no fake.

A"THEIST"

In the hall of great Zeus, everyone was summoned by name and seated in their positions, and was served with the fat of oxen and a glass of honey wine each. It was the appraisal hour and the grey eyed Athena was reading out the appraisal in the name of gods. The appraisal was from a young guy, to whom fate had been ruthless for long, until a few days ago, when he had acted with bravery and optimism to be in a pleasant position now. The young man deeply delighted by the fair life he was enjoying, poured out a cup of wine and burnt healthy fat sheep on the coast of Potra, and spelled out the appraisal, deep from his heart.

Thus, the fair skinned goddess read out,
"Zeus, o ruler of the clouds and storms, the one to decide favors and harms, I bow to you for you rule the world, I bow in respect to your greatness, the being eternal. My life was torn a hundred pieces, and my tears tumbled off my eyes, until I found the harmony in your rule, the being eternal. Zeus, I thank you for all that..."
And would have she continued in the soothing tone, had not Olympus been shaken to its roots. "Hades" shrieked some voice trembling. "Octapatehia" hushed another. And as everyone panicked, Zeus stood fiercely on his throne, legs apart, closed eyes, clutching his sparkling thunder weapon tight in his fist, with tingling senses, he spoke frowning, "ATHESSE".

Fear crept along the spines of many, even the wise Athena dropped her jaw bewildered, and Poseidon shivered in horror. Athesse was the step brother of Zeus. Every time he visited the hall, came along with him were deadly threats and stranger warnings. He ran to Olympus, as the great rocks trembled under his stamping feet. The last time he visited the great mountain claiming that Zeus' power over the human race is just a chance; Zeus had to strike him with a bolt throwing him lonely on an unknown island.

"Zeus" he growled, "hath come your end today. The highest throne on the Olympus shall not be owned by the chance taker. Your imaginary rule shall come to an end. There is no being of a power of god. Your power hath always lied in the belief of man. Nature has never been your creation. Nature evolved out of its own sense. You are nay unique." he gasped breathing deeply, "why this offerings from the greatest kings? Why from those kingdoms where many die hungry? Thou art cruel. Aren't you driving them mad out of the wits of humanity, in the name of these senseless rituals?" cut his words, he stamped again and everyone else trembled in terror. Zeus alone stood firm, as if he was glued the marble and spoke, " O Athesse, it is true that I am not the creator, our father Cronos the great ruled the vast world before us, and above him stood a many. I never claimed the power, nor did any god over here, nor shall you and your Scientia. It was they who entitled Zeus to be the ruler of worlds. It was they who, fascinated by the vast knowledge of Athena, crowned her as the master of all skills. And similarly, the rest all of us too. The ritual was similar to us being the rulers. We never prescribed any ritual to the humans. The offering of honey, wine and meat was a custom the mankind had built over ages. In sacrifice of their share of food, and in the earnest holy devotion they show to me, I bless them; say more effectively, I wish them betterment in every task. And it is the same trust of theirs in my name that I abide by their side that helps them be unintentionally stronger and sharper than many other competitors. For the similar reason, my devotees die, and are immortal like any other. Hath I had a divine power over them, all those whom I would favor would have ruled the world. It has never been so. Mankind follows the laws of nature. I am what I am, just because they trust that this is what I am."

Everyone was startled at the words of Zeus, and so was Athesse. He spoke further, "why then you stand by this cloud rocker? You know that the truth is you are not someone unique. Yet, you apart, what about those thousands of saints out there, who speak virtuously of good deeds in the name of god, god Zeus, and yet not following them? Have you not witnessed many a preachers speaking that they were god, the god equivalent to you yourself? Why, in no summit ever held on the greatest mountain of earth had not been the false preachers' preaching been discussed? What about the thousands of priests who make money performing these rituals? And of those astrologers who predict strange happenings? And what about all those business makers around your name, the name of god? Why has . . . . "

"Evil", Zeus growled, interrupting the questionnaire, “evil, evil it is, o master of logic. God is he who has done good deeds. God was born to direct people into betterment. God is him when he shows how an ideal person ought to be. God is no ruler of human races my sibling. And if it is someone claiming them to be the god, he always is fooling around. Rituals were man-made and so were priests and astrologers. If it is the same trust as they have in me, yes, my competitors shall be the god too. And such god whose intentions are evil shall suffer the effect."

Thus listening, Athesse questioned back, "Trust, trust, trust. If being god is always about trust, why Zeus, had you not been unique? Why did Poseidon, cupid, Athena, Hercules, and a thousand more come into the scenario? Why are gods, the ones prayed by the mankind so many? Religions apart, why in the followers of just one epic of the Ilium, are so many gods? And for each god are a thousand statues, each carved in its own way? Why had so many gods evolved out of just belief?"

Athena, the daughter and of Zeus, fair in attire, sharp in word, stood up as if to answer, and looked for all her colleagues, as if were representing them, and spoke in a melodious tone, "sir Athesse, why question the nature? Was nature not made of the sea and cloud? Was love and anger the same emotion? Did wind blow the way one wished? Or did grass grow as someone wanted it to? Had the entire world been the same? Had the cold night been alike in May and November? Nay, nay. The nature is made of an infinite variety. The trust in each of such existence and the control of a power higher than humane and out of reach of mankind had been assigned to one god. And so are a thousand gods. Never had they seen me in my true existence, and so had they ever seen my father, or the sun god. The residents of the divine rock had the power to assume the image they wished to, the priests say. My father would say, and so would I that the image one wishes a god to be in, shall be the attire in which that one would see god.
And every great king who had been victorious in the trust of the wave maker had a smooth and safe journey had built his own temple for Poseidon. In each of this temple, is a sculpture carved as the king saw him or the sculptor imagined him to be. And so, a thousand of a thousand idols for a thousand gods, as you said. An idol had to be carved, to make a record of the memory. For the mankind believes, in the idol shall rest the story, and a look at it shall remind of you all the great and the deadly happenings of the past. The wrecked ships they remind you of, and the victorious ones too. The jealous in laws they remind you of, and the honest soldiers." everyone was drawn deep into memories of their idols and temples as the fair goddess spoke and a chatter rose as her speech ended. Zeus and Athesse shot into each other’s eyes fiercely and the crowd's chatter apparently fell, if not for a giggle.

The annoying giggle came from low behind Hercules. Athesse snarled in anger, "who is it?" everyone was terrified by this act of Cupid who slowly slides out from behind the chair, shutting his giggle in fear.

(To be continued...)

A love'th night

Along with that roses waiting for dawn, is a guy waiting in her lawn,
like a moon for her to come, over the balcony walls as he starts to hum,
and stand like a princess in the moonlight, as to shine over her the stars fight.
And the prince stands midst the roses, and he kneels and for her, poses,
his arms wide open for her, to keep her warm like a coat of fur,
Ladder he points to her beside, she can climb down and be by his abide.

And in the moonlight, she comes dressed in white,
around her waist passes his hand, as she stands for his magic wand.
Into her other his fingers embrace, and they rise high showing heaven's ways.
The opera plays cool and slow, and on toes they dance the bella bow.
He holds her index high, and she goes round as the violins cry,
and the prince and his girl, go in dance to sway and swirl.

They dance in a rhythmic go, they dance at the nature's show.
They dance in a love divine, in moonlight like a star they do shine.

Where there is love, there is a way.

For all pigeons have died, I send this letter through vultures.
They have never been spied, no one knows where mine ventures.
In worlds high above all these mails, and the rockets that crackle,
Here they come to set fire, for cutest smile to sparkle.

In tears we spent our lives, in tears we ought to end them,
Our love was always hurt by knives, death yet not, now or then.
Our candle of hope won't blow out, may winds of whatever blow.
On roots of trust were they sprout, it shall never fall low.

I know you feel guilty and bad, I don't want you to,
I know you are gloomy and sad, tell me what I should do.
I wait for you to decide and tell, for I don't know what happened.
Tell it you, tell me the spell, for I don't want me to, again offend.

I know what your forever meant, I know how confused you are,
I wish not you ask where you went, I was not in worlds far.
My promises I will stand by, I wont leave you in gloomy grave,
I will be the sun to clear your sky, You are my princess and me thy slave.

To order is all your part, and to execute it is mine,
Just know it to your heart, you and me are always fine.
The dark roads were moonlit, it's hard for me to see the way.
Yet our locked fingers won't split, I shall never ever go away.

I wish you read this and know me, for all other pigeons went away,
I wish happy and fearless you be, I won't let your rainbow be grey.

Little poems (3)

The flame licks all the wood, the clock ticks the time of food,
hungry rats knock my walls, like sleepy pats do'th they calls.
I want to eat and drink, is someone to feed at my blink?
Come here o prey, come near I pray,
fill my mouth and go deep in, nay uncouth nor nay sin.

O girl, I have a wish to make, I know you'll make it real someday.

Over a coffee and a chocolate cake, all our time will make its way.

That day I'll think this one year of care, be it by word be it by touch, 

that day I'll make you better aware, that I love you a lot so much.

Moon is a story too.

New moon- The state of a guy's mind before a girl comes into his life. None is the one, but stars a many, are hearts to be own, choose of them any.

Waxing crescent- As he falls in love, is this crescent his smile. Her crescent he loves, and his one lights, to her beauty he bows, and flies his hopes' kites.

Waxing gibbous- It is that story of promises and proposals. The oaths are taken, and a world is woven, of dreams forsaken, glass walls are broken.

Full moon- The days of pure and divine feelings. The full moon is her to him, the full moon is the , across the purest channel they swim, into the grave waning ahead.

Waning gibbous - A season of jealousies and feelings. The love is now past, its a ship on a calm sea, no wind shall kiss the mast, it is so for it has to be.

Waning crescent- It is when the pessimist in you speaks.Every story has to end, for routine shall bore, Every twig has a lot to bend, as the egos show the core.

New moon- The end of a story, sweet memories and bitter tears. It is the end and was a story, hearts cry and tears flow, it shall be penned in history, tears dry and hearts glow.

The one saline drop

A tiny water drop am i, raining from the skies high.
I dance and splash, i clink and flash.
I love this rocks, and the sheep flocks,
i love to make dew, i love the sprouts new.

I see my path is clear, i run leaving all my dear.
I run and run to my home, to sink in and be no foam.
But its wet and filled, and my life is again killed.
I start to flow again, i forgive all the strain.

I try to jump and sing, as i pass by the spring.
I fly on flowers of youth, i learn to sing and sooth.
I enjoy this love everywhere, i feel it all that care.
I fall in love again, though i know it'll be vain.

I move by into the sea, whose ends i never can see.
Confusion i sense, and i wait to go up thence.
I go high into the white, the sad cloud dull and light.
I move forth and back, i sway yet joys i lack.

And then a jerk i feel, and all clouds away they peel.
I fall down today, in the same old way.
I am a drop of tear, sometimes in low fear.

In dark i clone, in light i shine, yet i am alone, no one is mine.

A day of life

Night it was, dark and dull, alone I was, none to lull.
I did stalk, I did stroll, in mirror talks, I did troll.
I cried tears, I felt lost, I bore fears, of tearing my mast.
I gained years, I aged fast, I lost dears, I wrote my past.

Days I waited, and more weeks, my griefs fainted, in friendly leaks.
Lamps I lighted, burning my weaks, in colors I painted, all grey peaks.
And then in light, did come a star, twinkling bright, from worlds far.
The girl in white, beauty nay scar, thoughts all right, of dreams par.

We sang all day, we sang our song, we sang our way, through all night long..
November and may, we sang our song, our song did stay, our way along.,
We fought in fall, we sought in spring, and in times all, to us we did cling.
Our chats were tall, nonsense did they sing, to our empty halls, hopes did they bring.

Caring of all things, waiting for your glimpses, sharing with you glory, and all happiness,
I'll be your prince, you'll be my princess, it's a love story, baby just say yes.

The door to open

The night is not so long.. The sun is to rise, the dawn is to come..
For your virtues good and strong, you shall get a prize, useful and worthsome.
The breeze is shivering cold, silence is to speak, dew is to bathe,
for your thoughts wise and bold, depriving you off weak, your life is set to lathe.

Come, come, come, to set ahead afar, as to answer the call,
the call as the angels hum, on sun rays from worlds par, welcome lets go all.
Hear, see and witness, the rusty jingle bells, ding a dong they all ring,
their rhyme is set to impress, the deepest of the hells, of new worlds they all sing.

The world is not far off the shore, not par seven seas, nor par the stars,
it is beyond just one door, the one no one sees, the one without the bars.
Free it is to walk in, and back is not, if the door is sought,
the other side is free of sin, where joys are a lot, none needs to be brought.

It is a fair world, i don't say, for there is nay,
but if a word to hold, its yet wet clay, mould it your way.
Live your life true and brave, with mighty deeds, and selfless needs,
you will enjoy in your grave, your crop had no weeds, your grain had no beads.

Little poems (2)

I could see the head; I could see the tail,

I always missed to see, the coin's stitching trail.

I could see the rose; I could see the blood,

But I missed the thorn, for both were gleaming red.

I could see the earth; I could see the sky,

I thought they never met, until I went high.

I still see the friend; I still feel the care,

I still try to fend, for to lose you, I don't dare.

Now that you're here, like a sky far yet near,

I swear by time and tide, to my threads I’ll lie tied.

"You are too conserved and orthodox; you own a farm and just two oxen."

"I don't have it all, but I get enough grain, to embrace my hunger, if not to fill my wine."

"You think on the ground, you never fly high, your earth is round, and you never reach the sky"

"Yes the sky is far, but to fly I fear, for I move boundaries par, and may be away from all those dear"

"You are one among many, you are never the star, be like me whose not any, I be a star or the one with scar"

"I can be a star, being one among the many. I may not be a moon, but for them I shall be the boon.”

నిశ్శబ్దపు ఆరుపులు

ధ్రువ తారకు బిడ్డ నేను, ఎన్నటికి మారబోను,
అవిటి వాడ్ని కాను నేను, నాట్యములో మునిగినాను,

మత్తు కాదు మాయ కాదు, నా ప్రపంచం నీది కాదు,
తప్పు లేదు ఒప్పు లేదు, వడ్డీ లెని అప్పు లేదు,

తలపు నాది తలయు నాది, తలుచుకుంటే ధరము నాది,
దైవము నేను, దయ్యము నేను, నా పర్వములో సర్వము నేను.

వెన్నెల కురవని సమయం, సంగీతమై నిశ్శబ్దం , 

అనిపిస్తుంటే కాళ రాత్రిగ, నిలువబోకు బండరాతిగ.

ఏ మబ్బు వెనుక నక్కినాడో మామ, వెన్నెలనే కురిపించి పంచుతాడు ధీమా,
పలకదా ప్రకృతే సుస్వరపు రాగాలు, పుట్టవా మనసులో సరికొత్తగ భావాలు.

ఆడుగిడగా మిగులునోయ్ తడబడిన అద్దులు,
వెనుచుడక సాగవొయ్ ఆపబొవు హద్దులు,
ఏ రేయినైన రాదా, స్పూర్తినిస్తూ రవి కిరణం,
నీ మనసునుంటే బాధ, ఏ జన్మకైనా అదే మరణం.

ఆడవిలొన నేనున్నా , చుట్టూ మ్రుగములనే కన్నా,
ఆశలోన నేనున్నా ,నేనో ఆకాసవాని విన్నా.
వచ్చిందట సమయం, రానుందట సమరం,
పూరిస్తా నే శంకం, రాసేస్తా నా అంకం.

ఊగుతున్న పడవనున్నా, ఊబిలాంటి అడవినున్నా,
నడుస్తున్న నగరములో, ఉడుకుతున్న ఉదరముతో,
చెరుకుంటా నా గమ్యం, వదిలేస్తా ఈ అరణ్యం.

శ్రీశ్రీ కలగనలేదా , టాగోర్ కథ వినలేదా,
అదిగదిగో మరో ప్రపంచం, అటువైపే నా పయనం.

My sister

My birthday when I was 8, I would be cutting the cake midst all the causalities. The first piece, I would have put in her mouth, instead of that Amar's who never let me bowl the first over. My birthday when I was 16, the cake would be waiting and the clock ticking. As soon as its 12, she would have been there beside me wishing me in hugs and waiting by staring into my phone, to see who would wish me first. I mean, second. My birthday when I was 24, She would be still there with my favorite Pongal ready at home as I come late from office, to celebrate that one day we never miss. She would be sharing all those little cute faced Childtime photos, holding and hitting me. She would be fighting all day and night with me, crying and complaining, and yet being my best friend. When I was in hostel, my phone would have been full of her texts chattering non-stop all the time. She would have been teasing and blackmailing in my girlfriend's name at home for little treats. She would have never made me feel alone when it comes to roam in Sultan Bazaar. She would have been "my sister."

She would have been, but she wasn't. It all happened; a year ago I was born. My family was unlucky to have her. Being one of those thousands of middle class Indian families, my parents found it hard to give place for a daughter. They were counting their expenditures. The expenses of studies, her little dreamy jewels, and returns she would bring home, forget not the dowry, and the losses henceforth. Yes, they were right as to their part. But, they did not prove successful in providing their son with a friend, trustworthy and accessible, kind and funny, they could never give him (me) something he (I) dreamed of. The lessons they learnt about families were such. They remembered their youth, money and problems. I don't know, into what ruins, did their memories of siblings run. Yet they said, "you are lucky to be one, you enjoy being royal, you get what you want, you don't know your advantages." in spite of all this, I would have had "my sister."

"Today was her sixteenth birthday; along the necklace road did we stray.
I ate her chocolate fudge, as she frowned at her grudge.
She showed her talent to taunt, until was no memory left to haunt.
Mom made my Pongal today, she shed tears in her own way.
Cried her saying I hate this, until mom made again her favorite dish.
Finally she fell asleep on me, as her pain set all afree.
I wish god with a heart pure, in all heavens shall she endure.
Come no perils in her life, not even when she is a wife.
I pray god to fulfil her joys, and play not like with his other toys",
Would have I written about her on her birthday in my diary and titled the couplette "my sister."

It was an Indian preset that claimed daughter of a family to be the economic burden, and a financial cutoff of a son's counterpart. It must have been true long back then. But today, a twenty year old girl is more or at least evenly likely to get an opportunity that a twenty year old guy gets. It is still applicable for the current scenario, that the expenditure on a girl shall be higher. But, given a chance to expect, the probability of women advancing into what men are today, is higher, and can visibly be seen in the developed European countries.So, a parent ought to consider it again, the thought of having a girl child, so that he might proudly point to her and say "my sister."

Kill not a girl child; she too is "your son's sister."

P.S.: the thought is purely fictional and has got nothing to do with my life, parents and other compatible environments. The words afree and couplette are parts of no diction.

Writatouille

Can anyone write?
Had I been asked this question two years ago, I would have quickly said a 'no'. When I found myself reading about a writing competition anywhere, I simply would have walked away. I could hear someone inside me saying, "Writing is a talent I don't have. How do these people write? They must be having some spark in them." And today, I feel it is easy to write. I am not here to lecture you guys about how to present an answer you know in your examination. Rather, I would like to speak on how to create an answer out of the key word you heard just before you entered the hall. Yes, anyone can write. Given, you have something you desperately want to tell about. And the misinterpretation of it would be, “I desperately want to express, but I don't have something to". Instead, "I desperately have to express this thing, don't know how" would do. Write.

When and where to write?
"Time and place don’t seem to matter, but in reality they are fatter. Write when and where you feel or know, for around the seeds the plants do grow." an amateur writer waits for the moment to take over, the right emotion blending in thoughts. And he upgrades into a professional then when he takes over the moment and changes his mood accordingly. You must have observed if you ever tried, that there is a defined period of time over which the spark inside you remains lit. A similar logic can show why you need your surroundings to support the situation. Write where you feel it, when you feel it. A calm chilling night serves most of the ideas, given that your emotions are right.

How to write?
This question needed a precise answer when I started writing. You don't need Wren & Martin or the Oxford beasts to be on your table always. Given the audience, a work is expected to be written in a way so that the writer's message is easily and aptly conveyed. It is not about writing great words or long paragraphs, it is about writing exactly in a way your reader likes it. Much like not offering a great recipe to Mr. Ego but giving him the dish he was most connected to. And more important, write it in a way you like, because that is when the imprints of a given thought can be made clearly on a reader's mind. The choice of vocabulary and the expression of a thought prove influential in succeeding as a writer. Next only to the fact that your dear reader is feeling, knowing and understanding what you want him to.

What to write about?
"The simple blue sky, the crushed blue tie, everything has a right, if you wish to write." it depends on what you want to convey, what is to be said to the audience, what you want them to feel as they read your work. To start with, choose something that is really close to you, choose your experiences. Then in stages, you can feel yourself moving on to write what you want your dear readers to know, then writing what your audience want to know, and so on. The emotion is the mother of all writing. Write what you rightly feel and there you end up penning the greatest works. Often, it so happens that what to write gets decided when you experience it. And to be more precise, you need to feel something to your heart when you put it on a paper.

More things you need to know...
Being biased is humane. If you are speaking about anything socially active and common, make sure you will be comforted reading your thing even after years your write. And that you won't regret your choice today.
Critics are always there, anywhere and probably everywhere. So, be ready for them. There are people who say you don't deserve to be one, or that what you say is wrong. Just sing "haters gonna hate" loud.
What I write is my wish. For whom I do is my wish again. It's my life, my writing, my rules. Never care about what someone thinks, not even the one whom you are commenting about.
It is the same for any art of expression, not just to write. Sing your notes, write your words, act your skits. Like no two people are alike, so are your expressions and ways of putting them. You are unique and so is your art.

Understand that you write what you wish to read. And make sure it happens. Have a happy write.

The love's lullaby

The stars twinkle bright, the breeze is cold.

Had come this tiring night, the sun is a day old.
The eyelids try to kiss, and the heart to unpace.
We lie in a earthly bliss, that lies by no other ways.

My finger in your hand, in your magic am I,
hold it like your wand, and spell my loving cry.
I sleep by your side, I sleep in your heart,
I see you smile wide, as our dreams start.

Together we win and loose, our life is a endless war.
Together we move to cruise, to reach our destinies far.
You and i sleep tonight, and dream of rosy pink dawns.
The days shall be more bright, and evergreen our life lawns.

Our path is one, always to a better life,
more battles to be won, by our deathless strife.
We sleep now, in beds of us,
we feel love, as it ever was.

We sleep to wake, better you and me,
from future we take, those dreams for free.
Sleep in peace and calm, guarded against all harm,
your pillow is my palm, your blanket is my arm.

The facebook nights

It is a time too queer, a time when aught but owl sleeps.
It is a time to cheer, and run to 'lap' in long long leaps.
Open it, type your code, and there you end up struck,
Sail the ship and go aboard, today to fish your luck.

Yes here I am online, trying to see my fellow owls.
My blood is full of wine, in green veins it growls.
I pound leap and hunt down, those beings alone around.
I try to break down their frown, and carry them to the stround.

The land is of amazing folk, people who share people who lol
There are people to poke, people who rise people who fall.
Yet we sail to islands unknown, those where went no embassy,
we meet people long forlorn, those lost in their own ecstasy.

You you people people, I am afraid I forgot if we ever met,
You you feeble people, I found you caught in my fishing net.
Come talk and move on, pay me your emotions and love,
I am a dustbin you won, tell me your problems and plead me how.

I am no prophet, Krishna or the christ, I am a man with a mind.
I am a world roaming lyrist, you are the snake my lyre will find.
I solve your deadly breath taking perils, And I expect back a smile.
Smile to me and pay me the merits, you get one back, in my own style.

Comes waters again, you alive or dead, I put you back and see you drift.
If you are the one with a working head, you swim back the mist as swift.
I am your friend faceless friend, I know you and you know me.
This is what is today's trend, I am afraid of it when a father I would be.

Wheels of life

What is a plain white sheet, a paper untouched and neat?
Fill it with the rainbow ink, and that is when it does wink.

What is a tree that does not grow, give a fragrant flower or a tasty fruit?
On such does nature raise its brow, it has to fall, to grow again or unroot.

What is a glass, that shows neither true nor you?
If nay of the two you do, you definitely are untrue.

What of a man and his survival, if he does nothing in a day?
Into dooming hells or dewed heavens, a man ought to walk, always in some way.

The natural love

The soil was brown and plain, never did it wear grass, never did a deer graze.
That day the blue sky did stain, in black clouds like brass, air did dance in a misty haze.

Came upon the first drop of rain, racing to the earth, in brown did it drown.
And soon came more the water grain, like it was her berth, like the bride in her gown.

The thirsty droplets kissed the soil, first were tough, and then were gentle.
The rocks dreamed to turmoil, the water now enough, as they smiled subtle.

Had it listened to someone talk, the age old hills, or the elderly plants,
that someday would clouds stalk, like the dollar bills, or the racing ants.

But dreams and love, cease before you feel, and so was this passing storm
The sky didn't blink now, nor did it screel, even the silence did the harm.

The brown was now green, the deer grazed on, it was not the same old brown.
beautiful like a queen, charming like a just born, yet the earth had a frown.

It was dull and sad, cried and dried, and throbbed and thrilled for the cloud again.
But the fate was bad, forever and ever, and never could it forgo the pain.

Came many other grey puffs, but never could it dance, the drops now went in vain.
There were just volcanic snuffs, it was in a lost trance, and memories never left, in fain.

INDIA. Today.

15th of August 2012. Yes, today, it has been 65 complete years of independent India. Around 8 to 10 years ago, the country was a little less developed and comparatively less 2G connected. But, more or the less, the theme of India and independence was the same. We were thankful to all the great souls who sacrificed their great lives considering it as a part of their duty towards their nation. After almost a century of struggle, Indian flag could fly high above, high as the mast. And then, we unofficially swore that we would remember this day and congregate and celebrate being free, and in a sense of respect, to mourn for those freedom fighters. 10 years ago, this day was more than any other festival of the country. Because, the very today, wearing a clean white uniform, pinning the flag close to your heart, marching down the roads eagerly speaking about all the childish worlds, going to the school assembly, listening to the patriotic songs and feeling them much deeply, saluting the tri-colored pride with a smile and heart full of dedication, running to snatch all the prizes from teachers, and finally, eating those little pieces of chocolate and sweet and returning home as early as the first break time itself. Yes, it was a memoir. And at home, it was no less, watching the "ROJA" on the DD national, and crying, and Goosebumps. Yes, the day pumped our blood with what all we needed for a year full. And today, as I stand to salute my flag, I more or less feel the same. But, I have seen and heard many of my friends complaining that the patriotism has come down these days and has been a mere act of show off.

No, it was not. It is just you people who felt so. I have asked a kid, some 11 year old I guess, who was standing by me looking high up at the flag hoisting ceremony about how he felt. He said, "I am grateful to all Mahatmas for this freedom. India is great." This is what I exactly felt 10 years ago, and here, today, this kid still feels the same. So, what has changed? Patriotism did? Well, no. Our feelings towards our country did. The country had been the same. I don't know about others, but I still feel the same pride as I salute my flag. I feel proud to be Indian. It is you who must have changed, if you feel today is just a holiday. It is you who must have changed if you feel dressing good is show off, pinning the flag is a Facebook display picture stunt, walking down to the event is just another Romeo act, college assembly is a place you are too noble to be at, listening to the patriotic songs is a crazy tribal way to enjoy, saluting the flag is a poor presentation of your respect to your country, teachers are too dumb for you to receive a little trophy from their hands, and the sweets are too deteriorated for you to eat them. It is you who must have deteriorated if you don't understand what DD National means to the country and what would "ROJA" do to you. If being proud of your nationality is childish, I like to be childish. And yet, despite being so responsible a citizen of India who feels that picking up the country's flag that has fell in a muddy place is as dirty or even more dirty than picking up any other piece of paper that would have been in a similar position, well update not of English chocolate distribution, praise not Sachin Tendulkar for claiming to be an Indian on the first hand, praise not A.R.Rehman who induces patriotism just through a piano.

Ask yourself if you are proud of being a part of this country. If your heart answers an honest yes, then I don't find absolutely no disrespect in screaming a "JAI HIND" or letting not your flag be stepped by a fellow. If it's a no, ask a friend who feels similar and seek a solution. Not every this act may seem logical to your highly intellectual brains, but then neither should any emotion seem more logically empowered if this does not. I am surrounded by you people in tens now. May be you multiply drastically making me a desolate mad guy, but yet, I will still feel the same pride as I do today when I salute my flag to say "I AM AN INDIAN AND I AM PROUD OF IT."

Wherever you go, and whomever you serve to,
You are my bro, being an Indian.
Whatever you speak, and whoever you look like,
You are not weak, being an Indian.
My state is high, and it is my pride too,
Even in sky, I am in Indian.
Whoever you work for and whoever your love is,
We are with you, if you are an Indian.

పంతోమ్మిదేళ్ళ పడుచు పోరోడు

ముళ్ళపూడి బుడుగు నీవు, బంగారపు తొడుగు నీవు, వామనుని అడుగు నీవు.
పిచ్చి పెంచే పిడుగు నీవు, వానలోన గొడుగు నీవు, కన్నె పిల్లకు మడుగు నీవు.

(మడుగు లో కాలుజారేదరు)

రాజమౌళి ఈగ లాగ, మురళినాధుని వేలు లాగ, చిట్టిగున్నావ్ పోట్టిగున్నావ్.
ధూల్పేట మాంజ లాగ, కత్తి కట్టిన పుంజు లాగ, ముట్టిచూడగ గట్టిగున్నావ్.

ఓ సినీ జ్ఞాన భండారి, నీ గుండె గోదారి...
ఓ మూల గది జీవా, కదిలే కామెడీవి నీవా...
ఓ నిత్య స్నాన అధికారి, నిన్ను మొహిన్తును ప్రతి నారి...
ఓ కాకినాడ వాస, మమ్మల్ని మైమరపిన్తును నీ యాస...

బాబు గోపి, ఇదిగో నీకు నా కాపీ, ను మెచ్చితే నేను హ్యాపీ, మెచ్చకపోతే పో రా పాపి.

చిరుగాలికి కదలాడే చిగురాకై వసంతం,
వెన్నెల్లో విరబూసేను మౌనంగా ఈ నిమిషం, 
వచ్చీ రాక ముందే  ఆహ్లాదపు వసంతం,
పొడి ఆకుగా రాలిపోనీ నీ లోని విషాదం.

నీ లోని నువ్వు నిన్ను పలకరించే సమయం,
నీ కోసం నువ్వే జీవించే ఏకాంతం.

పూల పాన్పు పై పడుకుంటే సుఖం నిశ్శబమై ,
పలికించదు మనోభావం సంగీతమై ,

ప్రతి ఒక్కరి జీవితము శశి రూపమే,
ప్రేమ నిండినపుడు అది అగ్ని జ్వాలమే.

అలాగా పొంగింది నీకై నా కలవరం.
ఇసుకై మిగిలింది చిరునవ్వుల మౌనం.

తడి ఆరని కన్నుల్లో వెల్లువైన స్నేహం,
పొడి బారిన మనసుకు పోసినది ప్రాణం.
పొంగి పారే నీటి రంగు కాదు జలధి లోని నీలం.
పెదవి పైన నవ్వే కాదు నీ మనసులోని భారం.


2.

చినుకు చినుకు జారక ముందు అధొ పెద్ద మేఘం,
ఈ చోటకు రాక ముందు నాదీ ఓ జీవితం.
ఎగిరి ఎగిరి చేరుకోక ఎదుట వున్న గమ్యం,
వేచి చూస్తూ అలిసిపోయా ఎదను తొలిచిన గాయం

పొంచి ఉన్న పెను ముప్పును గమనించక ధ్యేయం
ప్రేమకై పరుగు తీస్తూ మరిచాను సమయం.
మనసారా కోరుకున్న నీ తోటి స్నేహం
మతి పోయి మరిచాను నడిచి వచ్చిన దూరం.

నడి  రేయిలో గుర్తు రాదా నా మధురమైన కావ్యం.
నడవలేక నాతో వదిలిపోయావ నా ప్రియమైన నేస్తం.


3.
తెలంగాణా సీమంధ్ర అనే విభజనలకు ఇదా సమయం
రెక్కలు చరిచే చైతన్య విపంచికి కాదా ఇది తొలి భంగం.

చేరువై ఎగసే అలను మింగేయద ఈ తీరం.
బలహీన పరిచే సమస్యను అనిచేయదే ఈ ప్రభుత్వం

నేటి భగీరధుని చివరి స్వాషను తుఫాను చేసిన సమరం.
ముద్ద దిగాక మూగ పోయెను విధ్వంస విద్యార్ధి సంఘం.
రాలిపోయిన పువ్వు పైన కొడవలేత్తుటే న్యాయం
అంటూ వేటు పై వేటు వేసెను రాజకీయపు స్వార్ధం.

ఏ బియ్యం ఏ కారం తిని వచ్చేనాట ఈ ధైర్యం.
పోమ్మనుతకు పొగ పెట్టుటకు మీ బాబు లిచ్చిరా అధికారం?

4.

పొంగే ప్రతి ఆశకు నివురు కప్పిన నిప్పుకు
తెలిసెన మలి గమ్యం, నీదేనా సరి మార్గం?

తారాలి ఎగసిన ప్రతి ప్రాణం చేరదుగా ఆ స్వర్గం.
వరాళి కురిసిన అవకాసం అందుకోనీయదు నీ గర్వమ్ .

శ్రమ చేసిన కార్మికుడిని గుర్తించదు ఈ సంఘం
శ్రమ పదనిదే ఘనత పొందదు ఏ ప్రభుత్వం
శ్రమే నీ గమనం
శ్రమ ఏ నీ గమ్యం శ్రమ లోనే జననం
శ్రమలోనే మరణం శ్రమే నీ విశ్వాసం శ్రమకు గెలుపు అంకితం.

శ్రమను చేసి సాధించ్తు ఏ నీకు ఉన్న మార్గం
చెడును చీల్చి చెందాడుతయే మిగిలిన కార్యం.

కలకాలం నిలువలేదు కాళరాత్రి చేరుపలేదు నీ విజయానందం
కన్నులలో నిలువలేదు కనురెప్పను దాటలేదు మరనాతికిరణం

మార్పు అనే జనవాయువే ప్రకృతి ప్రాణం గాలికైనా నీరుకైన నీకైనా ఇదే ప్రధమ సూత్రం

భావములో భవ్యముగా తెలాదుట జీవన సూత్రం
ఆకలితో మరణించే కాపారట మన విశ్వానికి సర్వం.

చేరామ ఆదామ ఎరుగని జీవన సూత్రం.
అడుగడుగ ఆలోచనే మన పాలిటి శాపం

పరుగులు తీసే ఏ ముల్లుకు తెలియదే తన కదలిక జననం
ఇరుకులలో ఏ మనసుకు తెలియదే ఈ ప్రకృతి సూత్రం.

ఎదగని ప్రతి పసి మనసును దోచేస్తే వేగం
పలికెన్ వేలిగేయన్ తన కళలను చూసే ఈ తీయని భావం

ఎగసిన ఓ సంద్రం
చరిత్ర చదివిన శాస్త్రం
చేర్చుకోదు మేఘం
అది నిర్మలాన్కితం

ఎందుకట కరివేపాకు చిరువేపకు మొదలు లేని బేధం
కావ అవి భూమాతకు  సన్నిహిత సంతానం
అక్కున చేర్చుకుంది నాగరికతను విషసర్పం
ఇక ఏలుతుంద చీకటి తన ఇష్టా రాజ్యం

ఏ నాగరికతః చెప్పెను ఈ చినుగు బట్టల పాతం
ఏ శాస్త్రం నేర్పెను రోజుకోకరి సావాసం
ఉన్న ప్రతి వస్తువు పై కలిగే వ్యామోహం
తనను ముసుగుగా చేస్తే సిగ్గు పడద స్నేహం

ఇంనేలకు కనుగొంద ఈ జనన మరణ రహస్యం
పంచభూతాలను చేర్చి మనిషిని చేయగలదా శాస్త్రం

తల వంచకు విశ్వం  ఇది ప్రధమారంభం
మేలుకో ప్రతి హృదయం పోల్చుకో నీ కద్జనం
ఎవరంతిరి మారదని సమాజం ఇదే ఆ వసంతపు ఆగమనం

ప్రతి తొక్క వ్హుక్క తరిగి వచ్చి చుదాలత మన స్నేహం
యతి మార్చకుండా రాయలేను నీ ఈ కావ్యం

కొమ్మకు విరిసే ప్రతి చిగురు ఆహ్వానించే ఆ వసంతం
చసి ఆనందించేందుకు నాకు కావలి ఓ నేస్తం

చిరుజల్లులో తొలి వేకువ రవి కిరణమై నీ అందం
సడి లేని సంద్రాన ఎగిరే చేపయే నీ జ్ఞానం
కావలి నాకు నువ్వు ఓ ప్రియ నేస్తం
పోవాలి రోజు వారి జీవ యాంత్రికం.

నీ వెళ్ళు తాకి మైమరవగా పూవులకు సంతోషం
అరికాళ్ళు సోకి వనమాఎను బీత బారిన భవనం.,

ఊహకు దూరంగా మాటల తీరంగా సాగే ఈ కలం
నిను చూసి జగం మరిచి రాయలత కావ్యం

జరిగే ఉంటుంది నీ జననం
చేరే ఉంటావు  ప్రతి గమనం
పంచిస్తావా నీ చిరు స్నేహం
తరించి పోతుంది పరుగుల యవ్వ నం

ఇది ఓ పనికి రాణి హృదయం
మెరుగు దిద్ది పోయి దీనికి ప్రాణం
కలవరపడకు కలతలు చెందకు ఓ నేస్తం
అడుగడుగునా తోడుంటే అందిస్తా స్వర్గం

వస్తున్నవ నా వైపు నీ కోసమే నా ఎదురుచో

5

చెప్పి చెప్పకు ఊధరగోత్తకు గజిబిజి మాటలు
మునిగి తేలవు ఏ సంద్రములో ఇనుప మూతలు
విరవడానికి కరవడానికి కోటలేత్తు మాటలు
ఆచరించగా చుసుకున్తావే రాహు కేతు కాలాలు
ఉప్పెనలో కొట్టుకు పోతాయి గాలిపతపు మాటలు
ఉవ్వేతున నిలిచుంటాయి ఆచారపు నాతులు

మర్రి చెట్టుకి మంచి మనిఒశికి కుధరదురా పోలిక
గొంతు ఎత్తి గేయమాడుతకు ఎందుకంత కోరిక
ఊదేయకు కొవ్వోతి పలల్కకు భాశోత్తి

తిత్తి తీసి ఆరబెట్టు వృధా చేస్తే ఇంధనాన్ని
తుక్కు రేపి తరిమి కొట్టు పారనిస్తే విశాజలాన్ని

పోగొట్టుకుంటే తిరిగి రాదూ ఏ ఇంధనం
సొంత తయారికి పనికి రాదూ ఈ దానం

ఆపి వేయి అవసరానికి ఎక్కువైనా రూపాలు
అవి చేయక ఉరుకుంటే పెరిగినట్టే పాపాలు
ఆశయాలు కాకూడదు దార్జన మార్గాలు
అశేష కొరకే ఎత్తుతావు ఎన్నో వేల జన్మాలు

వృధా చేయకు విద్యుత్తు
ఇదే పరుడి కొరకు నీ తొలి విత్తు

We weren't meant to be, the affection was unorthodox.
O flower untouched by a bee, I was the cunning fox.

I feel the guilt, feel the pain, excuse my existence.
I wish I could make it rain, the tears of repentance.

But I can't cry or talk it out, ain't no pals here,
I'll silence with my clout, ain't no near and dear.

I wish it was all a dream. we would wake up again.

But no life is just a meme, there's no ridding the pain.

Dream... In"dite"... Dream...

I dream to shout aloud, of the girl I loved.
I dream to cry it out, she is my pain about.
I dream to be a dove, white, free and noble.
I dream to be a love, like the last lone pebble.

Dreams I dream, to let dream of a dream
Dreams to scream, about the screams at stream.
Dreams of eyes brim, as they gleam in esteem.
Dreams of smiles slim, as I meme in extreme.

Dreams I had ago and far, dreams of face nay a scar,
Dreams to be a twinkle star, dreams walking boundaries par,
Dreams I dream even now, dreams I know not to fulfill how.
Dreams I dream even now, Dreams of being hit by 'that' bow.

Dreams people had of me, dreams of what I should be,
Dreams did I dream of me, dreams to write what I feel.
But never did my dream come true, my writs went to fire the brew.
Yet I dream to pen my tale, I be my crew, the true shall sail.

Freedom. I saw it.

The waves jumped to the sand, and the fish flew high.
Like it wobbled your hand, you like a busy firefly.
The roses bloomed in dew, and shone red this morning.
And so did you in your hue, let go my beauty yearning.

The air danced in the shell, and sang the pleasant song,
like was your voice bell, it was heard all night long.
So came the night with stars, they shone from east to west,
And you were moon nay scars, yet were you the best.

Like the squirrel that ran, this hot noon on the white shore,
So did your heart swan, fly high and high above the whole.
Like was the dove flying, like was the penguin screaming,
like was a cute child crying, was your face all miming .

Like was that little feet tap, like was that freely hung strap,
like was the color of rainbow, like was the divine candle's glow,
like was the little jumping hare, like was that diamond lovely and rare,
like were my thoughts for you, like were you, freedom all new.

Hostel sweet home

I wake up early, early in the morning, yawning yawning, my alarm warning.
I brush and sing, sing in all wing, singing singing, keep on brushing.
In search of water, as if for quarter, I will even barter, I need water.
I go to eat food, food called wood food, made of good wood, wood too is food.

I run to my lecture, as if on a pitcher, I hate that teacher, that drowsy creature.
I sit in a corner, sleep in a corner, stare into a corner, as if am a mourner.
Walk back for a lunch, few rotis to munch, punch before munch, makes good lunch.
Phone sings all time, songs of no rhyme, its no rhyme time, Its all time time.

I sit and count seconds, think of all that reckons, even that second reckons, I again count seconds.
Flash like walk to my room, that never felt a broom, on my bed i groom, like a just wed groom.
I think to clean my place, to tie my shoe lace, I think to find ways, in dreams that embrace.
I hear bells and choirs, bells of pass prayers, choirs of glass in foils, all of night stayers.

It is exam if i sleep, before the sun is to creep, exam is no sleep, of course i have slip.
Birthday is nightmare, uninjured too rare, they seem they dont care, all those who do care.
My slippers I lost, my bottle empty and frost, for cookies I pay cost, yet above all I fast.
This hostel is my home, here I dont see any foam, My hostel is my rome, hostel sweet home.

The forlorn tear

A tear is my name, to say it is a shame,
for I am born out of pain, and out of unbearable strain.
With pride yet I claim, all that lamenting fame,
for I never go in vain, and my life has always a gain.

My life is short they say, though extend it may.
I crawl from heart to eye, and out of it as you cry.
On cheeks I do sway, and on shirts too I lay.
Midst fingers I often spy, even on velvet I may lie.

I witnessed hunger, I witnessed anger.
Those eyes that see the dead, is most likely where I shed.
I had crushed in slaps, I had dried in laps.
On shirts too was I fed, and into waters was I led.

I witness affection, I witness addiction.
I am born to be alone, I turn hearts to stone.
I am a lonely tear, and yet of voices I fear,
I am groan in some tone, and between moans am I grown.

I am a tear born, I am a tear to die.
I am a tear forlorn, witnessing all those who cry.

The tale of an untold love

Tender was her mind, like the petal of a rose,
and many went blind, seeing her innocent pose,
she was hard to find, and more to get close.

He was like the sun, going round all the time,
his words bloomed in fun, and sometimes they did rhyme,
fans he had a ton, and it was none his crime.

A day bright and hot, they both met in a shade,
she later loved the spot, and their distance did fade,
they fought and loved and fought, till the moon strayed.

They went up a hill, and they ran it down,
they never stayed still, in love did they drown,
thy egos did they kill, and soon lost their frown.

They were on the ground, they flied too in the sky,
they went in merry round, they sang in joys of high,
her prince was he crowned, the princess smiled in shy.

She was drenched in love, and blushed in his thoughts,
she flied like a dove, high and high in knots,
know not in fury how, the story witnessed dots.

Soon there came the end, and the poems went in vain,
another became his friend, giving her the pain,
she was not to fend, but her thoughts now had a stain.

Little poems

It's a dark night and the life is slow, there is no light but firefly's glow.
The breeze to east is set to blow, the booze from feast has taken flow.
The dawn has come for me and you, let the snow melt down and drop as dew.
The cocoa beans now dance in brew, let the sun bloom smiles a few.

Poem O poem, O my dear little poem,
you were born, you were torn, all the time you were forlorn.
Am poet your poet, the one sinful poet,
I bore you, I tore you, for I could not adore you.

The SIRI song (when my phone sings)

You throw me on your cushioned bed, you stuff me like I am milky bread.

You hold me till your hands are red, you care me till all texts are read.
I see you smile with a grin too wide, I drench in tear by your dimple side.
I feel your care in your pocket slide, I feel it more in your bumpy ride.

I wake you up when you feel lazy, I let you know when the sky goes hazy.
I sing for you when you go crazy, I clear your mind when thoughts go mazy.
You need me more than a daily meal, your life is a cart and I am it's wheel.
You feel tensed when I do squeal, you talk to me as if I do feel.

You stare at me many times in a day, much less at her if you count and say.
She is jealous of me and wants to slay, but she does know I am not to play.
I love it now in the boring classroom, when you hide me down in a blackish gloom.
I do blush when your eyes do zoom, glaring at me as if  you are a groom.

You click my keys at speeds unmatched, you see my glass is smooth unscratched.
you hold me tight like eggs unhatched, you let me dream that I am latched.
I don't mind if you break me with a stone, all I care is you don't hurt your bone,
I do know that I am your own, I will never let you be alone.

The Jealous rose

Midst the dark dull scary night, i bloom to appear at sunrise,
So as to fall in his sight, and get the beauty's price.
I don't know where from, from which earthly or divine,
Does this angel come, to snatch him who was mine?

My petals are wide symmetric, my color dazzles like blood,
Yet i am now skeptic, as her cheeks flush red.
I dance to the slightest breeze, my looks are more fragile,
Yet at her he does freeze, and fall for her smile.

I was soon in a deep sleep, tired of showing i was awesome,
And then in voice deep, of her praise did he hum.
She is a rose to stare at; she is a rose to sense,
Yet she is better than that, she has no thorn of offense.

Yes i now understand, i hurt those who pluck me,
I soak in blood their hand, so cruel am meant to be.
He comes to pluck me now; i need to show her his love,
I know not he does it how; all i witness is an unsung vow.

A poem's cry

I stand by the bank, the water is fresh and still,

staring into its blank, I see the human skill.

He crafts me with care, as black trips over the white

and hopes I am rare, like the moon in a starlit night.

He calls me his work, yes, he works upon me.

He calls me his poem, yes, I was written to be.

He calls me his verse, yes, he tries to rhyme.

He gives yet no name, for, I vanish with time.

I heard a few people say, what my roots look like,

In voice did they sway, with beauty did they strike,

they were laid on straw, and drafted with feather,

attention they could draw, not wither off with weather.

I stare back into the lake, I don't look like them,

and then my senses wake, am I of their stem?

My body is not all equal, my words seem to tangle,

I have no rhyme to spell, I don't seem to mingle.

I was born to express, the feelings he did not,

but now I am to impress, the people he sought.

My life is just presence, I seem to be out of normal.

Yet I am a poem by sense, its namesake and formal.

I don't have a rhyme, it's not a big crime.

I don't have a meter, I need not be sweeter.

I don't have a meaning, this sets me on thinking,

I am not  what I am, I am just like a spam.

He comes back I see, with a furious brow,

crumples me in  spree, and puts up his throw.

I sink into the waters, the ink becomes the dye.

My shape now alters, and this night I die.