In the far lost kingdom of the pop, everyone was thirsty and every lake dry.
From an unknown place came a black, singing his tales of hope and love.
To the draught he was the sacred drop, and to see him sing the oldest did try.
For he sang of what we lack, and he moved like I can't say how.
Every time the music struck his back, no eyes blinked like a striking vow.
A lakh day later, shall a man believe,
such a person in matter, on this earth live?
No one spoke of treason, no one of love and royal shame,
none wrote sonnets and plays, like him was none before.
He was born with a reason, and with his words he scored fame,
He did on every feeling glaze, and in penning was he a lore.
His words had their own place and his books their special store.
A lakh day later, shall a man believe,
such a person in matter, on this earth live?
No one ever will trust, and complain I am in dreams,
but I don't wish this history rust, so I write it in the empty reams.
(Disclaimer: Poem theme inspired from the quote - http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/452888-on-the-occasion-of-mahatma-gandhi-s-70th-birthday-generations-to )
30 June 2013
18 June 2013
Good morning
O dear wake and look to the east look at the nature cooking her feast.
The pitch black clouds foam in the sky, thick and dark yet they fly.
The bright red sun shines till the west; it is no more night to rest.
O dear wake up nature is on; it's a good day and a sweet dawn.
The old royal kettles of the 'lazies' fame stand on the quiet blue flame.
One boils the white milk slow, and one the coffee of the dark glow.
Both mix into warm porcelain mug, embracing each other like a hug.
Thus the coffee brews into air; the heaven invites you up one stair.
O dear wake up and breathe such air, a new day awaits you warm and fair.
The water of that calm night rain has half sunk and half gone to drain.
The lazy cover crushed in your hands, as you dreamt of those fairylands.
The mist is gone and cold breezes too, into the far off wests now they blew.
O dear wake up today is the best; it's time to work not to rest.
The pitch black clouds foam in the sky, thick and dark yet they fly.
The bright red sun shines till the west; it is no more night to rest.
O dear wake up nature is on; it's a good day and a sweet dawn.
The old royal kettles of the 'lazies' fame stand on the quiet blue flame.
One boils the white milk slow, and one the coffee of the dark glow.
Both mix into warm porcelain mug, embracing each other like a hug.
Thus the coffee brews into air; the heaven invites you up one stair.
O dear wake up and breathe such air, a new day awaits you warm and fair.
The water of that calm night rain has half sunk and half gone to drain.
The lazy cover crushed in your hands, as you dreamt of those fairylands.
The mist is gone and cold breezes too, into the far off wests now they blew.
O dear wake up today is the best; it's time to work not to rest.
17 June 2013
The rich, the poor and the beautiful
A warm tub brimming with foam, gives you no joy in a silent home.
A song no one listens as you sing, a phone that seems too lazy to ring,
A dish no one tastes when you cook, and none to dedicate when you write a book,
It's all too boring to live such a life, too sad to have no kids, no wife.
A race you run with no one to cheer, a trophy you won is a metal mere.
A tear to soak your cheek never dries, and when you lose no one cries,
None to smile in a cheerful way, none to wish on a bright white day,
An empty life is a candle that burns, in a dark room where no one runs.
Not a thousand riches buy you a smile, nor they buy a hand to serve,
They don't buy kids to play, but toys that always lifeless lay,
Not a meal is sumptuous if none shares; never are you beautiful if no one stares,
It's all too boring to live such a life, too sad to have no kids, no wife.
Such a life you shall never enjoy to live, none to tease you none to believe.
A mass of servants who run around riches, are none but disguised stealthy witches.
A life in a mansion big yet alone, is the joy's never paid loan.
After all,
An empty life is a candle that burns, in a dark room where no one runs.
A song no one listens as you sing, a phone that seems too lazy to ring,
A dish no one tastes when you cook, and none to dedicate when you write a book,
It's all too boring to live such a life, too sad to have no kids, no wife.
A race you run with no one to cheer, a trophy you won is a metal mere.
A tear to soak your cheek never dries, and when you lose no one cries,
None to smile in a cheerful way, none to wish on a bright white day,
An empty life is a candle that burns, in a dark room where no one runs.
Not a thousand riches buy you a smile, nor they buy a hand to serve,
They don't buy kids to play, but toys that always lifeless lay,
Not a meal is sumptuous if none shares; never are you beautiful if no one stares,
It's all too boring to live such a life, too sad to have no kids, no wife.
Such a life you shall never enjoy to live, none to tease you none to believe.
A mass of servants who run around riches, are none but disguised stealthy witches.
A life in a mansion big yet alone, is the joy's never paid loan.
After all,
An empty life is a candle that burns, in a dark room where no one runs.
9 June 2013
Princess's theatre
Been a thousand bad days, yet I wait for one good dawn;
When I would make it through the hard ways, to reach the sweet rose lawn;
Where would wait a prince to be mine, a prince who loves and cares;
On his lips would the sun shine, his life for me he dares.
I walk it today a part of the way, the rest of it too I do today
As in my dreams I do
O prince here I come here I come; U shall take me in your arm in your arm.
O prince our song I hum song I hum, in it I sleep all is calm happy calm.
When I would make it through the hard ways, to reach the sweet rose lawn;
Where would wait a prince to be mine, a prince who loves and cares;
On his lips would the sun shine, his life for me he dares.
I walk it today a part of the way, the rest of it too I do today
As in my dreams I do
O prince here I come here I come; U shall take me in your arm in your arm.
O prince our song I hum song I hum, in it I sleep all is calm happy calm.
There is a rosy sponge to sleep, far away in the palace that binds,
It binds me for you make me weep, not being around amidst crooked minds.
I am afraid you shall go forever and ever, away into forests that gulp,
And shall grind you O poetic paper, from beautiful hymns to pulp.
I shed tears and wipe them and walk, long and long inquiring I stalk,
As in my dreams I do
O prince here I come here I come; U shall take me in your arm in your arm.
O prince our song I hum song I hum. In it I sleep all is calm happy calm.
It binds me for you make me weep, not being around amidst crooked minds.
I am afraid you shall go forever and ever, away into forests that gulp,
And shall grind you O poetic paper, from beautiful hymns to pulp.
I shed tears and wipe them and walk, long and long inquiring I stalk,
As in my dreams I do
O prince here I come here I come; U shall take me in your arm in your arm.
O prince our song I hum song I hum. In it I sleep all is calm happy calm.
20 May 2013
Excelsior 13 - Index review
There are many busy people among us. Someone is busy to watch a cricket match, someone is busy to talk to her friend, someone is busy playing games on the laptop and someone is busy bitching about others. But, in MANIT, many of us are busy (if too offensive, read lazy) to read our own college magazine thoroughly. It would be an insult to not know what is inside it, and to stand with a poker face when a fellow of other college starts speaking about it, as insulting as not knowing the PMCs of MANIT. As I respect your busyness, I give a brief account of what this year's excelsior has got for you. Also, this account is my personal view. I repeat it's my view.
The cover story: How different is MANIT from MACT? How has it changed? It is a brief singular person narration of college itself. Beautifully described at every nook, telling the tale of the college over 6 decades, this narrative is a must read for everyone who is curious about the history of MANIT, and is trying to build a student ego over its prestige. The detailing and the style of narration make us feel as if we are listening to the tale of the oldest, eldest and the mightiest.
The cover story: How different is MANIT from MACT? How has it changed? It is a brief singular person narration of college itself. Beautifully described at every nook, telling the tale of the college over 6 decades, this narrative is a must read for everyone who is curious about the history of MANIT, and is trying to build a student ego over its prestige. The detailing and the style of narration make us feel as if we are listening to the tale of the oldest, eldest and the mightiest.
The fun zone: The idioms at the start shall soon be found on the walls of the new hostels. I don't see how the editors expect us to visit Indo-China border on tourism though. Bon Vivant takes you on a food ride through Bhopal, better than the frugal foodie of 2012. Every article from here on is equally funny and aims at reflecting the culture of MANIT aimed at letting a MANITian see what he is, and how different he is from any ordinary young lad. The 'tech' articles however seem to be customized by a mechanical engineer and extracted from Wikipedia. 'Are you watching closely' is the peak of such humorous range. The Hindi part is way more vivid and innovatively funny. Harry potter, Madame, and Chichorapanth are the best pieces of this delicacy in that order.
Articles: Anju Katiyar writes the epic. It is a heart touching representative of many others against violence towards women. Anuruddh Tripathi misplaces his paper presentation (fun intended). Nitin Bisht writes unbreakable first year philosophy. Ankita writes the relatively hard theory of relative marking. A classic set of poems from the final years namely Shubham, Aman Gupta, Sonu Kumar, Himanshu Singh and Ankur Shrivastava (the pass-out) make you cry every now and then. Recherché does not stand up to the mark. However, the social responsibility is put to show there. Dave, Shubham, Deepshika and Nishant speak the language of the revolutionary, perhaps the most influential ones too. Surya Bhatt writes the perfect tweet-troll story breaking the patriotic read.
Azad 1 publishes an advertisement, read it not. While 2nd years like Shruti, Ankul and Pooja are busy crying, the fresher dream of a beautiful life and Utopias. Nibha writes of the girly life, and Vishal of the guys. Also are philosophies from Swapnil and Ankul (the cheerful Ankul now). A couple of beautiful perceptions from YashWardhan thrill the monotonous lead otherwise. Hindi was more beautifully crafted and drafted throughout the magazine. Leave aside its purest form in the Editorial board's articles, the writings varied over a universal span, expressing freely, and precisely, the best views of the writers here. Swadesh complains about everyone, yet claiming he won't. Also are Akshay and Arihant busy selling keys to success. After Yash, it’s now Veerendra's turn to sadden you once, and delight it with the sarcasm over valentines. Also are fresher like Prince and Ankit writing their diaries, and a few more.
All is well here in sports. Rivalries to superstitions, studying interests to creating them, and cricket. More of the Pg3 gossip of sports and not including CS 1.6 in 'sports' section are disappointing. Sir now stands as the first man outside MANIT who has an entire page on his name in the dearest and the most awaited prominent magazine, Excelsior. TPO seems to be working on other options already. Understanding that past is history and the future is a mystery is made clear through its pages, and a hidden warning of the drastic increase of to-be-unplaced is delivered.
Miscellaneous: The messages of the authorities can be skipped. They are monotonous and they wish us and EB joy in everything. Director's message is as dispersed as his words would be, and the description of the societies and the events has always been the same. 'Hyperbolic.' I dare not comment on the awards, and have not anything to comment about the photos. Ed-iots is only for those who know these idiots who waste more than 8% of the magazine print, in boasting about their own work. The artwork however stands out and is appreciable. Go through its colorful pages again and you will surely find a couple of wallpapers in it.
I would like to heartily thank the editorial board team for the hard work they put in, and for striving day and night just to make our college proud. Also, I wish they come up with a better English editor the next time, proofread it themselves once, and bind it harder. Thank you.
Articles: Anju Katiyar writes the epic. It is a heart touching representative of many others against violence towards women. Anuruddh Tripathi misplaces his paper presentation (fun intended). Nitin Bisht writes unbreakable first year philosophy. Ankita writes the relatively hard theory of relative marking. A classic set of poems from the final years namely Shubham, Aman Gupta, Sonu Kumar, Himanshu Singh and Ankur Shrivastava (the pass-out) make you cry every now and then. Recherché does not stand up to the mark. However, the social responsibility is put to show there. Dave, Shubham, Deepshika and Nishant speak the language of the revolutionary, perhaps the most influential ones too. Surya Bhatt writes the perfect tweet-troll story breaking the patriotic read.
Azad 1 publishes an advertisement, read it not. While 2nd years like Shruti, Ankul and Pooja are busy crying, the fresher dream of a beautiful life and Utopias. Nibha writes of the girly life, and Vishal of the guys. Also are philosophies from Swapnil and Ankul (the cheerful Ankul now). A couple of beautiful perceptions from YashWardhan thrill the monotonous lead otherwise. Hindi was more beautifully crafted and drafted throughout the magazine. Leave aside its purest form in the Editorial board's articles, the writings varied over a universal span, expressing freely, and precisely, the best views of the writers here. Swadesh complains about everyone, yet claiming he won't. Also are Akshay and Arihant busy selling keys to success. After Yash, it’s now Veerendra's turn to sadden you once, and delight it with the sarcasm over valentines. Also are fresher like Prince and Ankit writing their diaries, and a few more.
All is well here in sports. Rivalries to superstitions, studying interests to creating them, and cricket. More of the Pg3 gossip of sports and not including CS 1.6 in 'sports' section are disappointing. Sir now stands as the first man outside MANIT who has an entire page on his name in the dearest and the most awaited prominent magazine, Excelsior. TPO seems to be working on other options already. Understanding that past is history and the future is a mystery is made clear through its pages, and a hidden warning of the drastic increase of to-be-unplaced is delivered.
Miscellaneous: The messages of the authorities can be skipped. They are monotonous and they wish us and EB joy in everything. Director's message is as dispersed as his words would be, and the description of the societies and the events has always been the same. 'Hyperbolic.' I dare not comment on the awards, and have not anything to comment about the photos. Ed-iots is only for those who know these idiots who waste more than 8% of the magazine print, in boasting about their own work. The artwork however stands out and is appreciable. Go through its colorful pages again and you will surely find a couple of wallpapers in it.
I would like to heartily thank the editorial board team for the hard work they put in, and for striving day and night just to make our college proud. Also, I wish they come up with a better English editor the next time, proofread it themselves once, and bind it harder. Thank you.
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