Scars

As the world whirled around a pandemic, I found myself a little corner and wrote this poem down. Happy Reading!

Some chosen
Some accidental
They grow on you
Like moss on wet soil
They take on different colors
Like night's darkness spilled on marble

Or like the purple waves of the sea
They stretch and seep
Like water crawling down a bark
Was it the maker's mistake?
A curse of the past life?
A tactless accident?
But it remains engraved on the body
Still and innocent like a child gone to sleep
Where nobody knows how the child came to be there
And nobody knows what the child will do next
But the child remains
Sleeping and dreaming
It may leave some day
Or it may never leave
But as long as it is there
It makes its presence known
Announcing and proclaiming itself
Like a queen on her way to the throne
Its presence may weigh you down
As if you are drowning with a rock tied to your waist
Or it may lift you up
As light as a feather on a windy day
Where you rise
Above the darkness
Above the muddy seas
Above the scars 

Year 2121

This poem has a story behind it. I had no access to the internet for a couple of hours, which pushed me back to my long lost companion of writing. I took some time alone with my thoughts and wrote this poem. This poem fits in almost ironically with this scenario. Happy Reading!

Year 2020
He envisioned it to be one 
When India becomes a developed country
The tricolor flies high and proud
Peace and sustainable development prevail
Moving together like the wings of a dove
But I had a dream
Year 2121
When every drop of water has been sucked out of the earth
Gone with the times
Only remembered while telling bedtime stories
"Once upon a time there was water everywhere"
Left to the imagination
Gulping in their sleep
Hoping for that fresh sweet taste
They drag their tongues along the dried land
Searching for moisture
Somewhere 
Anywhere
Instead they find buried cities
Swallowed up by earthquakes and tsunamis
Making the people of Pompeii gape with fear
But even there they find no water
Trees shrivelled up 
Like a wet raincoat on a hanger
Carcasses of animals 
Providing nutrition for children
Books and pens 
Replaced with guns and bullets
Leaders pound the doors of North Korea
To end the brutal dictatorship
But merrily drill out the little oil left in Saudi Arabia
Oceans choking with plastic
That even the fishes come out to the land
For it is cleaner than the water
Women still try to end the patriarchy
Countries fight over land, water, clean air
Caste, community, tribe and religion 
Are now just sources of war
Chaos and destruction
Slowly, we become primitives again
With all the knowledge of the world
But nothing to do with it
We leap off the cliff of extinction
Fall into an endless abyss
Deeper and deeper
Gasping I woke up
Was this just a nightmare?
Or is this the future?

Elections

Any honest introduction to this poem would only make me controversial or a hypocrite. This poem is my take on the ongoing elections in India. Happy reading!

It's that time of the year again
When you realise you are in a democracy
When you have to take up your weapon of choice 
The vote
There is a gift box
There is a lotus 
There is a torch
There is a sun
There is a ring
There are leaves
Which one do you want? 
One says "Let's save democracy"
One says "We will give monthly salary for the poor"
One says "Main bhi chowkidhar"
One says nothing and simply hands out Gandhis
They attempt to capture voters
Laying a bait waiting for them to walk into the trap
And every five years the voters walk in
With a smile on their face and faith in their hearts
That this time it will be different
First they start speaking 
The crowd gapes as the leader speaks in a foreign language
Maybe Hindi
The translator is no good either
Then the memes galore
 Then the accusations flow in
"They are corrupt!"
"He is supporting criminals"
"He is just an actor. What does he know?"
Defamation cases galore
Then they hit the street
They sing songs about dead leaders
Who would roll in their graves if they heard them
A politician begs somewhere
His son somewhere else
His wife talks about her husband in one place
His uncle's second son's daughter in another place
One has been accused of nepotism
One has been accused of corruption
One has acted in movies against corruption
One has been accused of rape
The other murder
Another one of black money
Raids, flying squads, investigations, vehicle checks
But an eagle cannot eye the whole world however high it flies
Then the newspaper reports galore
Flags of red and black
Orange, white and green
Red, blue and white
A smiling face of a leader
Shaking hands with the American president
Being a superhero
Speaking on the phone
Walking

Kissing a baby
Talking to an old lady 

With a skeletal frame and a betel stained smile

Our heartbeat 
Our hero
Our mother
Our aunt
Our grandfather
Our God
The posters galore
But they are all the same
When two mirrors face each other
You can see infinite reflections of yourself
But here the reflections are of different politicians
Who are just mirror versions of each other
Doing the same old thing 
But you still vote
You believe that by your vote
A new day would dawn
And everything would change
But does it?

Nightfall

This poem is the brain child of my 2 am thoughts. The way we sleep next to someone might be a metaphor for our relationship with them. Of course this may not be true in all cases, but my personal experience (and a little imagination) inspired me to write this poem. Happy Reading!

As the darkness of the night descends

The stars glitter above

An owl sits watching

Unblinking

Unmoving      

The crickets and frogs come alive

Croaking and Chirping

The couple heads to bed

Taken over by exhaustion and middle class codes of conduct

First they embrace each other

Like Eskimos fearing frost bite

Promising to never let go

Like Siamese twins they stay there

Then one begins to suffocate

The arm or the leg begins to hurt

So they pull out of their cocoon

But they still remember their promise

So continue to hold each other

Lightly and Gently

Like a mother embracing her child

Tight enough to show her love

But careful enough to not hurt the child

Then the other’s back begins to hurt

They move further away

Discarding blankets, codes of conduct and promises

Their arms, legs and backs all fall into positions

Yet they retain a single touch of contact

Their toes touching

Or their hairs intertwined

Or their shoulders brushing against each other

Suddenly one gasps

A nightmare perhaps

Grasps the other’s hand

And claws their clothing

Words of love and reassurance

Then they again embrace

Then move away and remain linked by a thread

But, the owl is still watching

Unblinking

Unmoving

Love

This poem has been inspired by the short story 'Gregor Samsa' in Murakami's book 'Men Without Women'.  Happy Reading!

He woke up slowly

He expected himself to wake up with a start
Panicking and searching frantically
Like a swan separated from its loved one
But he woke up slowly
He felt the place around him
He was lying on soft and moist soil
In the colour of soaked tea dust
The branches above let little light on him
He bathed in the glory of the Tyndall effect
As he got up he realized that he was modestly clothed
With only a soiled tree bark cloth around his waist
How, Why, What, Where, When weren’t the questions on his mind
Instead he felt a hunger
Not for mortal necessities of food and water
But a divine one
He made his way through the forest
His feet kept moving but his mind was fixed on his hunger
The hunger was like a penance

Moaning and groaning inside him
Which would lead him to something more than what the Gods can bestow
Love
His hunger made the entire forest vibrate
Birds returned to their nests
Insects latched on to barks
Ants and Snakes went back to their hills
The entire forest watched with a thousand eyes
Frightened of the emanating purity from this man
He reached a clearing which gave way for a river
A river more vigorous than his hunger
But both had the power to kill men
He bent over to look at his face
His eyes were red glistening like rubies
Sweat made his face glow
Like a thousand fireflies
His lips were full like berries
His teeth inside the colour of ivory
He was startled by a whisper “Come”
He looked at the river
His eyes pleading to help him and his love
Which none cared to do
The river cleared away
Leaving his heart thirsty
He went on as though it was his only purpose in life
He didn’t know what he was looking for
Where it would be
How it would be
But he went on like an undeterred soldier
His armour, weapon and strength: his undying love
And that is when he saw him
A man in a tree bark cloth
Making way towards him
He was a little rugged
His beard flowed till his navel
His body was the colour of chestnut
And his chest was chisel carved
They looked at each other in the eyes
At that moment a thousand words were spoken
They knew nothing of each other
Name, Family, Religion, Caste nothing
But they knew one thing
They loved each other
Their love which would never be written in bards
Which even Adam and Eve were envious of
Tears flowed through their eyes
The hairs on his body stood up
And he noticed that his tree bark cloth did too
They felt themselves growing hot
As light from their bodies
Converged between them
Like a divine vision
For they knew that they could not be together in this mortal world
Filled with hate and disgust
Which would not understand their love
So they stepped into the vision hand in hand
Into a new world
Where nothing but
Love wins

(S)he

This poem is just my expression of something that has been on my mind for quite some time. No amount of poems or prose or praise will redress the injustice that they face. We pass them everyday but avert our eyes and shy away in disgust. But I hope there will come a day when they too can live just like all of us. Happy Reading!

It was a cold day outside

She shivered inside and outside

In spite of her being draped in her favourite saree in blue

Just like her favourite actress who danced in the rain

She attempted to cover up the scars and cuts on her body 

Which would give testimony in court for her existence

That it was yet another miracle that people like her existed

As she went on with absolute concentration

This was an art she must master

She painted beautiful strokes of red

Dark like the colour of menstrual blood

After she was done she looked at her artwork

Satisfied by her red talons like those of an eagle after its kill

But here it was the eagle which was being hunted

She turned her lipstick covered lips into an 'o'

And began to blow

With utmost care like trying to blow a feather from a baby's body

Then she began to blow harder and moved her hands like a harmonium player

Playing her own tunes of sorrow

After what felt like hours

She touched the tip of the nail like touching a baby's wound

As it didn't smudge she went on with the next masterpiece

She slowly picked up a bottle of half dried eyeliner and applied

She had learnt something new called 'winged liner' 

Like holding a gun her hands shook with fear

Not of society

Not of her family

Not of her existence

But fear of utilising this limited resource 

Of eyeliner

Of being happy

Of blissful solitude

After she had outlined her eyes

She rolled her eyes upwards to check if her eyeliner smudged

"Good" she muttered to herself

Before the grand show, she checked herself for those little brats

Those which pained her of her past

A few were black and a few were white

"Ah unlike you little ungrateful pricks I am neither black nor white, I am grey" she thought with pride

She picked up her tweezers and pulled those hairs on her face

With each one her skin cried in pain and tears filled in her eyes

But she convinced herself that this was her penance

The pain and suffering will ultimately lead her to happiness

She stood up and posed in front of the mirror

Pouting, winking, sticking her tongue out

Like a little girl she gave a giggle in her raspy voice

She finally felt like a woman

She touched her reproductive organ for the umpteenth time to see if the cheap prostate surgery had done it's magic

As she felt herself she realised that not all the scars were left by the surgery

She tried to enjoy this little time she got for herself

Before she panted and wriggled under a man twice her age 

Who thinks he is doing a sacrifice by 'liberating' her and in the process gaining his humble share

She was seeking validation in a stuffy room lit by a dim bulb

 which stayed still as countless insects preyed upon it

She was not the only thing withering away 

Or she would be panting as she travels across roads

Begging as traffic crawled like water seeping out 

She would shout obscenities or blessings in her sand paper like voice

All she needed was a thousand rupees

In her head a human is equal to thousand rupees 

To breathe

To fuck 

To beg

To exist

The Mosquito

This one is a pretty long poem on something I hope all of you would relate to. This is something all of us experience on a daily basis but never gave much thought to it. It is sometimes extremely important for us to notice the little things in life and enjoy them. Happy Reading!

When she first saw it

She thought it was just another bindhi

That she sticks on the wall for easy access

Each at a strategic position to please the society

But when she looked closer she realized 

That it was something more dangerous

More powerful and more vulnerable, all at the same time

She felt pity for the poor creature

Stuck on the wall like cow dung left to dry 

She imagined it sleeping peacefully with its family

Having conversations over dinner about life

But the human in her reminded her of the advertisements where they threatened to take over the human race

In a voice which belonged to the greatest villains of all time

Undoubtedly the human in her slowly picked up the weapon of choice to kill it

Like Ashwathama who killed the sons of Pandavas

She too planned to kill it in its sleep

But these life threatening aliens outsmart humans

Just as she was about to strike

It flew up and above

Whizzed past her eyes

And sat on her nose

Pricking her human ego

She thought of ripping her now impure nose

As she moved around like a samurai with a sword

It flew again

But this time she caught it

The weapon had been stained with the blood of thousands of its family and friends 

And bore the brunt of time

She hit its sides to the wall to make it work

And then the real torture began

It tossed and jumped across the weapon

It's blood burning reminding her of burning flesh

And as soon it had began it ended

The mosquito was finally put to peace

She thought in horror

"Oh how I have sinned by killing this poor thing

What if they become extinct?"

Ah! they will just join the queue to get an Aadhar card at the 'Centre of Extinct Animals'

Right behind the western black rhinoceros

Evil voices wearing black capes surrounded her whispering "dengue" "malaria"

She looked at the back of her leg

Where she had scratched the mosquito bites leaving a beautiful pattern

Now she was agitated

"Let's kill them all" she thought

Like a commando at work

She braced herself, checked her weapon, said a short prayer to God to absolve her of all sins

She went around like a mad woman

Chasing them around and looking for them in every nook and corner

Their cries of horror were like music to her ears

The smell of blood was her symbol of victory

It represented everything she hated 

She named each one of them

The first one to die was her in laws

Then came her nosy neighbor

Then that security guard who ogles at her breasts

Then that 5th grade math teacher who once slapped her

Those corrupt officials in that ruin called 'government office'

Those who rape

Those who kill in the name of God

Exhausted, she sat down

She realized that she couldn't kill them all

Because as she killed one, two popped up to take its place

Both in mosquitoes and in the things she hated

This is dedicated to my beautiful, beautiful mother and all those people out there who are going through the initiation process of ageing. Ageing is something that I consider to be extremely beautiful but all the complimentary signs of ageing are considered almost embarrassing today. It is important for us to embrace every stage in our life because at the end of the day it’s just the body which grows old not the heart. Happy reading!

This is very much based on the story. All the students of AVM would be able to relate to the deafening noise created when the rain hits the school’s roof. Among all the poems I have written till now (literally three) this is the one that I am most proud of. Happy Reading!

This is the first poem of any kind that I have written. Actually I think it would be unfair to call it a poem, but to be more precise these are just lines that have no rhyming scheme or poetic words. I have attempted to mix a little bit of reality with a little bit of my imagination to write this. Happy Reading!