Saturday, March 29, 2008

Blinded by sight


Walking restlessly to and fro,
He looked through those iron bars with a frown.
Captive he was of fate for now,
And the reason for it he never did know.

His friend stood in a distance,
Like a stranger from a land distant.
All set to bid him adieu empty handed,
Though he knew it was a debt that couldn’t be repaid.

When both friends and foe had left him to decay,
This new found friend was his only solace in those murky days.
All those moments they spent together till date,
Seldom could his mind even try to erase.

He was by his side,
In every step and every moment,
Holding onto him was this new stranger and former friend,
As he led him through all the way, till the day’s end.

Amity wasn’t just what his friend had breached,
Gratitude had he none towards this tacit mannered beast.
Today, he didn’t need his guidance or company.
Because there was no more darkness cos he clearly could see.

A selfless life led this faithful confidant.
Now his reward was to stay in a suburb pound far away.
But to the world of fiends returned his selfish friend
Without his four legged vision which he once needed every night and day.

Before he was blinded by darkness
And his canine companion led him everywhere.
But now he was completely blinded by sight
Which showed him the pathway to go astray.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

paper flotilla

I feel like sitting with a hot cuppa
Watching the battle fierce;
As the sky massacres the hot crust
With its quiver full arrows;

Tips studded with droplets of rain,
Arrows dart through thin air.
The war wages ceaselessly,
While mortals on earth run helter skelter;

Drop by if you’d like to give me company.
Do forget your umbrella
In case you’re coming over.
But forget not to bring along your note pad.

I too will have one by my side.
But we won’t scribble a word,
As the rains drops might be a real spoil sport
By washing away all our thoughts on paper.

We'll make paper boats and set it sail,
Watch it cruise through puddles and drains;
With sails wide open for the winds
To steer the flotilla away into the deep.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Route Planner

Step out of your mold,
Break away from your monotonous schedule;
Slow down a bit before you stumble,
It isn’t that often you realize and take control.

Look at yourself through a different you.
See where you stand.
What all you’ve been up to?
And what’s happening around?

You’ve come this far
For which the world silently applauds.
Don’t recline or rest,
As the road doesn’t end this fast;

Questions arise and the mind begins to wander,
If the road you chose to trod was right or wrong.
Confusions and assumptions cloud your mind;
Conclusions and solutions stay far at bay.

Leave your worries behind
For there’s a gleaming route ahead;
And the word regret will go extinct,
This very moment from your head.

There’s no thing called as coincidence,
Whatever has passed or is yet to pass
Is already written and known as destiny;
Like a Route Planner He’ll lead; it’s no more a lonesome journey.

He who led a nation through the Red Sea
Shall also take you unscathed by trouble or fear;
Trust and hope that tomorrow is yours
And He’ll say ‘Amen’ cos it’s His dear one’s desire.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

30 pieces of silver


Running down the dark, cobble stone streets
Beating his chest with clenched fists,
He cursed himself for what he just did.
An irreversible deed and an act of deceit,
He had shattered all trust that was bestowed on his circlet.

Drops of sweat trickled down from his forehead
And followed his tears as he wrathfully wept;
A fear just then crept slowly into his heart,
His lips turned dry and there was a bitter taste on his tongue.
Gasping and panting he ran without looking back.

What would the world say for what he had just done?
Would a curse fall upon him for generations to come?
Perhaps, the skies would open up and a thunderbolt would strike.
Or the earth would widen its jaws and swallow him inside.
These were the questions that
he pondered of in his mind.

Into the wilderness he ran non-stop,
Over rocks, broken branches, twigs, bushes and thorny shrubs,
Just about crossing everything that came in his path;
Slipping, falling, crawling and leaping,
He stopped at a spot where not a single soul was in sight.

Alone he stood in pitch darkness filled with remorse,
Thinking aloud why he committed such a impious thing.
Memories from past rushed into his mind,
When he used to converse 
with his friend for hours,
Whom he had now handed over with a betrayal kiss.

Slowly the night faded giving way to crimson rays;
And he took the final leap to the bottomless depths.Empty handed; Letting go the ransom: 30 pieces of silver.
As it could never match the price, whichfor all humanity, his friend had paid.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Trying to lie

Don’t tell me to lie
I seriously don’t want to try.
I’ve tried but failed
And my efforts have gone dry.

I won’t lie that you have beautiful eyes,
That speaks to me in volumes.
I see they’re shallow,
And tired of such lies.

I dare not say
You have the most lustrous hair.
I see they’re dull and messy,
Due to the dust and wind.

If I say you have the skin
that’s a blend of dark chocolate and cream.
I know you aren’t so vulnerable
To buy that cheap compliment.

Perhaps, I could say about those lips,
That reminds me of the crimson horizon.
But would you really believe it,
Knowing that they’re parched of regret and thirst.

Well, now I can say I’ve mastered the art.
As you’ve read this scribble all the way so far.
Believe it or not I lied the very first moment I said
I tried lying, but all in vain.

Monday, March 03, 2008

Clay

Pull up a chair, sit down and put everything away.
Imagine I gave you some clay to play.
Would you wet your hands and sit down right away?

What would you do with it?
Mold it, knead it, mix it, squeeze it, stretch it, and press it.
Perhaps, give it a unique form or shape.

Would it be inspired from the past or the present?
Or, will you be a lil clairvoyant with your creation?
And capture something that’s surreal or never before seen.

Take inspiration from real life or sheer fiction;
Maybe, a true reflection of your inner self,
Or something you’ve always dreamed.

Would you brand it effectively?
Breathe life into it and give it an image,
Or just call it by any other name?

Is it going to be one-of-its-kind, a masterpiece?
To show off that you too have the skill.
Or, just another replica of some kind?

Now imagine if you were the clay,
Wouldn’t you want to take a moment?
To thank the Potter who made you in His image.