Thursday, April 24, 2008

Vice Versa

He carried her on his back and walked around the park
She chuckled and laughed her heart out every time he gently hopped.
Pointing at the flock of chirping birds and the scurrying squirrels
She told ‘happily ever after’ stories, which he patiently heard.

Leaning on the picket fence,
They sat, together on the fresh green lawn.
Hand in hand, laughing out loud,
Talking just about everything under the blonde sun;

She whispered into his ears a long list of wishes,
Some were small and some larger than life.
He nodded for everything and giggled on some,
While some put him in deep thought and made him look grim.

She asked for a bottle full of sunshine,
With its lid closed real tight.
Three scoops of the vanilla moon on her plate,
As starter, main course and dessert for dinner that night.

She wanted him to take her around the world
Carrying her on his back.
Read her a story every night,
And sing a lullaby every time he put her to bed.

Build her a castle made of candy sticks and dark chocolate,
Doors made of wafers coated with strawberry cream.
Jelly bean door knobs and caramel flavoured window panes.
And to top it all a roof made from milky white chocolate tiles.

Finally, after a zillion requests she stopped, heaved a sigh of relief.
Leaned her head on his shoulder and fell into a deep sleep.
He got up and carried his mother back to ward # 106,
Where she was kept under observation for her Alzheimer’s disease;

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Crying in the rain

In the pouring rain
She tries hard fighting her tears
But only in vain

Dream

Canons rust in peace

Earth’s turned completely green

Hope it’s not a dream

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Resurge

Over the barren landscape of time,
Footprints of a nomad left a trail behind.
Where did he come from and where’s he off to?
The question remains unanswered, unless you read.

As the sun looked down with its piercing eyes,
A survivor emerged from the distant horizon.
Wiping the blood and sweat over his brows,
He stood there panting and coughing, dusting his robe.

At last, the wanderer had survived the sand storm of fate,
And lived through the experience to rise amidst the calm;
He’d broken free from the high-rise walls of despair.
And was caught in the turbulence of consequences as he crept;

He had struggled, in the yesteryears, through doldrums of doom,
That had imprisoned him and chained him in ruins.
Now, he moved ahead persistently paving his own road,
With his will that burned frantically he lit up his pathway;

Over the years, he had lost many a things,
Some were sacrifices, which he cheerfully gave,
But few he’d made with a bleeding heart in excruciating pain.
And some were snatched away by chance in vain.

Today, he surfaced to get back everything he’d lost,
To reclaim his life from tornadoes of yore;
All those things forbidden before will he accomplish now,
He has returned in pursuit of destiny and he’d retreat no more.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Experiment

Read no further, I wish you don’t,
You already read the title;
It’s just an experiment,
With some words woven together
And not many metaphors to accompany,
Just shaken, stirred, sampled and put to the litmus test;

Hope you aren’t still reading,
It’s not worth moving a line ahead.
If to kill time is why you’re here,
Turn around and leave or you might regret.
You have a couple more options to contemplate,
Than slay this moment mercilessly by gawking at this page.

STOP! Proceed no further.
You might find no meter or rhyme,
I don’t follow that habitually.
Twists and turns aren’t obvious, not necessarily in every scribble.
Some call it poetry and others free verse;
I still prefer calling it scribbles, please don’t misread me.

You’ve come this far patiently, I insist you retreat.
Perhaps, you don’t pay heed to caution
And make decisions on your own.
So you’ve opted to read the conclusion,
And kill the curiosity before it kills the curious.
‘Reverse psychology works even in a scribble’,
Now, that’s my experiment’s conclusion.
What’s your opinion?

Saturday, April 05, 2008

Twisted Tale


On his knees in the dim light,
Hands together and eyes closed real tight.
He prayed fervently asking God,
To send him a storyteller tonight
So that he may listen to a bedtime story like he used to from dad.

He was sorry that he opted to run away,
In search of love and care
That he missed at home every single day.
Mom was busy with chores and baby bro,
Dad was at work 24x7 or off on some business tour.

He closed his eyes not wanting to wake up the next morning,
underneath a stone bench everyday;
Startled by the siren of an old goods train,
Which huffed, puffed and slowed down completely drained,
After carrying just about everything from a land far away;

Scared by those scarred strangers
who loitered around the platform all day,
He had found refuge at an old stone bench near the television pole,
Cuddled up into an old gunny sack,
He fought the biting cold and monsters that lurked in the night.

Several months had passed but he hadn’t known, or was it years?
Getting back home was something he dreamed but didn’t know the way.
School was a nightmare where he was just another face.
Here he got to see more people and even learn more,
And there was no detention or imposition for not doing homework.

Now he gently opened his eyes, after praying, and slipped into his sack.
Just then a passenger train’s siren went off as it was on its way.
In a distance, by the window he saw a familiar face;
It was his dad, perhaps, on a business trip again.
That very moment he sprang up with a smile and rushed to the speeding train.

Gasping and panting he ran with his weak legs,
Trying really hard to catch up, he never took his eyes off the train.
Somehow he ran next to the window and even the train sped.
Both exchanged glances and as he looked up and called out ‘DAD!!’
The siren went off again without letting his dad hear what he said.

Messed up hair, greasy face and mucky clothes,
Disguised him completely and little did his father recognize.
Reaching for some coins in the wallet, father tossed alms at his side.
The son stopped abruptly as he was taken aback on his twisted fate.
The father, clueless, bitterly cried looking at his son’s old picture in the wallet.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Wish of the Silverfish

Back and forth he moved in solitude.
Traveling to distant lands across different plains;
Visiting various moments on his mind’s terrain.
He galloped across pages and broke some spines,
As he sat reclined on his rocking chair.

Riding on his iris he journeyed over the words,
Chapters turned into milestones as he crossed them one by one.
Folding ears of pages and imprisoning verses within quotes;
That spoke to him in person and rekindled his soul,
He moved ahead with the promise he’ll return one day.

He traversed without deviating or taking diversions
Cos the night seemed like a long and never ending road,
Without any speed limits or STOP signboards.
And this fuelled his desire to reach the book’s end
Before the beginning of a brand new day.

A stranger to slumber and insomnia’s escort,
He sought the company of the residents on his bookshelf.
All the way through, from one dawn to the next dawn;
Though momentary, in that neighborhood he found solace.
It kept him away from the fake and hyped scenarios of the real world.

Wine, weed and love he had tried but it just couldn’t suffice,
It only made him sink deeper without giving a chance to survive.
The company of people, at times, left him with regrets.
Cos their part-of-the-herd thoughts weren’t of his interests.
Even in a crowd he was alone, standing out, standing tall over his pedestal of ideology.

Finally, he had found the company he always longed for.
Now he placed his last wish before the creator with a thankful heart.
“If only we were to fall apart, let it not be before death.
And even after that try to separate us not,
Kindly turn my soul into a bookmark’.