Gratified

Peering through the window pane -
Into how it glorified it was back then,
The dirt, however, still blocks the sight,
Settling into,
That glamorous view,
Ever since that night.

My past is tainted with all sorrow I could know,
My dreams are haunted - in my eyes they show,
Still the joy prevails - of having a past,
The morning after shimmers as it always has.

A New Discovery

There was a time when we were six years old. Those were happy times, see. We were 'grown-up' or so they said. It would take years for us to realize how little they believed it as well as they'd say but we did. We believed it and we were almost on that goal of ours - "to be older". There was something else too in those years. We were, or at least most of us, were on 1st grade then. Higher grades meant new subjects and that year we'd start on 'science'. See, before that, I believed only in magic and supernatural. Sky was blue because someone had probably colored it so and he'd probably run out of crayons other than the blue one. Water was water because it was water and not something else. That year, we learned that sky was blue because it was reflected light, thunders were the doings of clouds and not some fire burning up on the heavens.
Over the years, we learned more and more about the things around us. It never lost its beauty, none of 'em did. But, it made more sense now. There were proofs alongside and we had to read them by heart and write them in exams to pass (and to be good at it too) and we did. Years came by and we learned of Mendel and his peas. We learned of Darwin and his discovery of evolution. Soon, it came to light (for those of us seeking the truth) that it wasn't his sole idea and that there were people who'd thought of it before him. Alongside science, we learned of values too. We learned how learned people are better in decision making because their beliefs are more rational. And, I as well as many of us if not all, took science. It doesn't make a difference I know, but we set out on a field with evidence as a sole reason of justification in many cases. We wouldn't know what the basis of something was but since it was the observation, it'd be the truth until proven otherwise. We learned of genus and species of countless organisms and also, on the basis of fossils and other evidences, evolution was justified even though the cause of it wasn't entirely understood. Natural selection was a mere philosophy or say a hypothesis even amongst the believers of evidence (or science). But, it was never a matter of doubt that evolution was the basis of our origins. We evolved from unicellular organisms and even though it sounds absurd to some priests of the better good, it has been proved even though the pathway for it hasn't been entirely settled.
Some 12-14 billion years ago (that is 13000000000, 4 times more than our entire lifetime if we consider the unit to be in seconds), there was a blast. From a point, from nothingness, matter and anti-matter (whose existence has also been verified, mind you) formed and even though the sum of which turns out to be zero, matter came into existence (and anti matter lied embedded in the space-time tapestry upon which we stand. It becomes hard to comprehend from this point forth (if it already wasn't) but, space time is not a plane surface, it is a three dimensional existence so whatever we see is contained within space and end of space is the boundary of universe, not the end of existence of matter). From minute particles, sub atomic particles came into existence, from that atoms - the earliest of which is hydrogen. Hydrogen by fusion formed helium, and further fusion led to lithium, carbon, iron, gold, uranium. Matters exerted pressure on the tapestry of space time and that in turn presented as gravity. With gravity, atoms came closer, formed stars where the aforementioned fusion was to take place. Fusion took on and on and once the star reached its breaking point, it blasted off and with that novae, elements other than hydrogen were scattered as far as it could reach. From the nebulae that formed, new stars were created, sometimes black holes and sometimes pulsars, quasars, planets at the rim of the forming stars. Gravity, space, matter and time formed planets. Planets were challenged sometimes by other planets. Orbits were the product of spin that lasted on into the planets' memory. Rotation shaped the planet. When hit by other planets or asteroids chunks of the planet itself would spill out and circle the planet forming natural satellites or moons as we say it. Elements formed from novae would shower occasionally and water came into existence in our goldilocks habitat formed around 5 billion years ago. Our planet, now contained carbon, water and a safe distance from the young sun. Still hot, the condition was just right for the carbon to link up to a single helix of coding strand of genome in the storms and heat back then. Out of several strands of genomes, some collapsed and some didn't. The ones that didn't lived on to surround itself with water and the protein monomer it had would trigger formation of proteins similar to it by a relatively simple process (at that time). Mutations are frequent. They still are. It's just that the ones that aren't compatible with the environment are wiped out and what remains is the end result. Anyways, so formed the earliest micro organism. Mutations would thrive on and form 2, 4, 16, 32 and so on celled organisms and millions and millions of years later, we'd come into existence in our tailed form. It took us more than 5 million years just to get rid of our tails so you can imagine the countless number of years it took us to get here. With evolution, our once curious mind that brought fire as a basic need now makes gadgets so complex that perhaps it is of equal complexity as the setting of the universe (or perhaps not, yet). We lived together, made weapons out of stone, iron. Then we made houses where we'd live permanently. We farmed. We made society which needed a control and so comes the need of God. God served to unite the people and divide. It was a matter of existence back then, it really was necessary to create a fatherly figure, though imaginary and supported only by the natural phenomenon like thunders which were mysterious back then, to unite people together, make sense of it all and grow. It is all understood up to this point.
Most of this has been verified and those that haven't (like say the exact flow of what came first, etc) have a very strong indication of being true. But, with progress of human society, we seem to have regressed. We speak of TT and tt and cross it to make a F1 generation of Tt and Tt and a F2 generation of TT, Tt, tT, tt and yet, it is a sad realization that we, with all this knowledge in our mind, still believe that an imaginary being made us out of nowhere and nothing. We see the beauty of it all and say "behold! how can it be that this is all a matter of chance?" We constantly fail to realize that what we perceive of our surrounding is only what we can perceive We can perceive light, sound, touch and smell and we have conscience. We are perceiving reality based on our sense organs and it is painfully obvious that it might not be the entirety of the universe and yet we are so defiant when someone challenges our beliefs. On some documentary, I saw a man, self-righteous in his words, claim that a sick person can be cured of all illness with the whims of this so-called 'god'. He'll probably die of sickness if he refuses to medications which have been proven efficacious based on evidence. People talk of some deity that has 4 heads and sits on a lotus while making everything, a wilder deity who wears skins of animals and has a serpent wound around his neck and delivers justice. No, it is alright if we choose to be stupid. But, do we really have the right to force-feed our children such idiocy? We can believe in cartoon characters if we want to. We can believe in superheroes if we want to, but do we have the right to present this as a 'truth' to our children and yet ask them to study the books which says otherwise? We are pitiful creatures really, no?

The Lying Voices

The whispering voices, too careful they may -
Unveil a secret in the numbers they say,
1, 3, 19, 21, 40 and nil,
(The voices then hold their breathes and remain still.)

In my death I saw a dream,
Of a thousand - ten thousand screams,
I hear jokes, joy, happiness and laughter,
And fear, tears, death -- and silence thereafter.

Death stared right into my face,
And, with a tone full of disgrace,
She laughed, she said - "Do you really think,
that I believe you're not afraid of me?"

"How could she possibly see through me?", I scoffed,
"Does my cloak not hide my inner self enough?"
"It's not for you to decide, You are but an animal reigned to ride,"
"It's no use disregarding me, my love. You are but a man inside"

Then she turned, and with a grin, she leapt with a hiss,
Held me by my chin and on my lips - she planted a kiss,
"Oh, you poor child, look at your eyes - are those tears?"
She laughed - she laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed,
All I felt was fear.
Death is a friend of mine.

The whispering voices still echo within my mind,
They lie all the same - they lie and they remind -
Me of what I am - a foolish, mediocre soul,
Doomed to vanish into null none different than them all.

Wind 'neath His Wings

When sanity reigns, she holds him close,
When the horse leaps off, little does she knows -
How the bruises in the face burn his lashes,
How his hopes burn into fumes and ashes.

With joy, comes a warm embrace,
With doubt - a scorning disgrace,
She dances, with her heart, if there is light around,
But, when darkness falls, she's nowhere to be found.

His heart means nothing - plenty have been broken,
His soul is as triflous - a superfluous token,
His tears - drops of mediocrity, his words - profane,
His pain - humor and his feelings - hopeless, mundane.

She feels for him, but pity and sorrow,
And, unless he can recover tomorrow -
She will be gone,
She will be gone.

Colors

"Does this come in other colors?"
There comes a time in every dog's life when he just sits in oblivion - a dumb and yet profound realization of self and the surrounding. Insight - it is, perhaps, the most awe-inspiring jewel we can possess. No, I wouldn't dare suggest we are special in any way. I wouldn't dare. It just simply isn't so. We are all petty creatures born of existence - matters culminating in a dire withdrawal, surrounding itself with water and thriving to exist, to maintain the milieu just a moment longer. The thrive continues still and we, still, are the same. Our physical apprehension of the universe - the majestic, and of time - the absolute and our inability to comprehend the matter we are made up of in quantum level, our inability to relate to the theory of relativity some great Jew scientist proposed and our inability to acknowledge 'nothing' at its purest form is, perhaps, far from the actual image the universe radiates through its magnificent self. We are but lowly creatures meant for no big achievement, we are not important. We are not significant.
And, yet we have something special - insight and most of all a curiosity - an ever lasting hunger for knowledge of ourselves and our surrounding, our origins and of what will be of us upon our demise. The notion of 'God' and other imaginary creatures provide us with enough insight to live a lifetime but with growing hunger, with advancing age, we, sooner or later, come to realize that it won't be just for our 'self's. We wish not to delude ourselves but to know the truth - howsoever elegant or mediocre.
There comes a time in every dog's life when he just sits in oblivion. He stares at the ground, breathes and keeps still for a-amount of time after which he walks away in seeming disappointment. We aren't dogs, see. We are not animals. We, once, were but with time we have grown to be so much more and it isn't filling to our conscience to be one again. We are lively creatures - creatures among which some have grown to be some form of glue that holds the notion of social dignity and some who wish to know more and more and more and more. Some grow and go in ignorance. Some grow and go in utter disappointment. And, then, there are few who grow and go in a hue of luminescence - a deprivation from the physical form of life holds them back as much as a byte off of an error log does to a programmer. They go in a brilliance. But, the twig remains - they go nonetheless.
So, despite everything, we are still not a bit more significant than that dog who every once in a while sits and stares without making a sound other than its muffled cry for help - that someone walk up to him and tell him that there is more to life than that piece of bone he's been chasing after - that there is a heaven anticipating his return and his master waiting for him for another round of catch-the-ball. No, we are the same, after all.
The nature of these sorts of quest for insight are dubious. Someone once said, if our conscience were so easy to understand, we would be so simple that we wouldn't be able to understand it. That makes sense. Insight can only reach a maximum level before it collapses on itself.
I once tried reasoning my conscious activities with the sub-conscious. It seemed easy, see. After all, I was in the habit of doing the same with others. Observing what they do and then trying to deduce the working of their sub-conscious. But, alas! if only I could do the same with me. The harder I tried, the more complex it became and not before long I had to give up telling myself this exact line - if I were so easy to deduce an insight from, then perhaps I would be too naive to be able to do it. That day, I tore up all the records I had of those observations I had made over the years. That night - I realized what I am. That night I realized what significance I hold and what I mean in the grand picture. A grain of sand in the desert.
And, yet, today I ask the shopkeeper if an item was available in some other color. Color is, perhaps, the biggest nuisance of all the flaws we have. We can appreciate colors, yes. But, dogs can't. They see in greys. Some fishes do not even possess sight. Therefore, it is perhaps obvious that what we see of light isn't its entirity. It isn't the visual image of the oh-so-divine universe.
It is insight, a mockery to self and a curse for those who possess it. And, yet, the most beautiful jewel that can possess us. But, then there are a few moments of hormonal euphoria that overshadows joy and sorrow alike. Like the count would say after he lost a bride, "hollow", we feel that way. We feel, yes we do. We feel things that are beyond our capacity. We feel anger we cannot define. We feel love we cannot express in words or even any audible sounds. We hear voices in our head - voices so tantalizing, voices so lucid that it is difficult and sometimes impossible even to assume it lies only within our heads. We feel awe we cannot describe. We feel pensive at some rendezvous of memories we can only elicit as words in poems. We write words in rhymes all the while knowing that it will never deliver to its audience what it does to us. We take photographs - trying to capture every precious moments. They will not see the feelings hidden behind that mask. They will not see your delight. They will only see a reflection of what you did. So, what significance does color have after all, I wonder. Does it even have any?
In a prism, a white light collapses into a spectrum. In the same prism, atomic light separates into finer streaks of light. Something so subjective can never lead to a greater good. "Nice Shades"? Ha! Are you sure the color table set in your mind is the same as mine? I mean - what if what you perceive as 'blue' is a different shade of green to me? It sounds almost possible. After all, visual recognition is an acquired character. You have been taught to call it 'blue' and so you call it 'blue'. I might see a different shade and I have been calling it blue. When some object of that particular color comes in front of us, we call it 'blue' unknown to us that we might not be seeing the same color. Maybe that's why we have preference on a particular color. If our basic setting is the same, we should've admired the same color. But, we don't, do we? Say we all were set to like green by default. Now, you might be calling it 'blue', I might be calling it 'cyan' even. So, then our favorites would vary as much as that. You will disdain my 'cyan' not knowing that it is your choice as well - just not in the objective world. It seems as if we are but mere victim of subjective prejudices.
How can colors be so important? Why would I, on any grounds whatsoever, ask the shopkeeper if he has an item structurally and functionally the same but just on different color?

Meanings

'Fiend!' they shrieked - at the top of their voice,
Boiling in the fumes of disgust - despise,
On chains and wrapped in a shroud,
Thence, he was brought forth amidst the crowd,

 Smiling he rose, smiling he waved,
Posing the shackles and the cuts it gave,
"Thank you", said he - clear and loud,
And, waved at the joyous - raving crowd.

Therein the commotion does entail -
Some fail to rise, he rose to fail.
And, then, he bowed and he vowed,
As the anger rose still amidst the crowed.

Then anger said, "You will not live"
Then anger said, "This is what you get".
"I don't ask for anything but I offer to give"
"None need remember but none ever forget -"

From a puddle a grain of dirt shines,
From a puddle a swine dines,
From a puddle a lotus blooms,
From a puddle a cattle grooms.

If it were not for the ugly us,
None would enjoy this casual fuss,
If it were not for this truth mere,
None of us would be looming here.

Let there be darkness, for the sun is bound to shine,
Let there be no sorrow - this death be divine.

And, upon these words they questioned his sanity,
And anger grew to the heights of profanity.
But, his fate was signed, the job was done,
And, a soldier was lost, forever gone.

Treasures

Some commotion leaves a mark on all,
Some fail to thrive, some thrive to fall.
Some disquisition end on bitter sparks,
Some end on a start of a new recall.

Somehow this noise irritates all us men -
"What did we loose and what can we gain?"
Some trifles conquer our wishful remarks,
Some ask us not to repeat them again.

But, sorrow always has an elegant show,
To teach us what we don't already know -
That all the remorse we hide inside,
With time and trust, she will but grow.

Some lessons end on a bitter appeal,
Some teach us to read more still,
Some tell us what treasures we lost,
And, some - what we all miss the most.

So, some stories end on mourns and cries,
Some end on darkness - on blood and lies,
Some end and to it - there is no meaning.
And, still they teach us of life and the illusion seeming.

Flight

The wind's beneath her wings, she flies, she flutters she sings,

She chirps her way dining on what the howling wind brings,

She won't stop today, she won't have it any other way,

This day can't make her sad now - try as hard as it may.

A few flaps, and up she flies up on the clouds and into the sky,

She doesn't hold back any more - today, she's not shy,

The rain falls on her beak, on her wings wetting her feathers,

But, it makes her happy, see - she sings of this harsh weather,

Blue as the sky, she glides down every once in a while,

Then flies up again, all the way with a smile,

Something in her is on fire see - she won't stop,

No, she won't - not until she has reached the top.

The Time has gone

It all makes sense now. Every piece of puzzle laid on the floor fits together now. The time had come and so has it gone and all that remains is a shadow of it.

A theater's been shut down, now. The heart stopped beating and the trance has long been set to null - a life's ended just the same. The lights shone - yes, they did. But, up on the stage today, no roses are being thrown - there are no stones either. Yes, The performance that was staged up on the stage has ended and no voice were raised and no words were said. There are no claps - no, not until now. Now, the serenade has long been sung and deemed mediocre and set aside.

A Pity. A faint show of love and sympathy mostly. A writer's death. The narrator sobs in silence as the curtains fall. The heroine dances all the same but the heart remains untouched and even the drools seem to have dried off and all that remains is stains on the collars of the mindless audience who can but perspire in silence. Yes, there is a silence now. The cries of perspiration voiced on chorus - the cries are so meek that even the vermins residing on the attic assume no human presence beneath them - they rattle hither and thither free of care and free of fear.

The hero drinks until he drops unconscious. The gates to his Juliet are open, see but the walls somehow seem taller than what they used to be - they will never be crossed again. The Old Romeo and the New Juliet won't be together ever again. The Cassanova's been arrested and whatever alien feeling overtook the sub conscious has retreated from its way. Solemnity has bred a new form of exasperation and the fumes of this insanity takes over the well behaved citizens and throws the city into chaos. Cowardice and fear reign the blind horse and the stage creaks in silence - perhaps in anticipation of the fall immitent.

Games and rehearsals and stories are no longer told - no longer appreciated - the curtains fall, see and not even a voice of acknowledgement can be heard. Almost as if none of it ever happened.

There is a hollow in the plot now - an ocean in the heart. The dirt of failure means as much as the glamour of success - nothing. Words of flirts and flatter, love and hate have long been settled and sworn to be kept unheard and un-felt. The time has come and so has it gone - a faded hue - a trace remains as a grim silhouette - and, a reflection of self claims - it will all be forgotten some day.

The time has gone.

The Journal of Illusive Love

Say you miss me,
More than I should,
Say you'll love me,
Even in death if I could,
Say you fathom these endless nights,
Yes - I even like those nonsense fights,
Will you leave me in sorrow or dismay?
No, I possibly would die the previous day.


Ask no more now, smile for once my love ,
The silhouette will tell you as will the moon above -
That there is but a moment not that I don't miss you,
Or, less than surplus joy in my heart when I kiss you,
The dances I desire are real now,
And, I am happy even in sorrow, somehow.


You are not a part of me, my dear,
You are half of me - even more I fear,
Fear - I do for you might not always be here,
And, my heart beat might just fall without you near. 

Nay, let those feeling free, if you adore me,
And, doubt no more if you know me as well as you see me,
For this voyage has begun - this ship won't turn,
And, until we reach ashore - I will always return.


But, what 'bout when we reach the shore?
Don't you see - then - we will be no more,
Will you leave me when we reach the end, then?
You amuse me, my dear - even after death does us depart - we will meet again.

But, the tides are sometimes low,
Sometimes unbearably high,
It will be how it wishes, see, ahead we'll row,
Sometimes when it makes us sick, we'll just sigh,
But, we will carry on.

See, my heart, the mermaids have lain a trap,
With their charm and powder, they might have us strapped,
But, if we give up, if we stop henceforth,
How can we ever reach the end of the earth?

Salvation

This is a story she couldn't write. Not that she didn't want to because of course she did. She wanted everyone to know about what she had witnessed that ominous night. She wanted the paperboys shouting out the title that she hadn't yet thought of. She wanted priests preaching against everything that had happened that night. She wanted people to feel the torture that she had been unable to fight against. She wanted a mere acknowledgement that those events, by all definitions, were 'wrong'. It wasn't as if she didn't want to write about it herself. But desire doesn't lead to results often and the fact was more painful so as the process of it. You see, she didn't write about it because she didn't know how to.

At the age of 35, she was tired. Illiterate and a bit too much dependent on him for the daily supply of bread and water. Too much of a parasite to know what was just and what was not. She was a pity. And, the worst part was that she knew it better than anybody else. Maybe too better for her own good. Bound by the social values of a patriarchal society, she thought she deserved it when her husband punched, slapped or kicked her. So much of ignorance and desperation resided in her that it would all burst out and the way she is right now, we can fairly say - it will be the day soon.

She, somehow, understood good from bad now. She has, now, attained salvation but maybe such divine intervention like anything else that brings about such much-needed change came a bit too late. She understood this too.

By definition, 'if you aren't against it, you're with it - you support it'. And, therefore, she feels guilty - of what? She won't say. But her watering eyes mean that perhaps she doesn't know either. I see her wrinkled face, her salvation of the new found visions on life and beneath those eyes; so-ever-beautiful and divine, there is a resolve - to do something. "What?" I don't know but I can swear on my stares (that probably made her uncomfortable) that she won't let 'that' happen to anyone else ever again. She was a mother. Some mother.

Her story starts with the tears her daughter had in her eyes as they were fixed at her. A 12 year old girl asking her mother for help. Not an 'interesting' initials for a story but this it how it was. Her body was shaking as she lay on the  corner of the room watching in horror at her daughter. She had a baby next to her - her second daughter - 3 years old and one of the 4 surviving children among the 8 she had conceived. The older 2 were boys - her sons. They were there too - in the same room . So was the father - drunk as a pig along with his semi-naked brothers - 2 to be precise. So, in total, there were 9 people in that poorly lit room and only two were making noise - the baby was one of 'em - crying because of hunger or maybe she just felt like it. The other was the other daughter of the house because there were 5 people around her doing things to her that was so painful that several times, she fainted of exhaustion and then re-gained her consciousness when someone among those 5 gentlemen put something on top of her lips (which were bleeding too) and slapped her when she wouldn't open her mouth (because she had a habit of closing her mouth when she fainted - 'stubborn child' they said.)

Her mother looked at her from the corner of the room and what made her cry even louder were her own eyes that didn't reflect the poor illumination the room shared with everybody there - she had no tears in her eyes. Her daughter looked down as she lifted her head for a second until her elder brother pushed it down and proceeded to put something insider her mouth again. During that glimpse of a second or two - she saw her chest which was now blue and tender to even feel probably from all those hands (including the ones that held hers as she learned to walk) rubbing her chest and gnawing on it. What was more frightening to the little girl was the blood she was oozing out from the orifices she had between her legs - both of them. A few hours later, she died. But, that's not where the story ends - the story ends with the 'untimely demise' of her little sister.

You see, watching her daughter being raped by her sons and her husband and her brother in laws showed her what was just and what wasn't. With an event like this, she was 'awakened'. If this in itself isn't sick enough, let me tell you what she did next. She looked at her youngest child that was crying in her lap unaware of anything that happened this eventful night. She saw her daughter and thought of anything that would ensure a different future for that little girl than her sister was living a few moments ago. She thought thoroughly and when she couldn't find anything within her reach, she silenced that girl too - with her hands and for forever - silent and at rest.

She finally had tears in her eyes and a shallow smile in her face and a feeling of joy because she felt that she saved the girl by killing her herself. She, now, was angry, for the first time in her life - she was angry at someone other than herself.

Next morning when people called her 'murderer of 7 people, she said "One, I didn't kill. The other I saved by killing. The rest 5 I killed because none of them deserved to live."
And, even though there was a sorrow of losing her daughter and several other co-existing emotions, - for the first time in her life - She felt 'pride'.

A Sail Lowered

Upon a gloomy night, a sailor passed by,

He sailed onwards - through tides high,

I called out to him, and he lowered the sails,

And, he turned as if I had him assailed,

I could make out a bit of his face,

A face that others would miss in his pace,

A smile in his face accompanied a drop of tear,

And, a gloomy contempt to the early fears,

I could still make out stains below his eyes,

Of tears perhaps of sorrow - a token,

Or of pain perhaps, or a heart broken.

He frowned, lowered his eyes and yelled 'What do you want?"

I smiled and sailed, "nothing my friend,

I had no intention of interrupting your hunt"

A surprise glittered in his eyes of my statement or perhaps the end.

"A hunt you say?" he said, "What do you mean?"

And I could see how really hurt he was within.

"Yes, mate. Say, something to fill your palms or just to see?", 

"Something? What kind of treasure could possibly spare me?"

"I mean like currency shaped as shellings and dimes?"

"Or perhaps a treasure of some form taken by time".

A Chocolate Bar

[NR]
There was upon the past,
A Forest so very vast -
That even the light couldn't pierce it at will,
And, so the wind within was cold and still.

Somewhere in these dark woods,
A man lived - lived where he could,
In a house - a place one of its kind,
A place - no other soul could find.

With him lived his little boy,
Who knew of a different kind of joy,
For he had no friends he could with play,
And for 5 long autumns,
And more to come -
Here he'd stay.

This is a story of that little boy,
Birds and trees and insects - he had as toys,
He woke up with a gentle kiss,
Slept with the setting hiss,
City life - he never knew of, he didn't miss,
Yes, for this kid - Ignorance was a bliss.

One day, his father called out to him,
"I'm off to somewhere you haven't yet seen"
Puzzled was our hero - for he couldn't say,
Where his dad was setting off to - so early that day.

Off went his father - early before dawn,
Over the river bend he walked, then he was gone,
And our hero began his daily chores,
The time was perhaps a quarter after four.

Around the noon when he was listening to the birds sing,
His father came home, holding a bright-shiny-'thing'
And his father said, "I had to walk pretty far,"
And sitting down, he continued "to find this chocolate bar"

When his dad unwrapped it and kept in his palm,
The little kid found it hard to keep calm,
Into his mouth he pushed it - not a second to waste.
Savored the flavor - the most delicious taste.

Such sweet and pleasant was the treat,
He scrapped what had remained between his teeth,
And, licked off the wrapper - twisted it and tore,
And, when that was done, asked if he could have some more.

Smiling, his father handed him another bar,
And started a tale of a land not very far,
He told him to go to the end of the forest with him,
And walk into a place they called 'the land of dreams'.

So, off he went with his father and with the bar,
And a couple of hours later they heard noises from far,
Upon reaching there, in the so called 'land of dreams',
Our hero was baffled to see kids there just like him.

The boy stayed there for 30 years now - full of joy,
In the land of dreams - and jobs - and games and ploys,
He was a man - with age and more wisdom now -
And for some reasons he felt the woods were better somehow,
So, one day - he went - off right after the sunrise,
Off to where he belonged, bade the city life a plain goodbye.

In the house between the trees and now covered with dust,
Our hero now, grown up and again - forever lost,
But, at peace from the dreamland not very far,
At peace, because he had with him a few chocolate bars,
Each day he would wake and savor the taste,
One bar a day, he was in no haste.

The people heard of him - a man living amid anthills,
He was the man who had nothing but could smile still.

Aubade

Once, on a distant land, A man began his story,

At seventy, I assumed he probably had seen it all,

This fellow began reminiscing 'bout the days of glory,

How he had crawled up on top and what made him fall -

A day, some decades ago, I was naive and young,

I'd work all day, at night I drank and sang songs,

My pals were tough, with their words and lies,

And, I was the happiest guy - you'd ever find.

So, one day, as I was strolling,

Looking for nothing on a leisurely day,

A lady, who'd make you go crawling,

Smiled at me and came my way.

So pretty she was, I was ashamed -

For when she inquired, I couldn't recall my name,

She had no scars, no bruises in sight -

One you'd search, for she fell from such heights,

Yes, she was an angel right from the sky,

And, dim as I looked, I still gave it a try,

We had a few laughs, then at the night fall,

I asked her if she'd accompany me to a ball.

She didn't refuse - no she agreed and she came,

And, the way she looked - an heartbreaking dame,

Her dress so much like flower - her smile divine,

At the end of the ball I asked her if she'd be mine.

No, she said - but, I figured she liked me as well,

She refused but her eyes didn't - I could tell

And, so -

Everyday we danced, and after a while -

I asked her again - this time, she smiled.

Next came months when we were together,

I told her I'd hold her forever -

I asked her again if she'd be mine now,

She agreed,

Together at last - we took our vows.

Then, came two years of love -

Two years when I was above.

I'd walk with her, bring her flowers to cover the floor- 

When I'd return she would waiting for me at the door.

One night, bright as sun - something stirred as she looked my way

I knew something was wrong - she smiled but she didn't look okay,

The next day the medics came - and, with a half hearted sorrow,

Said that she would never wake up tomorrow.

I looked at her that night - stayed up by her side,

Cursing at what the fate imposed - the inevitable divide

After an hour off the midnight, she smiled at me -

The last smile in her face I'd ever see.

The next morning, the neighbors came to put her away,

I insisted that she was where she fits, she should stay.

They held me back as they locked her in a coffin -

I insisted, I pled, I begged with tears and scoffing,

But, they buried her and everything she'd saved -

And asked me what it should say on her stone atop her grave.

When the love overtook the pain, I smiled "My wife,

Here lies the sole reason of my life"

Her parting was harsh but what broke my pride,

Was the next day - when I didn't feel her by my side,

I left the town, the memories of that wonderful girl,

Who'd been the reason of my rise and my fall.

I sing no song, I have no one to cow to -

Nor do I have any one to bow to.

I am just waiting for the day I leave this place -

So once again I can see her smiling face.

Unspoken Words

One evening, in a trance, the wind wailed,
With pain in her voice whereever she sailed,
Worried asked the hills what caused her plight,
And, she could not name the enemy in sight.

She wailed, she cried,
To blame him - she tried,
In the end, she blamed herself for
What fate had brought upon her.

The hills worried still, asked her to calm down,
Looked at her with a worried look, started to frown,
The wind did no justice to save herself and him,
She cried and hid what she'd locked within.

On tears and sorrow, the hill that day,
Flooded and withered and grew grey,
Begging her to utter what she did not say,
And, the story of the wind and the hill,
Full of unrequitted love and sorrow still,
Ended in mourns this way.

A Lost Friend

A star shone up the sky today, and from its rim,
I could see the thoughts flow my way, joyous and grim.
Yes, a paradox you'd say but, see, the sun was dim,
And, it mattered not what we'd say, at least not to him.

The little twinkling star, a thousand times larger than ours,
Perhaps million miles far, with joy it cowers,
And, with a death very near, as we would never feel,
Where there should've been fear, there was sanity still.

Grim was what I felt, I told him not,
Sorrow I hid within and smiled to bid him off.
"Good Riddance" I said as he smiled at me in jest,
As if saying his death nearby was a glorious fest.

He shone as if there was no tomorrow, perhaps he was right,
But, within, he has no sorrow, nor a bit of will to fight.
He shone still, only a faint reflection at where I lay,
He shone his zeal, glamour for one last day.

I blinked once, he still shimmered,
I blinked twice, he grew dimmer,
And, thrice as I closed my eyes,
He vanished without any goodbyes.

And, so, I lost a friend tonight,
A friend who had always fought,
But, even in his last plight,
Answered the question I asked him not.

 Maybe we are what we are. 'I' and 'you', not 'we' forever.
But, in death as we part, we'll perhaps embrace each other.
And, in that gloomy night, as we go back to the times we fought,
We'll perhaps smile at each other and embrace the love we sought.

Glorious

Upon a day, as luck would have it,
None around to free and save it,
Entrapped was a Lion in a bloody net,
Prayed the lion with all his faith.

That someone pop and free his soul,
That someone see him - hear his howl,
Just then, a rat hearing his sound,
Hopped up and came out of the ground,

'Free you I'll try' says he, 'if you can spare',
And, upon the king's word, he did his share,
Soon gnawed the mouse - the net his feast,
The net was set loose and free was the beast.

The Lion looked, stared and shunned,
Then with a grin, made a mocking turn,
Swept the pest - off with his tail,
The mouse plead but to no avail.

Over-shadowed by the Beast's might,
The meek pest lost without a fight,
Off went the Lion, with a glorious trot,
Drowned was the mouse with a furious heart.

Then a hunter upon seeing the beast on a run,
Quick on his feat, took a stance and pulled out a gun,
Aiming a bit closer to the head,
Pulled the trigger - the lion dropped dead.

Full of vanity, the Lion was gone,
The meek little pest still did mourn,
'If only he'd asked me where they were,
One majestic beast would still be here'.

The skin made an emperor's rug,
The flesh chewed by some filthy dogs,
And, with pride, a bit too much,
The Lion's life had to end as such.

These Moments

Upon the clouds today, I see -
A reflection of some inner me.

An eye that looks away while I blink,
'Even death can't be so tortorous', I think.
Every once in a while,
I turn to see what I've lost and what I lack,
And, grieving with a smile,
I, somehow, manage to turn back.

'An umberella today?'
'Perhaps it won't rain',
'Or, perhaps,
I'll never get a chance to drench in a rain again'
'Or, perhaps, I already don't'.

'My shoes, then?'
'Here they are, at my hands,
If I muster enough strength, I can keep off the sand',
'If I, eventually, manage to put them on'
'Chances are I might never feel the warmth of my sun',
'But, do I have any?'

'Clothes?'
'Why do I need them?'
'Do I have anything to hide?'
'Or, do I just not want them to meet the stranger I hide inside?'
'They already have'.

While that play was flowing up on the sky,
I take a look back at myself and I wonder why,
Why and what made me loose my self and hide,
How can these departing clouds take something off my pride?

These clouds slowly drift apart, away from each other -
And, the sky behind,
Doesn't seem to mind,
Doesn't seem to bother,

I, below, am torn -
I can but scorn
Here, I have no say,
I am just a witness to that glorious dance,
Once in an eternity chance,
The divine dance in the sky today.