Blinded

First there was light
And then perpetual darkness
Now we are blinded
Falling through a cold abyss

It’s a full house
Of blinded men
Running all around
Shouting on the count

Voices from corners
Reasserting they exist
Of a world heavily
Enveloped by this mist

There’s a massacre
Somewhere west
Signals and waves
Glorying the mess

Prayers somewhere,
Blinded the rest
Like parasites
Riding on the crest

A bleeding earth
A meaningless birth
There’s no place left
To take more dirt

But it swells still
Becoming worse
Pushing through
This life of curse

That’s what we left
It could never rise
That’s how it bled
Didn’t we hear it cry?

Another song for spring

Rains came along
And the songs changed
The dawn of the spell
Lashing down window panes

And sparkling sun
The trickling beads
Pearls streaming down
My balcony

Now they are gone
Leaving behind
A valley alive
A naïve crime

The songs change again
As the earth grows ripe
And flowers bloom
Under the weathered sky

The leaves yellow
Flown by the zephyr
Sing under the canopy
Of mahogany and eucalyptus

Singing young
The song intensifies
Reinvigorating
Across the valley of life

My luck at the ball

I asked her to a ball
She was such a doll.
All said and done
She’s gotten me appalled

And the dancing was fine.
Very refined
Her moves were perfect.
But not the movement of her eyes

There were more onlookers
Before I knew
Looking at us dance
Like I was the undeserving beau

And then came a boy
And another while I was still there
Before the turn of the hour
It was an aficionado fair

Little while later
When I had given up all hopes
To see another glimpse of that lady
The director pulled the ropes

And all of a sudden
The glare light was on me
Came a flood of ravishing
Deserted fine ladies

Who needed a Barbie?
In fact she had done her job
By occupying all other masochists
She had left for me -the lot

But hold and behold
The game didn't end just then
For came the prince charming
The mighty Mr. Ben

And in a tux that said Armani
And brands smitten all around
The most eligible bachelor
Got the Barbie for his crown

And the oh so very smitten
Boys realized that they
Had left their consolations
To the mercy of the stray

That’s how the night ended
Of meteoric fantasies
And come to think of it now
It does almost sound funny

Tempest

Poems are too many
of rains and butterflies
So this once, of tempest
I set out to write

The tormenting rains fell
Soaking grains of sand
In unison they merged
The sky and the land

The intrepid wind
Fostering all their might
A leap of knots
To match the stormy night

And windows prattled bizarre
Besieged and bare
The crescent moon canopied
By the nights intimidating fare

Loud and insane
The winds continued to whine
The ruddy trees silently
Witnessing their crime

The boulevards lay shadowed
Under the grazing train
Of an enraged tempest
Lying alone mellow and sane

Then the placating dawn
Gradually broke upon
And the night of the tempest
Subsided, till it was gone

And songs broke out again
As the newborn cried
Little rhizomes broke through
The earth, to drench in light

And the dainty zephyr rushed past
Rustling through the leaves
The child of the night
The tempest conceived

Mire

Another coup
A little land
A mighty loss
For those grains of sand

A wretched sleep
And evil dreams
Ambitious threats
A sore history

Treason bare
Fight succumbs
Feeding on life’s
Wicked crumbs

Hopes moribund
Or maybe bleeds
Or waiting to
get some reprieve

And slipping down
Some may live
A story to tell
Or a hollow dip

A somber grave
Or another wave
The rise may see
Or may see no day


This mire will last
Maybe not so
The last morsel
Of every such woe

Leaving bright
What will stay
All left outside
A better day

all about-racing rats and raising rats

My folks always were very ambitious about my ambitions. The pushing, boasting, normal parent like parents. I somehow still managed to live through all that and escape all all those aggrandizing virtues that such pressures ideally develop in kids. Lazy impractical ignorant, I was all of that. But yet an inherent part of the ghastly gruesome rat race. It takes quite a high degree of tolerance to be ignorant in spite of a prevelance of such curcumstances. So what is that I am trying to prove here? Well, see, another proof of eluding the issue completely. Rat-Race.
Ignorant as I might be, I still have come a long way since birth and even though I have to dwindle around several folds more, I can still give you a short insight into what we so joyfully call youth. You were born and your mum went gaga over your looks and all those neighbourhood ladies who cuckooed about your perfect chin and invisible dimples, the mole under the hair lock just below the brim of your forehead which in time has gotten densely occupied with hair locks all over and will now only be see-able when your hairline starts receding, and so on so forth. Then the kid around your place was born and the same neighbourhood ladies found his chin perfect-er, his dimples a little more visible, his mole little more promisingly visible. But your mum thought, the kid was just not smart enough. Did you know, that was where the rat race began??
First it was just you and him, the two little rats. But in time the numbers began to proliferate.
The class you studied in, the people in your colony, your acquaintances in the neighbourhood, the neighbourhood country, through blood relations, net relations and other emerging forms or relation, everyone was a rat. The perfect grade sheet the cheese and your folks aka parents, the ones who were animal testing you for your efficiency at cheese hunting and in turn measuring their own , for theirs was the experimental input – ‘the genetic configuration’ . Those whom you called friends were the more potent rats, for their parameters of cheese hunting were directly measured against yours. And you actually got tricked into believing that ‘friends in need are friends indeed’, did you?
The echelons in class, profession, workplace, all became an extensive exercise to quantify your cheese hunting capacity and books of the like of ‘who moved my cheese’ began to make money. (The book actually is not remotely related to rat race, but I am sure, most of you must have not even heard about the book, one of the previous ones written by Chetan Bhagat. Does that strike any chord??)

You raced, you scurried, you clawed, and you hurried.
You found, went around, in search of something, yet more sound
And grew up you, to foster the few,
You dreamt could do, what you failed to.

And so the race continues…
In form of your kids, the poor souls > the petty ones > then the little rats > to bigger ones > mighty ones >racing monstrous ones >… and the vicious cycle will go on.


Ps: Just incase you took my word for it, the book ‘who moved my cheese’ is an ingenious one, written by Spencer Johnson. For more about the book look log on to ‘http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Who_Moved_My_Cheese’