Two Hours Of Resurrection

Go back to the diary..
Go back to that dusty library...
Sip coffee once more..
Drink the writings once more..
Chew on the ideas
Romance the feeling of words
Give me back my world, in two pennies of those two hours.

I can’t word
Give me a word mask to resurrect
Athirst for thoughts
Famished for food to brain.
Long lost the nights, to unfinished stories of dreams.
Long lost the meals of sentences to the morsel of words.
Lost plateful books to empty shelves of years
Living with minimum, I scribble sharp poems
Instead of the couches of essays.
Where a few disjoint and lost words come together
to deliver a gesture.
Far forsaken by lengths of expression
Of the writing.

I was a dream
Now a reality
Soon to elapse as memory.

Lost my metaphors somewhere
Standing in a lacuna today
I walk a step and breathe heavy today...
Just wrapping up a debilitating unfinished story ...

I would generate memoir of the past two years
Smelling the yellowing pages in these two hours
That doused before I could have realised.


This post has been written for Indiblogger's Surf Excel Matic Get Smart Contest - If you had two extra hours in a day, how would you spend it? To Participate click here..

A Mountain Castle

High up in the mountains,
looking out over the rim.
there the sky is clean blue.
There the trees glass green.
That’s the place I once lived in.
There life is aglow
aglow with a beam.

Throughout the night, under my bedcovers,
I would hearken the silence of night
and the sound of wind.
the snow falling soft and white.
Pure as my heart’s wishes.
It would fall on and on, on
the lovely cones of tree leaves
and the thick hill beneath the trees.
And the hills above the sky.

Today, the very same hills,
With changing patterns and whims,
They shroud a new look
Smelling redolence.
With the first fall of snow…
So many secrets they preserve…
Only to me they show.
Deep whispers in the walls of my white castle..

A sudden dusk...
A loud whimper of a wistful longing

A new morning...

And the slipping sand in my hand
under a new moon....

A beautiful castle ....

Is Everything That Straight?

Can you think when was the last time, when you found solace with a companion of your sex? Bear that moment in your mind while vouching to read further.

We often come across terms like transgender, transman, transwoman, Polysexuality, omnisexuality, polysexuality, third gender people, two-spirit people, gender queer, transvestite et la! Do we actually understand what is it all guided by? In the boulevard of love stories, bush is not so green today. Men are no more men, and women no better fit in the frame of their sexuality. Turning your back to each other, you are pouting an affronted emotion, or complaining about a piqued ego. Has it not been enough for your while?

Think when did you last complain about your bad relation. (just to make sure that the soil is moist enough to sow this fresh variety of seed). Is it not more or less about worth?

I believe, what we are looking for in life is 'value'. People of dysfunctional families develop this sexual complexity, as they see the shredding of reason behind marriage and the pointless clinging to the love theories long cherished. The bottom-line is, they have realised that there was no Cinderella. And who knows if the other facts, long learned and adhered to, are serious enough? When even Cinderella wasn't, which they believed in through their childhood.

They have seen, in a dysfunctional mechanism, the coupling didn’t work. And you cannot physically relate to a gender, that you can not trust. And you start seeking satisfaction with someone from your gender, who feels his/her own emotions just as clearly, or roughly as you do. And you strip the gender holding you back. Sexual act is just the last cement to fix your new identity in a new life.

Here I am badly reminded of the Highway Stripper by A.K Ramanujan. I request you to step afore from voyeurism and decode the hidden aspect of it. A women stripping off her gender, just at a time when she is high on a highway! She is probably driving with that sense of freedom which often comes with a power over the steering wheel.

One last time, just think of the time, when you flinched at the idea of commitment in a relationship. Just a little mellowed form of transsexuality, where you are unable to completely accept that opposite sex? Commitment phobia is just a swerve of freedom. Freedom of what? Somewhere deep under, it is the fear of being defined under one sexuality.

This is something, which can probably just be felt and understood by writers, who have the patience to step into someone’s shoe.

Dreams Twinkle In My Eyes

Dreams twinkle in my eyes
But a world breaking down on the hinge side..
It is dusk
And the darkest and lightest colour of the day and night,
Come better as shades…
Time to come back home..
Time to stop and return to the abode …
Half asleep, I am just enough awake..
Half dead, I am just half alive
Besotted in my mind,
I am burned by my own dreams and desires
Turned to ashes
I am scalded under this little too vast sky…

37 lines

I am withering in form.
Can u see?
Life mocking at me.
How can I be?
Dark must,
Of a hollow pervasiveness.
A devil deep in my dwelling.
Scaring and scarring.
A nightmare coming true in its casting.
A ghost livening up in masses.
A death tolling in the middle of dances.
A life blowing in glances.
Messed up are my chances.
Spirit lost in the sand glasses.
True blue in the grey of the matter,
Not a spec of colour lasting.

How many times do you sew a linen?
Ravel the threads of my clothing.

Deep injuries casted.
Mania surrounding the masses.
A body conjured,
Lost in the movements of moments.
It’s dead. It’s holocaust.
Don’t carry it to the Halloween frost.
Dead should depart.
Compelling it is nothing of art.
It’s done, it’s off.

I am free I can not be framed.
Freedom from fixture..
In the freedom of soul I swim.
Seasonable is this gain.

A Death Foretold: By Ministers: Bombay Blast and Its Mysteries

The “democrats” could have narrated this blast beforehand; just as well as Gabriel García Márquez unravelled it in A Death Foretold; i.e., with the power and insight of the plot writer. Politics is getting too dirty, and people are looking at this incidence with a critical view, that holds the government in the dock. It is a call for us to stop behaving as snobs with technique in our head, and money in our pockets, and rather take up a responsible position in this “save
India” coup.

Monsoon Again

When hard luck n a fat chance build your way...
When it is like standing on a crater crust,
Which can spue fire any day,
You can predict
You can not commit
Better get carried to a destination
where it takes you today

A desperate urge to fly
A relentless heart to get high
Once it wanted a calm stay among shy leaves
Like waves of a restless sea,
My heart rattles and rambles this dusk.

The day I left your shadow.
I knew there would be no sunlight for me.
There is layer of dark clouds in the sky.
And the monsoon is back calling again at me

Identities and Shadows Behind

A part of the "Dear Lucky Agent" Contest on the GLA blog at www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog


"A child is not a poem,
A poem is not a child.
There is no either/or.
However."- Margret Atwood
(A canvas can lodge your subtle thoughts and ideas. But you need more than a canvas to reach here)

Just to introduce myself, I am not struggling with my identity, like many others. But there are a few things that do divide me. I don’t like taking the cover on my face, and colliding my face with the mask, to give impressions of me. Yet I take to conceal myself in various ways. I know there are things which are better left unsaid or suggested. And I leave the responsibilities to the subtle strokes of my paintings. Hope you like them.

A confident smile cutting the sides of her well formed lips.

Applause followed the long perfectionist’s speech. Being a successful artist in 40s, gave a power to Momita over her senses. Confidence sells the quality in you, and even the headstrong trust in yourself for that matter. Her dad called her paintings rogue and senseless, when she first started it at the age of 14 years. But she did prove a point in favour of her art, did she not? It was the 22nd painting exhibition she was holding and…

A Cracked Image

We identify ourselves in a mirror image. Find symmetry of our being, in the physical reflection that we see in the glass. Imagine your mirror broken by someone. And your rush to the clown mirrors (mind) of a circus (world)… where reflections (ideas and beliefs) change every moment…Where would you find yourself in this screening? Fit into someone else’s frame?


Worst you want to do with someone?
Crack his/her image.
Hurl a stone and crack it.
Let go, and ask people to mend it.
Go and try to identify with a carnival mirror,
And find ornaments in the corners.
An Adonis. An Aphrodite.
Hide a darkness of a face in the illuminated Mirror.
Rush to a Spherical Mirror!
And find symmetry in anatomy.
Hide a short height.
Hide a flat size!

Find a flat mirror,
and move far from the virtual.

A refraction of you reflections.
Reflection of the clouds of other's vapours……

Ageless?
Frame yourself in the silver frame of time.
Surround with flowers around with beauteous rounds.
Fit it in the silver frame of your like….
A smile caught just in time
And immortalize the pulchritude.

My Virtuous Mirror

As I looked into the mirror,
It looked back at me in silence.
As i tried hard to see the things,
It beautifully revealed to me
I asked if I were beautiful
It said it was harder to find a little blemish in my flawless beauty..
I asked if I were virtuous enough
It said I was an angel
I asked if I were happy
It cracked somewhere and said I was not
I asked if I should be happy
It grew on the corners and coronated me
I was wondering and thinking to myself
I was self absorbed
Whatever I did, it was cherishing me in itself
As I adorned myself,
It was constantly taking care of me
Always around me
My lover mirror looking at me..
I shed silent tears as his love swelled in me and brimmed over
It answered everything I asked about myself
It knew how I felt all the while..
It helped me mend my broken pieces
It created in me where I was developing
My virtuous mirror,
Saw me as a princess
He made a princess of me....

A Piece Of Life

It was not a dark night, but quite the opposite actually. ‘Celestial’. Yes ‘celestial’ was the defining word. Thought Ginny, as she criss crossed from among the vehicles, on the red light. It had been drizzling the whole day long. The persevering consistency of the little rain drops, gave a sense of momentum to the time and place, while the life slowed down to a soulful silence.

As she walked along the hedgerow, she looked at the people swirling around. The racing cars, subduing each other’s voice by heavy blowing horns. She thought, can there be a place for dreams in this world? Here, where matter mattered so much… the place was certainly was the foundation for the dreams, but the reality of the time failed them miserably. Dreams dreams dreams, she almost chanted it faithfully in her heart, as she stepped under a tree. In the conclave, she typed the first stanza of her poem in the inbox of her cell phone.

What happens to a dormant dream?
Does it hover in the sky?
Like a lost lariat?
What happens to a melted one?
Does it evaporate?
To condense when we sneeze?


Stewing along the road, she rushed to the mall.

Mera Kuch Samaan Tumhare Paas Pada Hai......

Mera Kuch Saamaan Tumhare Paas Pada Hai
Saavan Ke Kuch Bheege Bheege Din Rakhe Hain
Aur Mere Ik Khat Main Lipti Raat Padi Hai
Vo Raat Bhulaa Do, Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do
Mera Kuch Saamaan Tumhaare Paas Pada Hai

Patjhad Hai Kcuh ... Hai Na ?
Patjhas Main Kuch Patton Ke Girne Kee Aahat
Kaanon Main Ek Baar Pahan Ke Laut Aai Thee
Patajhad Kee Vo Saakh Abhi Tak Kaanp Rahi Hai
Vo Saakh Gira Do, Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do
Ek Akeli Chhataree Main Jab Aadhe Aadhe Bheeg Rahe The
Aadhe Sookhe Aadhe Geele, Sukha To Main Le Aaye Thee
Geela Man Shayad Bistar Ke Paas Pada Ho
Vo Bhijwa Do, Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do

Ek So Sola Chaand Ki Ratain Ek Tumhare Kaandhe Ka Til
Geeli Mahendi Ki Khushbu, Jhoot Mooth Ke Shikwe Kuch
Jhooth Mooth Ke Wade Sab Yaad Karaa Do
Sab Bhijwa Do, Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do

Ek Ijaazat De Do Bas, Jab Isako Dafanaaungee
Main Bhi Vaheen So Jaungee
Main Bhi Vaheen So Jaungee

Marjawaan

And This is how I bid you farewell…..

Mar jawaan, mar jawaan,
Tere ishq pe mar jawaan,
Mar jawaan, mar jawaan,
Tere ishq pe mar jawaan,
Bheege bheege sapno ka jaise khat hai,
Haii..
Geeli geeli chahat ki jaise lat hai,
Mar jawaan, mar jawaan,
Tere ishq pe mar jawaan,
Mar jawaan, mar jawaan,
Tere ishq pe mar jawaan…
Soche dil ki aisa kaash ho,
Tujhko ek nazar meri talash ho,
Jaise khwab hai ankhon mein basse meri,
Waise needon pe silvate pade teri,
Bheege bheege armaano ki rahad hai,
Haii
Geeli geeli khwahish bhi to behad hai,
Mar jawaan, mar jawaan,
Tere ishq pe mar jawaan,
Mar jawaan, mar jawaan,
Tere ishq pe mar jawaan..
mar jawaan..hoo…

With dreams in my eyes, I cast a spell on myself.. I am entangled in my own magic.. in my own created world…. and I walk off with a last clutch on straws......

A Tattered Man Again……

Ok It’s the Anna Hazare this time, stepping into the wooden sandals of The Mahatma. Coming after what must have been an age now, we at last have a light showing on our way. He is as much silent as Gandhi had been in his age, and as effective… Comparing him to Gandhi at this point of time can be dangerous, as there are still a few who fail to understand his strength. Well, if nothing else, they both have the strength to spue fires against injustice. I salute the spirit of Anna Hazare.

I don't know what I am going to write, but I am surrounded by Anna Hazare fumes, overwhelming me.. And I have to pen down something to share with you....

A man with no possessions at all, living in a temple, a solitary single life, and burdening himself for the good of public good… A selfless saintly affection for everyone he can think of as a sufferer. My words are actually falling short against this larger than life personality…The only thing we can do is, shoulder our own responsibility with him and Jump into the battle of anti-exploitation. There is too much power in this single man with a soul cast of iron.. and stuffed with sensitive heart with a fitting space for everyone in his country…

What I have been wondering as I left my work place was, is it not trivial that we should be so completely engrossed in minting money, and doing superfluous things which are going to do no good to humanity? Concerned about the appraisal much more than where we are being driven. It is more like people fighting for the last munches on a ship with its deck on fire. I really can’t see sanity in being circumscribed to the desk. I have been living a common life very religiously for past 1.5 years now. But my heart still sails off to find a better destination for my free spirit. Doing something outrageous to incite a thrill in my soul as much as in my body.

And what I am sure of is that with one call from this one entity, there will be unanimous echoes from my friends, not only in Delhi, but living all across India. I am sure of freaking in any peril that comes my way from the rotten politicians, their fetid rules, perfidious statements and attitudes which assault you with their stench.

Youth is verily enough to destroy him/her self to a whim. And if Hazare was actually to beckon us for action, it was to be our fate. We all would smilingly die a thousand times for this fatal attraction.

The Duce! A Jerk Just Stole The Moon

Like just another day
It was morning when I woke up
Just another mine day
Nigh Night just another mine day
The final countdown
Decode this lyrics " You'll see "
"Wonderful wonderful"
"Wonderful life"
"Time after time"
"Don't know much"
"Wonderful world"
"Just another day"
"What a wonderful world"
"Mama mia"
"Nobody told me"
"The Great Commandments"
"The Final Countdown"
"I can see clearly now"
"Moonraker"
"Live and let die"
"You only live twice"
"Diamonds are forever"

Is this is crazy, Or am I?

A vermilion sky
Sunrise or sunset?
Something blue in the offing
Is it sky or a sea?
An earth in my eye
an eye ball or a galaxy?
A plant grown to a green tree
Am I standing on a mountain or a platue
Which one is true?
A knack IN things?

A globe in demise?

Is this crazy, or am I?

When Nature Looses Rhythm….

Once there were these combating nations, impinging on each other’s territory for sole purpose of invasion and self aggrandizement. Things grew, and countries took up battalion wars on a global sphere with each other. Well, the human race is seeing a constant growth, learning new ways of disrupting the harmony. Human is such a stuck up creation of god, that it cannot learn things without a firsthand experience with death. Human brought it on against the nature with its ferocity and inclemencies. Is it really that easy to go through the nature as it cannot virtually take up arms against the human breed? Nature has its own colours, and it can show the rest of the shades, beyond the lush green.

Is not the nature’s coup evident with what happened in Japan?

Nature has its rage, and it also has more than subtle ways of expressing it, to catch us off guard. We have tried to command it with our technologies. And the nature has foiled our plans with its superior ways of platonic moments and sluicing water cutting across the boundaries drawn by us for the nature. And it will happen over and over again, across the countries and their achievements.

It was just last year when I travelled Kedar Tal, and the Ganga River was as invisible as it never existed. A project of damn constriction was up, for which the flow of water was ceased. It moved me inside profoundly to see it. The beautiful trail, with sky fathoming mountains, used to swing in the movement of the flow of River Ganga. And everything without that dynamism of stream had come to a standstill. The tall mountains appeared so scary and gothic. I wondered if there was any end to the voracious needs of human beings.

There is a rhythm in nature, which flows and speaks through symmetry. Starting from the anatomy of our body, where our breath is tuned with our feelings. We tend to breath heavy with a passion of rage, we breath slow when we are low inside. Even in the cliché of love, your other half tends to lose the heat of love, with our constant neglection. Nature has lost its rhythm with the constant atrocities it has been brought to.



Is not nature just too beautiful and adorable the way its is.......?

An Ode To Harry

I didn’t believe in a die hard friendship, with a note of thanks to my horrendous experiences with girls at least. So, I never had a true friend. But as I take a look back in life, I understand, I always made false choices. And its there that I can find a base for my no-friend attitude resting.

As I see my life moving today, I find that there is a constant spring absorbing stresses of my life. Someone, with whom I can talk out literally everything, pester her mercilessly at any hour (irrespective of day and night), and spend each day with her, constantly chatting though we have way different fields of work. I don’t have to have a topic to kick up a conversation. I don’t have to behave smart, and I can live in fullest freedom of thought and emotions, with a constant growth in me.

This little sprite has been with me through the college, and I am proud to own her friendship since what has been 6 good years. And I chance to cherish every day I spend laughing it out with her like raving mad! sharing more serious topics, ideas of freaking out on a wayward holiday, or just mocking someone who has something to do with our humour for the moment.

Well, her name ‘happens ‘to be Harmeet, though I prefer calling her Hariya, or Harry when decency so requires. She was always there with me in college, as the most important part of my life outside. And I was too stuck up to see that. Whenever I wanted a friend by my side, she was there, when I wanted a true friend and a seriously intelligent suggestion, I had it from her. She shouted at me 1000 time for being stupid, we fought, and still loved each other anyways. She is a very precious friend for me.. With her adorable killer messages, flamboyant attitude and a nose in air for everyone who deserves that.

Something I love about her is her bohemian laughter, which she manages to bring about when I could have done something to repent later (I am sure you got the import harry). And who can forget that ‘Yo Baby Yo” as she takes up a phone call!

And man she is so cool ….
A perfectly oxymoronic person
Decided views and a random life!
Beat that !

A perky little friend,
Jumping, capering and ideas broiling in her head,
There is a true friend in you harry.
Loads of love and an ode to your friendship …

Clandestine

Show me in the effacing effects,
Show me into the blank word.
Into the spaceless stretch of space.
I stand next to a mirror.
A reflexion of a mirage,
Faceless I look here.
Significance unconstrued.
Silence an inner shriek.
Melting the mirror,
Of a conceited glass.

A Weekend with Jane Eyre

To My Diary ….

It’s three in the night, and I am supposed to be sleeping like everyone else. No? But there is something about night, personal, close, intimidatingly intimate. There is something particularly close as I feel the touch of the lamp’s heat on my skin. The smell of the old book,.. and a tear rolls down my eye, following to the cheek, and the page swells as it absorbs it.
The characters who had been hidden under the pages of the book come alive at night, in full force and freedom. Under the lampshade of my room, from the fragrance of the old book and an older world, as Rochester walks away, he carries something of me with him… and as Jane cries, I feel the heart and the pain of loss…. And I never want the morning to break into my dream..

Glum....

Interrupted...

I am a flavoured writer.. I can live every crease of mood. What fascinates me is the ringing of words. Mystifying expressions with de-mystifying intentions. Would love to get every new morning, with words and expressions close to my heart. More livable in my life. And things which are symbol of my life. I would love to draw castles of ....

And my creative mood was interrupted by silly things .. :/

Murder in the Capacity of a Switchblade

When you murdered me
My blood was white.
My blood was bleached long back in childhood.
My spirit said no to any new colour.
And I survived colourless.

When you murdered me in the capacity of a switchblade
I didn’t shout. I was busy observing your gingerly efforts
You didn't know I had a white blood?
Till you aimed Forty one cuts in me
Did you?

It’s a long story that worked to bleach me white.
When you crushed me, I still smelt fragrance.
Which assaulted your nose in disdain.
I had dreams in my eyes,
And an urge to fly
To express dance
To caper in energies of bubbles of laughter.

I was celebrating silence when you came to blade me.
You tampered with my brain,
And managed to snap me in forty one attempts.
Blood sluiced out in white.
I remember your expression.
There was pain on your face,
And were grumbling something about your pain
And I smiled
And I had an independence waiting on me to beat about.

I have realized
You could never
touch me.
I could still smile…
And I can’t stop laughing
It took you forty one aims!
I was a tough nut to crack.

There are mysteries in me..
When you murdered me
My blood was white.
And your face was just as white..

Night Time Crash

It is a night time crash. I feel someone has just crashed in me. And I can not close my eyes...someone has just crashed in me. There are heights to be aimed, and a lot to be done.. and the flaring heat inside me, keeps my eyes wide open, as if tiredness, or sleep never touched me… there is something heavy on my eye lids. A stupor inside? I try to lull into sleep.. I slowly bring my eyes to a close... and in another accountable moment, I throw my eyes wide open. And something inside says.. you can’t sleep.

There is a sprite building up, and a tired body can not support it even by collecting all strength. A crash building up inside me…with a sense that time has left me behind...

A World Stranded between You and Me

Wish I cud run above the hills with open arms, wish I cud fly like a mountain bird. Wish I cud break the shackles and be free! Wish I cud breath the scent of the sun, wish I cud live like the wind, unfurling to touch everything. And nothing cud touch me.. cud I be beyond everything! Sometimes it is good to think beyond the boundaries of a rational mind... sometime it is so “me’ to dream so big, that Iam taken high! And look around with an inebriated eye.. Sometimes it is so good to live with tightly shut eyes. Many times it is beautiful, to live your own created life.. It is so precious to understand the mumble of a jumble. It is amazing to read between the lines...It is so nerve vibrating to run mad on a broad empty road, without a purpose and a meaning to behold, and cover a mile in a jump, and world be stranded between your reality and my reality...

Moonless Night

Why do I walk alone?
On a moonless night on a haunting stroll.
Time when even my shadow leaves me alone…
I have a red soul.

But now for a while,
My thoughts are not a fourth street whore
Sold cheap,
to an idea,
that I can’t behold

But now for a while,
I have a brain.
Not a transmuted skull,
a storage for all that goes.

Prowling away from the clemencies of the day?
Of a scalding sun
Of the sharp beams of sunny rays?
An insurgence of chemical views
and mechanical thoughts

A shadowless self.
But a better unpossessed body
A red soul
Speaks of life for me.

From the Backyards of the Memory

Years of dreams kept these greens fresh in me. An unhinging end of the world, among the deep dark forests, with an ancient temple in the middle, whose walls I can’t say were like chiseled stone. Rather the walls were the mud, baked by the time. A pure dream, that often woke me amidst the night, with a soft, breezy cool face, lost in the mesmerizing moment. It clouded my brain against anything that would pass me through the day. Casting a reverie. The boundaries of reality somewhere melted away, left to live with the flakes of this life on the edge of the world, without any physical presence.

It was morning when we had reached this unknown corner of the Himalayas, lost among the steeps of the hills. We had to park the car above the hill, and sway down on a narrow pathway. With a several foot deep trench on one side, and an overwhelming hill on the other, nature was more silent than I had ever experienced. We reached the high hills, walking among the trees. The powerful silence, the intensity of purity, was it only me experiencing it?

I held my mamma’s hand, pressing gently, and said “ I know this place mamma. I have been visiting it… I have been coming here since.. I don’t know when. … You remember, I have been telling you of the temple I have been dreaming of?”
Mummy was dumbstruck as she saw me, and it would not be till we came back to Delhi, that she would tell me, that there was something in me, through all the three days we were there. I was beautiful. More beautiful than she could ever express. With glassy, watery eyes seeing something too subtle. And my dad & sister would repeat that every time we would talk about the place. Stealing frequent glances at me.
And it was then, that I started reminiscing, of what I knew of the place. And the newness it had adopted, as the world turn outside, from the inner, comfortable world. A new world, that included a new me….

Sun dawned at 4. And soon it was a full moon night, with rising din of the forest filling the atmosphere. AT 7:30, it was a deep awake night, so intense that it could have been past midnight. Bathed in the sliver light, I was standing in the middle of the forest; in the premises of that old temple… a sense of endless wait engulfed me. The surmounting pine trees brought an uncanny feel of being related to them since what seemed an eternity. And the clouds of my dreams condensed to materialize tangibly. Mixing with the melted reality. Was I living a dream? Or dreaming a reality? Was I reliving the past life? A life that my flesh could never relate to…

There was me, full of aspirations and sprite for life.. and there was my silent ‘self’ of a past life, with a soul more vocal than my words in this life can ever be… I existed in the calmness of a life, balanced, and stuck between the love for the din of DJ parties and silence of my ‘self’. The pushes of my contemporary life, and the pulls of my past life met where I existed completing me…pulling me apart...which road should I take? The one bustling with humanity, or the quiet, lonely lane that will lead me to my cradle? Or am I destined to live a double life, to somehow find a balance between my twin selves?

This story is a part of Fire Freeze contest. You can post your story too, if you can see and give expression to what you feel and see as the chemical opposites existing in you. This competition is sparked off by Close Up.

If you really like my story, then please comment on it, and vote for me here.

Breaking Through

Might you try to push me in History,
With your thumping attacks.
Might you try to subdue my solo singing,
with your ear cracking harangue.
I shall answer you, with your due.
I shall counter and combat you.

Are you trying to dissever me?
Break me apart?
To get the flux of blood, through my heart?
Do you want to see me weak?
And crying on my feet?
I shall laugh at you!
And dance on the solemn tune, of the duce!

I am the stubble,
You can not uproot.
I am the air,
You can not pollute.
And if you dare,
I shall get into your lungs,
Miserably you will be flunked.

I am the blessing,
I can be a curse.
You want to see me averse?

I am not a flesh amongst scavengers.
I won’t be a victim of fanatic blunders.

I have a force of youth,
Bulging up in me.
Once unleashed,
You will not be able to trace your feet.
Your tools shall dither,
Your existence shall wither!

You Will Miss Me, Finding Me Walking Alone

I will wait, till you sing me far to the gale.
I am not yours, cz you can’t claim.
There are feelings that are lost in life’s hail
Yes you will miss me again.

Waiting for the phone to blink for you
Waiting for the call to call upon you.
When there will be no other way out of the day
You will sing to yourself
‘Come come to me again’
To find me no where around you
You will remember my tears gone in vain...
You will miss me for once to be by your side
Just once, just for once again.

There will be nights without me, to serve you with pain
To feel what i feel, when you leave me, that you are not game.
There will be times, when you will feel this severe pain.
Wait on me never to come again.
With my dreamy eyes to
find you love and a world for you again....
I promise you, you will miss me and I will not be there to sooth your pain.
And who knows, never to see me again.