CYCLONE

I woke up today,

And I was in a different bay;

I had forgotten and before I could say,

They locked me up so I don’t stray.

I used to write poems and proses

With a depth meaning and 

In the different genres;

I still don’t give a fuck;

Even when the views are meagre,

At times I do see the cyclone;

That creates a clone,

Who watches the devil,

That hangs his shadow as a veil.

I don’t know how to steal the key;

At a moment when he cannot see.

It seems he wants my soul as a fee.

But the moment I open the lock;

I will be getting free.

The only thing I know, 

I know that you don't know how;

To please everybody all the times,

Cause everybody fucking changing their minds.

A little bit faded, a little bit jaded.

Don't want to stop, won't be persuaded.

To write perceptions I can't believe in;

Written 250 poems and 50 quotes, only 650 likes,

6010 impressions have passed through these retinas;

And every single day I wish this number just increases.

The dying old hopes are just growing my new fears.

Don't know where I'm going, but I know how I got here,

I don't know where I'm running but I know how to run;

Cause, running's the only thing I've always done,

I don't know what I'm doing but I remember what I've done

I have a hungry soul, I'm a loaded clone.

THE PLIGHT

I saw her in the supermarket yesterday. 

She was with her son. 

The time froze and 

I couldn't decide whether to say hi or to run. 

I was numb. 

My eye lids refused to shut. 

I was feeding of the sight. 

The blood just evaporated from my body.

The brain was captivated in the plight,

And my heart. 

My agile heart slowed down and skipped the beats. 

I could feel the life being sucked out of me. 

Hair tied up and held with a clutcher,

she looked just the same to me. 

The shining silver hair were silky as ever. 

I just wished if I could have her forever. 

My feet just refused to listen to my brain. 

Suddenly my heart started beating like a train. 

I could feel my throat dry and palms colder. 

Her son looked at me; 

as I was about to tap on her shoulder

he said, "papa could you hold on to mom until I settle the bill."

A CUP OF MEMORIES

Waking up to that first cup of tea

Served in the bed. 

Quite evident was the glee

From the cheeks that were almost red,

on that cold morning in the winter. 

Thousands of stories shared 

Over the cup of tea 

Which was mostly paired

With those home baked cookies. 

I still remember how you used to run

To check on the boiling tea. 

I'd laugh at it every-time

The sight I'd get to see. 

Now I don't see you running for the boiling tea. 

Either you've figured out a trick or

Will I finally hear you say,

"It seems, age has finally caught with me"

But today on my death bed, 

I want to thank you for 

every cup of tea you made;

I don't think that your debt could ever be paid. 

Your selfless love that you shared 

With me,

Is this long journey that was possible 

only because of these countless cups of tea. 

INVISIBLE SHACKLES

Don't do that instead do this. 

You won't believe if I'd tell you,

I was handed a schedule which said 

when to eat and when to piss. 

Frankly speaking my life was a dark abyss.  

Spent all the important years of my life

Searching for that one ray of light. 

Waiting for my turn to take the flight. 

The darkness no longer creeps the fright,

In my hollow soul. 

Which never had a purpose. 

Doubt and hopelessness was fed 

As it was in surplus. 

The shackles are hard to break 

when invisible. 

I can't comment on the fact if I was

capable. 

One day when the sun did shine bright

I saw a faint ray of light 

Make its way from a crack. 

I was curious, so I followed its track. 

It is not that I had options to choose,

I didn't seem to have as much to loose. 

I dig deep all day all night. 

Until I had the opening in sight. 

I was exhausted to such an extent

That the shackles started to bend. 

The feeling was so warm that 

it helped evaporate my qualm. 

I was free and hopeful all over again,

I was finally rid of all my pain. 

Now when I sit alone at night

and wonder. 

I am not afraid of the darkness or thunder. 

Maybe it was necessary for me to experience pain. 

So that I can be grateful of my gain. 

It sure wasn't a strain 

when I look back now.

FEATHER ON THE CLYDE

Last year,

In this time of the month 

A body washed up on this beach. 

It was a middle aged male 

dressed in a business attire. 

He was alive but unconscious,

He was shot on the leg and I was suspicious. 

His hair were golden and eyes were green. 

Had a familiar face, I thought I had seen,

either in the news or in some magazine. 

I with the help of tommy and drake

pulled him out and took him to our shack,

got him into some dry clothes and kept aside his wet. 

In the mean while Charles brought the vet. 

The vet finished his diagnosis and ordered for some medicines. 

In the mean time I prayed for all his sins and went for dinner. 

After a couple of days the man finally woke up. 

He enquired about the place where he was put up. 

When he discovered that he was safe. 

He asked for his clothes and a small case. 

He told me all about his story, that he was a spy and how got shot and his life of glory. 

He said that he is done with that life of his. 

He said never goes by a day where he doesn't miss. 

Miss, the simple pleasures of life. 

A life with his children and his beautiful wife. 

He started a new life and started fishing with us. 

Later married Judith and finally had a wife. 

By the end of fall, the the vet received a call,

It was Judith, she delivered a baby gal. 

Just when Florence was a month old. 

He had a feast in his house. He thanked me for saving him and this new blessed life. 

Next day a few men in the same business attire came looking for him. 

They said they came looking for a spy. 

They threatened to burn the village if we tried to lie. 

They caught hold of him and shot him right between the eyes. 

And left him there to die. 

It is your dad little Florence I am talking about. 

He was a brave man and it is because 

of him that we all are alive. 

MERCILESS

The debt needs to be cleared;

I am going insane,

and to regain my sanity I need beer. 

But I have quit. 

Yet every bit;

Of my body is craving for countless sips. 

I am tired of these untimely kips,

I wanna sleep a good night sleep;

But every time I try I trip

Trip over these responsibilities that are haunting and stinkingly daunting. 

I am supposed to get married at 27

The priest said so,

It is not him but the stars have communicated this

From the heaven,

To whom we pray. 

I need to buy a house

And then a car too.

This burns a hole in my core. 

I am sore 

With no one to take care. 

No one warned me that life was going to be so unfair. 

One girl whom I fell in love with madly. 

I broke her heart, badly. 

I too was broken and shattered. 

But I couldn't reflect hence catered

to the needs of everyone. 

But 

Now I am fucking done. 

Every-time I close my eyes

I find myself screeching to be freed 

of these shackles invisible to the human cornea. 

I want my bloody narnia. 

I keep banging my fists against this wall. 

My knuckles are bleeding, I want to crawl

my way out somehow. 

This dungeon keeps getting darker and darker everyday. 

It is turning into a pit.

A pit that is bottomless. 

And I keep falling deeper and deeper 

And my loved ones are just a mere audience that is

Merciless and hopeless and clueless.

THE FINAL FLIGHT

I was bought and 

brought to entertain.

No, they could not understand my pain. 

You see that

We don't speak the same tongue. 

I'd sight the sky 
from where I was strung.

I was fed 

when they felt I would be hungry.

They would give me leftover or sundry.  

I used to cry loud and 

flutter around in this cage.  

They would think I am trying to mock up a stage. 

Sometimes my fellow comrades would come and 

empathise with me. 

But as the footsteps approach they would fly and 

hide away in the tree. 

I guess they didn't want to be prisoned. 

I had company for a little while.

A fluffy beast with paws 

would swing by sometimes. 

By now I had no strength left to entertain

I assume that my throat didn't listen to my brain. 

I would pass out in the middle of the noon. 

I understood that I am gonna get freed soon. 

Freed of this cage. 

One fine day my human left the door unlocked. 

I was so weak that I couldn't escape. 

The fluffy beast sat there and 

mocked me on being powerless. 

I gathered all my strength and tried to take the flight. 

But too my plight I hit the door and fell. 

The beast saw this opportunity and 

freed me from the living hell.

FACTUAL OR FICTION

Last January I went to Jaipur,

The pink city as they say. 

In the stories of the Maharaja's

I almost found my way. 

The stories had a lot of fights. 

Some at home and some in distant sites. 

But the climax of each story 

had twists and plight. 

The Palaces were big and long,

As I entered through the monstrous gate

I heard a gypsy from a distance, singing 

some local song. 

Beyond these infinitely long walls

There were few who took calls

For all the people of the state. 

It would not be wrong to say that

The King decided their fate. 

The King had many queens 

and was mostly busy fighting. 

The wars that were mostly

necessary and frightening. 

The king defeated all and 

protected his kingdom. 

But took notice 

of his own family seldom. 

The throne would go to the eldest son. 

But the third queen would not listen. 

She wanted her son to be the king. 

So that his legend is what the gypsy's would sing. 

She plotted against her own family

but fortunately for the kingdom

Her plans failed in tandem. 

Her motive was no longer a secret

her allegations grew stronger

and plans became direct. 

The King was surprised to discover

her true intentions. 

He started to notice her in regular

Interventions. 

She was finally confessed to her crimes

When she was questioned. 

She stabbed herself multiple times

When she saw herself positioned

next to the guards. 

Now all that is left of her 

Is the story as a stern reminder. 

Not as a legend but

Insults that the gypsies hurl. 

I Killed God - Chapter 1

“This is how things run in Sehjo Majra, get this into your fucking head you bastard. Otherwise, you will not have a head for sure. Now give me all the money you have and dare you speak to anyone about this incident.” As Mungerilal turns towards the safe to take out the piles of cash and the gold jewellery, that he has accumulated by forging the bahi khatas financials, a shadow appeared in the back. The very next moment Mungerilal turns towards the dacoit and to his surprise he saw him lying unconscious on the floor with his hands tied to his feet. Making sure that the dacoit doesn’t run away after regaining consciousness. Mungerilal safely kept all the money and gold in the safe and checked the lock three times before running out to the daroga’s office to lodge a complaint. 

Sehjo Majra is a small village in the outskirts of Punjab. This village is a no man’s land. During partition many refugees found a new home in Sehjo Majra. That is one of the reason there is mixed population in this village. All the villagers live very peacefully until recent times. Since the recent terrorist attacks. The ties were linked backwards to Sehjo Majra somehow. Though there is a Sehjo Majra in Pakistan as well. Somehow the Indian media houses assumed the clueless Sehjo Majra in a distant part of Punjab had anything to do with sheltering terrorists. This news brought Sehjo Majra in the sight of many and obviously not for the good reason. Soon a police station was built in the village with Sardar Shamsher Singh appointed as the daroga. 

Shamsher Singh was from the same village and knew almost everyone. He was the son of a refugee but that was not know to the outer world. It was a secret of Sehjo Majra. Later, on in 5th page the one of the leading newspapers it was clarified that the Sehjo Majra that was under interrogation was the one that is in Pakistan. The clarification went unnoticed by almost everyone. But for the people of Sehjo Majra the construction of the Police Station was a moment of pride. For the first time in their entire lives that felt important. 

The sarpanch even announced his full support for the ruling party under any circumstances. However, little did they know they need voter id cards for casting their votes. The Sarpanch of the village Sadik Kamal was a very humble and generous human being. The word in the village was that anyone who has ever asked him for his help has never been refused. Hence the decision of making him the Sarpanch was unanimous. Mungerilal was never happy with this decision, but had to nod his head for Sadik Kamal as the entire village was in Kamal’s favour.

Mungerilal reached the police station crying loudly about being looted by the dacoit. He was asked to sit and the constable got him a glass of water, so he could calm down. He finished the glass and continued to cry. Then after a couple of minutes he calmed himself down and told the daroga that he was looted by the dacoits. Money and gold jewellery was stolen from the house. There were three dacoits, two of them ran away but he was able to capture one of them. Shamsher Singh ran towards Mungerilal’s house along with 2 constables. Upon reaching the house he saw the dacoit lying on the ground with his hands and legs tied. Then he inspected the safe and asked Mungerilal that how did the dacoits manage to steal money and jewellery when the safe is locked. To which Mungerilal fumbled to answer the question. Finally he said that he locked it before leaving for the station. Shamsher was suspicious about the story Mungerilal told but he had not proof.

He asked the constables to carry the dacoit and to take him to station while he would make his notes post further inspection. Mungerilal didn’t utter a word about the shadow or how the dacoit was tied. He kept mum about it. Shamsher left for the police station as he could not find any clue.

After the departure of the police Mungerilal opened his safe counted the money once again and closed the safe. As he was heading towards his room. Someone knocked at the door. As he opened the door he was surprised to see Lord Krishna at his door step. His eyes and mouth wide open. He could not believe that God has actually come to his house.

Just A Lame Story

It was a stormy morning, it has been continuously pouring since last night, the cleaning lady Sarita mentioned it to Mrs. Ranjha while she was wiping the floor. “The weather will remain the same for the next couple of days,” said the voice on the television. The forecast was being aired not the news channel and Mr. Ranjha was eagerly waiting for the daily horoscope which should follow once the weather forecast was over. Listening to the horoscope was one of their daily chores. 15 minutes of uninterrupted glance into the future of the family members which included their two sons Ahaan and Jahaan. The names were decided by the parents. Ahaan was named by her mother and Jahaan by her father. Apparently it was part of the deal between the parents that if the first child is a boy then the mother gets to name him and then the second child would be named by the other parent.

It was lazy Saturday somewhat because of the rain. Mr. Ranjha was in a jolly mood as the horoscope for the day was great for everyone. Their sons were not up yet. They had a cricket match in the society that was washed. The human alarm clock of the house (their mother) was instructed by the children about the match. Suddenly Mrs. Ranjha hears a cry “mom, you were supposed to wake us up.” She moves in the drawing room where she finds Jahaan rubbing her eyes and crying that he was not woken up for the important cricket match which was scheduled for sharp 7am. The time on the clock showed 9:45 am. Once Jahan stopped rubbing his eyes Mrs. Ranjha pointed at the window. Jahaan looked outside the window and saw that it was raining. He turned towards the tv and sat on the sofa and everyone went back to their daily chores. Soon followed Ahaan into the drawing room and placed himself on the sofa and switched the channel to cartoon network. The Jetsons were being aired. Ahaan was fond of cartoons. He would never miss a chance to watch the cartoon network.

Mother went back to the kitchen. Sarita was done with the wiping and went in the kitchen to help with the dishes. “1402 ki memsaab ke gardan par fir se mar ka nishaan tha," Sarita said The lady in House No. 1402 had a bruise on her neck. Sarita Said. This caught the attention of Mrs. Ranjha. She stated kya fir se nishan tha aaj? She stated so there was a bruise again? Kitne dhum dham se shadi hui thi. Han memsaab maine suna hai sahab ka bahar kisi aur aurat ke sath chakkar chal rha hai. She was married with so much joy and happiness. Yes madam I have heard that her husband is has a mistress.

Just when the conversation was about become interesting, Mr. Ranjha’s  voice interrupted the conversation. He was asking for a cup of coffee. Following that were the kids asking for breakfast. Once the coffee and breakfast was served, everyone went back to their respective rooms. It was half past noon when the bell rang. The rain had stopped and a cool breeze was gushing through windows, pushing the curtains on its way in the room. Mrs. Ranjha went to answer the door. It was the postman. He had come deliver a letter.

Mrs. Ranjha collect the letter and came back in to her room. The kids were not in the house they had gone to the park to play soccer. Mr Ranjha received a call. His voice rose in concern. He got up from the bed and asked his wife to follow him till the park.

Police had arrived at the scene. There were too many people covering the area. Mr. and Mrs. Ranjha arrived at the scene. They were not being let in the scene but were cleared after some resistance. They were shocked and taken aback with the amount of blood spatter in the area. Mrs. Ranjha started crying while Mr. Ranjha was trying to hold himself together and at the same time had to hold onto his wife as well. Ahaan was being questioned and Jahaan was no where to be seen. Ahaan was crying, when he looked at her mother, he ran and hugged her tightly. The police came upto Mr. Ranjha and explained the whole incident. There was an ambulance parked at the corner of the road. Ahaan pointed towards the ambulance when his mother enquired about Jahaan. her heart sank. They all rushed towards the ambulance. There was a white bandage around his right elbow and left knee. He had a scratch on his forehead and arms. 

The kids were playing cricket while Jahaan was busy playing with a puppy near the park. Suddenly the puppy ran towards the road and was about to get hit by a car. Jahaan tried to save him. He could not reach in time. By the time he reached he managed to get hit by the same car and fell on the ground. The traffic police came rushing at the scene and fortunately an ambulance was passing by that was stopped by the crowd. “I could not save him," said Jahaan. His mother was crying and started thanking the gods once she saw that her son was unharmed. Mr. Ranjha scolded Ahaan stating that he is supposed to take care of his younger brother. I was playing and did not know when ran after the stupid dog said Ahaan in his defence. to which Jahaan said don't call him stupid. He has dead now. I was just trying to save him. The puppy was hit and died on the spot.

The lines in Italic are English translation for the dialogue in Hindi.

Prejudice or Patriotism

We were born slaves.

Enslaved by the rulers for ages,

soon after stepping out of the caves.

There were kingdoms all around,

there were rules that had us bound.

We obeyed all their orders, 

even if it meant killing brothers across borders.

It started with the Maurya dynasty and

continued till Brits left ghastly.

The nation was torn apart and

was forced to restart.

We were fooled in the name of freedom,

standing in its way would not be less than treason.

We are still the same herd,

controlled by the wolves and overlooked by a bird.

It was carried out in the name of democracy.

Not known to many but, it sounded classy.

In reality, it was nothing less than aristocracy.

Few were moral but, to many it was debauchery.

The scene today has completely changed,

the prey picks the predator,

the one that is not in close range.

Just trying to delay its own death.

The hero continues to martyr, as they obey the order.

Today they are killed within their own border.

The nation that once was home to communal harmony,

is now divided, scattered and lost in the religious cacophony.

Our mothers, sisters and daughters are appalled,

knowing that they are considered as meat and 

the names that they are called.

The belief is pruned and doubt is rooted.

The yin is garnered and yang is uprooted.

But somewhere there is a frail thread of hope,

the thread that once was as strong as a rope.

That the chivalry in the people will transcend,

and lead us, to put an end. 

We will catch hold the wolves and the bird,

tame them and no longer be slurred.

It is not prejudice that runs in our blood,

Patriotism it is and we announce it with a thud.