Tuesday, August 14, 2007


A friend of mine, wrote a poem called Stripped. I modelled this one on the same lines as her.
You can check out the original here.

Stripping my masks off,
slowly, painfully.
The destruction left me,
vulnerable completely.

Now I stand naked,
before the window, dark.
Raping fingers of the wind,
leave me searched and stark.

I call upon you,
to gather strength and reach out.
Hold my trembling self,
and leave me without a doubt.

Defenceless, I am strong.
I know, I will withstand the shame.
So strip off your masks and come,
and let me see the one, behind your name.


Saturday, April 07, 2007

Weapons of Ice Destruction

Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, position, country, whatsoever is completely co-incidental and totally non-intentional. :)

Weapons of Ice Destruction

"Mr Bosh, Mr Bosh", gasps lil Ms Vice.
"There are some new developments,
and I'm sure you'd find them nice."

"Uh huh", says Bubya-man waking up.
"Why do you have to always disturb me?
Candi, why cant you just shut up?"

"But Mr Bosh, Mr Bosh, it's worth the toil.
You know our scientists working in Antarctica.
There they say, there's lots of oil."

"WHAT", he screams, getting up with a start.
"How come none of you told me this before.
We can't relax guys, we have to get there fast."

"But Mr Bosh, Mr Bosh, we might have to wait till a little late.
Some stupid environment protocol, entered in 1998.
Bans all exploitation on the country, till the year 2048."

"Are you kind of stupid? My secretary of state.
What kind of a protocol protects Antarctica?
I tell you, let's bomb her, before it's too late."

"But my dear Georgie, we dont have an excuse.
Antarctica is not owned by anyone.
So what kind of a strategy do we use?"

"You are an idiot, my darling Candi honey.
Go get my pupeteer, my man in distress.
You know him, the smirking Duck Kheney."

So off to get Kheney, goes lil Ms Vice.
While Bubya-man sits at his desk.
Pondering how to break the Antarctican ice.

"Georgie Porgie, pickle and pie.
The great face-shooter is here,
to wave your worries good bye."

"Welcome my Duck, thanks for coming.
We need to get this oil, you know."
Says Bubya-man, his mouth drooling.

"Patience my Georgie", says Kheney with his smirk.
"This protocol et all, is nothing.
But just a dumb political quirk."

He continues, "Come to me, My Porgie dear."
"Let me give you a little kiss.
And whisper my mastermind plan in your ear."

"Wow", says Bubya-man, "that sure is a plan."
"Lets present our new target to the You-En assembly.
And also tell them to forget all about E-ran."

So on to the assembly, goes the happy threesome.
Bubya-man addresses, "I have a plan for you ladies and gents."
"I'm sure it'll be loved by all, and disliked by none."

"I am a war president", says the commander in chief.
"There is a problem on our hands, my friends and allies.
And make no mistake, it's no small beef."

"There's a hostile reqime in the great southern ice.
Run by an Emperor, who calls himself, Penquin Bin Boosein.
He is a vicious, violent animal, and not at all nice."

"We must stop him at all costs, or we'd be killed."
"Psst", whispers Kheney in his ears. "Dont get carried away."
"And dont you dare mention the oil to be drilled."

Bubya-man continues, "He has WEAPONS OF ICE DESTRUCTION."
"Our intelligence says, he plans to use them on all of us.
To him, we are nothing but a minor obstruction."

"They bombarded us with snow and ice, this Christmas.
And left our citizens shivering and scared with cold.
You know what, they didnt even spare my armoured bus."

"I tell you, he's the biggest cog in the terror nexus.
And we need to stop this no matter what.
So you are; either with us, or against us."

The trio gets the vote and off they merrily go.
To ready up their armed forces and marines.
With only one agenda on everyones mind, "Blow Antarctica Blow"

"Operation Rock and Pow has commenced, dear world."
Report all the news channels and papers.
"Very soon on Antarctican soil, our flag will be unfurled."

The soldiers of the regime, with their stupid little beaks.
Proved no match for the mighty superpower.
The "Mission Accomplished" in just about two weeks.

Thousands of the regimes soldiers & civilians were killed, the rest just wobbled.
Who ever remained, were brought together for a photo shoot.
Where the world saw them cheering, Penguin Bin Boosein's statue being toppled.

The Emperor was finally located, hiding in a hole.
He was brought before a court and proclaimed guilty.
And they hanged him publicly, for his destructive role.

Now the superpower rules the great ice shelf.
It gives small oil cuts to all its allies and friends.
Who, in times of crisis, extended their help.

The trio are now drinking champagne, in the black armoured bus.
"Know what? There are no weapons of destruction anywhere."
Bubya-man sniggers, "Except of course. Those that belong to Us."


Sunday, April 01, 2007

The Loser Syndrome

Self explanatory, I guess. :)

PS: This was written on "All Fools Day", somehow I feel it's ironic, yet appropriate.

The Loser Syndrome

11 players, 11000 endorsements.
Where's the time to play,
with all these advertisements?

1 alien coach, who's more of a dimwit.
When he's done with politics,
he'll make time for some crickit..

1 puppet captain, who yearns to be the nice guy.
Strategy and leadership is a big zero,
which was proved when the team got the bye bye.

1 effiminate master blaster, who plays for the statistic.
When he isn't evading taxes and getting ducks,
he realises that the critics are going ballistic.

1 bald 26 yr old, who's obviously hid his age.
Doing nothing for the past 3 yrs,
has gotten him the public's rage.

1 angry big brother, who was earlier evicted badly.
Somehow worked himself back in the team,
but would rather see the management suffer gladly.

2 upcoming stars, who are more popular for their hair and looks.
They both know, that the spectators are fickle.
One good innings, is enough to get back in the good books.

The rest of the team are obviously the tail.
Singing songs in the dressing room is all they can do,
when they see the rest of their peers fail.

Such is the state of a great cricket team.
Who rode up on the hopes of a billion,
and at the moment of reckoning, they shattered everyones dream.


Thursday, March 29, 2007

Equus Asinus

I guess, my creativity has started rolling. Another 5 minute poem. :)
Equus Asinus

A long time ago, there was a young and bonny lass.
She had a little pony, who didn't want to eat grass.

She loved it a lot, and thought it was god-sent.
The best thing in the world for her,
she rode it everywhere she went.

But she was always perplexed over something.
Because, everyone laughed at her pony,
and called it, "that stupid thing".

So she went to a wise man, and asked for his advice.
He was a kind man, and for her, he said, he'd waive the price.

He asked, "What is it that troubles you? My pretty little lass."
She said, "People laugh at me, whenever they see me pass",
"And my pony here, he doesn't want to eat grass".

He looked at the pony after putting on his eye-glass.
Then, gave a little laugh and stated, "Well my bonny lass".
"You've been fooled. Because this is not a pony. It's just a dumb ass."


PS: Equus Asinus


Touch & Go

After a long hiatus, I've decided to come back and write something. This just came in 5 minutes, so it might feel slap-dash, though it's not intended to be so.
Touch & Go

Why did you love me so?
If you wanted to leave me and go.

We had a great thing, for you, not to throw.
I always thought, we would be together and grow.

The Gods must be weeping, when they look down below.
And see us using different paths to flow.

A lovely pairing, but it didnt last for long though.
Why was I the one, you decided to leave alone in woe?

I realised, not once did you let your feelings show.
Even when you said you loved me, you never really did so.

You never really did so.


Sunday, October 23, 2005

LV words

The Snail told me about the 55 word story. An entire story has to be written in just 55 words, no more, no less. Here is my attempt...

Ω - Omega

She was waiting there for me with her arms outstretched. The moment that I had been waiting for had finally come. My past was behind me and I had a great new future with her. As I stepped off the ledge without looking back even once, I knew I was finally with my Lady Death.


α - Alpha

I didn’t even remember who I was. I was wet, covered with blood and naked. As I felt myself lifted by the strong blurred man in white, I realized I couldn’t breathe. All the questions ringing in my head were answered when he hit me hard causing me to cry out loud, proclaiming my birth.


Wednesday, April 13, 2005

The Other

An attempt at writing a short story...

The Other

He was alone.

Sitting there under the stars, he realized how alone he felt. No, not even the night breeze would be with him that moment. Not even an insect or a mosquito or an ant dared disturb him as he sat there on the rocky, river bed at midnight. The river was long dried up as it had been a long, hot summer and whatever pools of water remained were stagnant and reeked of rotting fish. However, he was unperturbed. Nothing bothered him now. Nothing would bother him for a long time. Not after what he had just done.

This was bound to happen; the day was bound to come. He had warned about it for a long time. But they wouldn’t listen. Now pay, you bastards. And pay they did, heavily. With their blood and bones. Every last one of them.

He could still hear their cries stinging his ears like an army of ants on a vengeance, when you stepped on their hill, biting into your flesh, trying to get even with you for trampling them. He tried shutting his ears but to no avail. That was one thing that perturbed him. No, not just perturbed him, but disturbed him, scared the living daylights out of him. Those petulant cries, those whining pleas as they begged for mercy. He couldn’t stand that noise. It was overpowering him. Though they were dead for the better part of an hour, he could still feel their guttural moans washing over his mind like a thick sea of blood. And no matter what he did, it just wouldn’t go away.

That was when he realized he was no longer feeling alone. That monster that had taken over him was suddenly aware of a small gleam of consciousness starting to come to life. It was time to say goodbye and run away to those dark realms of horror where the monster lay resting till it was time to come back. Back for blood. The light of awareness was slowly increasing its glare. The monster knew he had to leave right now. He had done his work. The deed for which he was born. The birth-right had been claimed and HE was pleased with his handiwork.

Now if only, all the days were like today. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Every night, a new kill. And not every night you got to kill small children as they slept in their teeny-weeny flowery cots, sucking on their thumbs, clutching to their dolls. Yes, he was really pleased with his good deed for the day. And now it was time to rest and let the other deal with the rest of it. Pity he would miss this part. How he longed to see this phase. When the other realizes what has been done. Now, that would be a sight wouldn’t it. His mind jumped like a gleeful little boy jumping in the first puddles of the rains. But no, “Be patient”, he warned. There would be time for that later. But now, he had to get back.

The light at the top of his head was gradually becoming brighter and brighter. He hated it. Boy, how much he wished it would be dark always. Dark like it had been for the last few hours. Dark like his wretched lair at the depths of his mind, where he had spent most of the time, lying hungry, waiting to come out and sate in the glory of death. His time was running out fast, the light was now brighter. He fleetingly remembered what he had done and silently chuckled to himself. Yes, that was good work.

That would suffice for some time. It was a hard day’s (night’s) work. And he longed for the rest that he so richly deserved. Yes, he would rest now, for some time at-least. Until it was time to come out again. He saw the lair opening, dark and cold, beckoning him with open arms into its evil clutches. That was his sanctum, his place of rest and recuperation, the place where he hid and regained his strength. He realized he was getting stronger every time. He also realized the time spent outside the lair was also increasing with every outing. That was a good sign. Some day would definitely come when he wouldn’t have to go back in the cold dark lair, ever. He would forever be out, doing what he most pleased to do. Doing, what he was born to do. Yes, that day would come. That day, when he would finally be free. Yes, it would.

But now, it was time to go back. So that’s what he did. He slowly entered the lair and closed its opening as the glaring light finally took hold of the stupid other, waking it up. But he was safe and it was time to sleep. A deep, refreshing, restful sleep.

RJ woke up. It was slow at first, a gradual rousing. His eyes were still closed but he could sense that dull throbbing pain in his head. Yes, that pain that always came to him whenever he woke up from those black-outs. He had been having them since childhood. Not frequent, but yes they did happen sometime. Maybe once every few years. His mother used to say, it was nothing to worry, it was just a fainting spell. He believed her. But there had been times he had been really scared after waking up from these blackouts.

Especially the time, when he woke up at dusk, in the dried river bed next to his home, and had seen Tibby, his pet cat lying cut open in front of him. His hands had been covered with blood, and there was daddy’s razor lying nearby. That too, covered in blood. Tibby’s blood. He was 12 at that time and Tibby had been his pet cat for almost 2 years. But now it was no more. He didn’t know what had happened, but he was not going to let anyone know about it. Not his parents surely. They might send him off somewhere. Somewhere far. So scared out of his wits, RJ had hurriedly buried the remains of Tibby in some hole he dug up next to the river bank, and washed off his blood drenched hands in the small pools of water, which were the last remnants of the river during that long hot summer. He had also cleaned off daddy’s razor and put it in his pocket, reminding himself to keep it on daddy’s bathroom shelf (He couldn’t throw it away as daddy would realize it was gone.) and slowly walked home, shaking like a leaf.

Luckily his parents hadn’t noticed his absence and he replaced the razor back where it was and went off to bed telling his mother that he wasn’t feeling too well. He didn’t want his dinner, he just wanted to sleep. No one bothered him that night and though the next day they noticed that Tibby was nowhere to be seen, they never questioned him about it. “It was, after all a cat.”, his daddy said, “They sometimes leave you. Tibby too must have gone off somewhere, somewhere exploring.” But RJ knew, the only exploring Tibby was doing, was in the small hole were he had left him for the ants and other creatures of the soil. And that was the end of it. The black-outs never happened after that. Maybe RJ’s shock at what he had done to Tibby stopped them and they never came. He soon forgot about them. And his parents did too. And Tibby never came back.

RJ grew up. Fell in love. Got married. Had kids, two lovely little twin daughters, who looked just like their momma. His father had died and mother had been sent to the old peoples’ home, where she would be taken care of. RJ and his wife and his 2 year old twins still lived in his parents’ old house and he did the same thing his father used to do. Farming his ancestral stretch of land. And his wife did the same thing his mother used to do. Look after the house and kids.

It was the same life that his parents had lived. And their parents had lived before them and so on. Yes, it was the same life, but this one, the one that he was living, was decidedly different from anyone else’s, he realized right now. Right now, as he woke up with that dull throbbing pain. Still sitting with closed eyes, he understood that he had had one of those blackouts.

Those damn blackouts, that he thought had gone for good, had suddenly crept from behind him and returned with startling dismay. All those memories of that fateful summer, a good 15 years ago, suddenly jumped on him as a pack of blood hungry hounds. He could sense and feel everything from that fateful day with frightening clarity. As if it had happened just yesterday. He could smell that sick sweet smell of fresh blood. He could feel the clotting, drying, stickiness of it on his hands. He could see Tibby lying down in front of him, cut open, his entails out there, for the world to see. It all came back flooding to him and he opened his eyes slowly.

It was dark outside. Dark and very hot. A typical hot summer night. No breeze, only a silent lull. He was sitting on the rocks on the dried river bed next to his house. There was a full moon tonight and it was shining bright right over his head. RJ looked up and felt the moon wickedly smile back at him. As if the moon knew what he had done? As if the moon knew he'd had done something. Something very bad.

This thought jerked RJ back and he hurriedly looked at his hands. It was just the same as that evening 15 years ago. He was sitting on the same rocks as 15 years ago. It was the same dried river bed. It was the same summer as 15 years ago. His hands were soaked in blood in exactly the same way as 15 years ago. Everything was just the same except for a few changes.

This time, it was night, not dusk like the last time around. By the full moon overhead he deduced it was midnight. The other change was there was no daddy’s razor lying around. Instead, there was an axe. His new axe, bought at the village fair a few months back. His shining new axe, with the super sharp blade and polished wooded handle was lying there in front of him, covered with blood and stuff he couldn’t quite recognize. But he thought he saw some traces of wet bloodied strands of hair stuck to the blade and the wooden handle.

The last and most important change from the scene 15 years ago was the absence of Tibby. 15 years ago, there was Tibby lying there. spread eagled, but now there was nothing.

That’s when it struck him like a sledge hammer. The entire enormity of the situation and what he had done came screaming at him. He knew, that today, just like last time, he had killed something. But it was no Tibby. It was not even an animal. And not even one.

He was again alone. Very alone.


Thursday, October 28, 2004


Just an attempt at prose.


You are alone...

Pitch darkness engulfs your standing form. You wave your arms and grope around trying to grab some support, but other than the cold floor beneath your feet, there is none.

Standing there in the black cocoon, you wait.

Your senses are on alert for any sound but you hear none. A shiver travels down your body. A cold tremor tingles up your spine. Your heart is pumping wildly, the blood gushing through your veins.

Goosebumps envelope your body as a cold presence suddenly writhes around you, whispering chilling silence in your ears.

You sense it right there behind you, waiting, coming closer and closer to you. You feel its gaze burning the back of your neck. The hair stands as you feel the evil chill come still closer. Your knees go weak and you feel your stomach in your mouth as you sense the sinister form behind you, approaching you.

Your scream is stifled in your throat as the cold menacing clutches come grabbing at you.

You are no longer alone...


A New Day

Another one of those poems (or you can even call it, a juxtaposition of words.) written on 8 Dec 97.

A New Day

Morning dew, the green grass.
Birds fluttering, the first rays of the sun.
The earth waking up, activity starting.
Water jingling in the brooks,
new flowers sprouting,
a cool breeze blowing.
Nature in its glory, a great miracle.
A new experience; a new day...


The Woman in Me

After a long hiatus, finally a post.
This poem was written for a good friend of mine, though I feel it also applies to all women in general. (Maybe for the fact that they are so darn similar... :-) ) Who am I kidding? Not one woman in this world is like the other, I guess.. though the same can't be said about men...
So here goes...

The Woman In Me

The woman in me, just wants to be.
A bird flying, over a calm blue sea.

In little things I delight,
    like sunny days and walks on the beach.
But occasional times of ambition,
    reminds me, of stars I want to reach.

Frugality in life,
    is what I believe in.
But it doesn’t hurt, to party with friends
    & do some general chillin.

The woman in me just wants to be.
With loads of free time, to go on a shopping spree.

Icecreams and chocolates and mom’s good food,
    are small pleasures that I crave for.
I also strive to maintain my looks,
    that others would love to die for.

Am a bubbly, happy, cheerful person,
    who also does an occasional weeping.
I would rather spend my time at home,
    and catch up on some sleeping.

The woman in me, just wants to be.
Sometimes independent, at all times free.

Feminism is my poison,
    female equality is my fight.
But my guy should be a gentleman,
    who sweeps me off like a knight.

Mood swings, I have a lot.
    Grumpy and grouchy, I can get.
Impatience is normally my forte,
    I wouldn’t ever like to wait.

The woman in me, just wants to be.
A mesmerizing presence, in someone’s reverie.

In a guy, the things I look for,
    are love, strength, caring and wit.
But he should also be someone
    that my parents would find fit.

My parents love and support,
    is what I always cherish.
The bond with my family,
    is something that should never perish.

The woman in me, just wants to be.
A beautiful flower, in the vast flowing lea.

The woman in me, just wants to be
Sometimes a mother, sometimes a child free..

But eventually, she will always be
The woman, unlike anyone, but me…


Tuesday, August 03, 2004

The Final Plunge

This poem, I must say has been one of the most difficult to pen. Harder, due to the fact that it is not what it seems at first glance.
Primary observation tells a message that its a stupid, suicidal, crappy trash... But like-minded people will know what I am talking about.. If you look more closely, you will also notice that I have sublimely mentioned the name of the man who holds the biggest influence in my life...
Here is my attempt at "metaphor"...

The Final Plunge

Shimmering in the dark,
    was the soul of his eyes.
As he stood upon the edge,
    his trembling, withholding...

He wants to run away,
    and so hard he tries;
But couldn't budge an inch,
    as he sees his fate unfolding...

Gathering up the bits of strewn thoughts,
    in the oceanic expanses of his mind...
He ponders upon his will to die,
    and the fear that attachments will bind...

Decides he, to hold no more;
    He wills all his thoughts and chooses the final one...

As he flies,
    he hears a voice say...

    ... for you shall be no one.


The Machine Head

This poem was written long before Eminem came onto the scene.. so if it seems similar (with all the anger and violence and fight back..); well, he copied me. I didn't.. :-) (but anyways, he doesn't mean what he says and so don't I)

About the poem, well,
Its about all those kids, young and old people alike; who are being pushed in a corner by the bullies of this world... The poem tells that it's a dog-eat-dog world and you need to fight back on your own... no one will stand for you, no one will be there for you, no one but you alone can fight for yourself.. The poem says so, not me... :-)

The Machine Head
Hey kid!!!

Don't sit in the corner,
    tears shouldn't be spent...
Keep your angst within,
    do not give it a vent!

Wake up to the fact,
    that you are not yet dead.
So what's the big deal?
    That makes you lose your head...

What does lie above,
    needn't be present beneath.
But all that matters is;
    that the sickle cuts the sheath.

Become the sickle,
    and you will win.
Chops their heads off,
    who try to barge in.

Skew them or skin them,
    no one need be spared.
For to be a winner, you need to;
    become a Machine Head.........


Monday, August 02, 2004


This is another of my favourite poems.... I dont think this needs anything to be said about... check for yourself

Come step in my grave!
    Let me taste your blood.
Die with me, be my slave!
    I call you to join my herd.
As you live, you can't be,
    try as you might, to be free.
I will possess you, make you mine.
    The sun will fade, the moon will shine.
You will age, but the time will stop.
    Don't you think it is ironic?
But believe me, dear friend of mine.
    I am, a little bit diabolic... !

Monday, July 26, 2004

The Pool

The month is coming to an end and I still haven't had time to update this.. well its never too late for anything.. so here it is.
Wrote this piece in 98 and may have overdone the creepy bit, but hey, who cares...? I've no experience with NDE nor do I wish to, in the near future atleast. So can't be sure on the technical or medical accuracy. But still, here goes...

The Pool
The blood is flowing down, unstopped and uncollected.
Try to feel it coursing down, the cascade of a mighty river of red.
You are growing weak, for your every ounce of strength is deserting you. You can't stand. Your eyes are bleary and the sight is darkening. You can't seem to see anything. Your legs go weak, your knees go bending. You crash to the ground, your eyes closed. The pitch darkness that has engulfed you, slowly giving way to a dim spark of light, so very gently grows larger and fills up your entire mind and you pass off in the glowing furnace of eternity and all that is there left,
is nothing but a pool of blood.


Friday, July 02, 2004

I Wish

This is the second attempt. Written on the same day as the previous one and is a bit more cynical than the former..

Disclaimer: If this poem reminds you of some famous indian personalities, then the resemblance is purely co-incidental and not at all intentional. Ha ha, you wish...

I Wish
I wish to be a bearded popstar,
    who ties his hair in a turban.
Whether he's croaking or he's groaning,
    people are always having fun...

I wish, a famous cricketer to be,
    who talks like, he was born a she.
But who cares, coz he is the king.
    And he's got it all,
        whether honestly, or by fixing...

I wish to be a hamming filmstar,
    who always blows his horn.
But "k k k clucks" his way to the bank,
    after spinning the same old yarn...

I wish to have a moving waist,
    and yes, also an extra thumb;
With my dancing and my good looks,
    I would leave the whole world, numb...

But above all...

I wish to be, good old me,
    with loads of easy money.
And all the glory, that comes along
    & who'd forget, the chics who'd call me honey!

The Hour & Half of Darkness

All right!

Lets welcome the new month with something lighthearted...

This is just one of the two attempts that I have made at humor so far. Hopefully more to come.. but if this seems juvenile, well, you aint seen nothing yet..

This one is about that time in every student's life, that they dread.. Atleast I did.. well, read on and see for yourself.. and no, I didn't end up as the protagonist :-)

The Hour & half of Darkness
A ninety minute culmination,
    of six months of sparse attention.
Concentration at it worst,
    a great attack of palpitation.
Who knows what will happen,
    everyone seems so very frantic.
As I rush around, memorising thoughts,
    my mind flies transatlantic.

How I wish, I did it earlier.
    It could have been so nice.
    It could have been so better.

As I ponder my heartwrenching worries
    and curse myself for brushing off my studies,
... but every time the same drama runs,
    as the darkest hour of every student appears.
Formally speaking, exam time comes....

The hour has come on,
    Oh Teacher! Save me...
The hell with saving, goddammit!
    Just for once, please, promote me.

Goodbye! Cruel world. You can go back to work.
    I could have been Einstein,
        but its all in vain now.
Now all that I am destined,
    is to be a government clerk.

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Keep the faith

This is a short para written in the summer of 98. It preaches the need to possess self-belief, to not get bogged down by petty failures and to rise above small misfortunes. This one is titled the same as that famous Bon Jovi song...

Keep the Faith

There are some days when alls wrong.
Seems like you've got up from the wrong side of the bed.
Nothing seems to go your way, you feel dejected, helpless and hopeless. No one's with you. No one's for you. Youré in the midst of a crowd and yet alone.
You feel suffocated, not due to external factors, but due to your inner turmoil, the storm that is brewing in you.
You want an opening, a break, an outlet to catharsise your feelings. Yet, there is no way out.
You feel a failure, for there is no success. You feel a loser, for there is no gain. You feel stuck up in a place where your'e not supposed to be. You want to know what is right for you. What is it you want from life? What is it that life wants from you? And the answer comes to a nought.

That is when, arises the true test of life. That is when, you can prove your true worth. That is when, you can fight back and get on top. And the one and only way to achieve it is faith. Faith in yourself, your deeds, your abilities, your right to carve your own destiny...

Have the faith. Keep the faith!!!

King Nothing

Another one of the hard rock inspired rhymes, here the James Hetfield influence seems heavy.. well so are the words.. here goes...

King Nothing
Sleep! and you will never open your eyes.
    I am your master,
        the lord in disguise.
Have come to get you,
    to send you yonder.
To the kingdom of darkness,
    the land without, the sky within.
For I am, the King Nothing...

Evil Me

This poem happened in winter of 97, that same creative day when I churned out some 7 poems. Had been listening to some hard rock, you know the Metallica, Black Sabbath kinds.. always been a fan of that beautiful cacophonic melody...
Anyway, so the influence seems to have rubbed off on my rhymes too as you can see.

Evil Me
Lick the wound, taste the blood.
    relish the moment, roll in mud...
Feel free, kill the herd.
Shout & scream,
    for you will never be heard...

Live in passion, die in pain,
    try to run, cry in vain.
Where so ever, you want to be,
    you can never escape the Devil,
        the Evil that is ME!


The following two poems were written with a space of 3 years between them and are dedicated to that mysterious girl of my dreams, the one who exalts me with her whispering presence and agonises me with her fading absence...

The one who is there, but still isn't.

Update: I did find her eventually and got married to her on Friday the 13th. :-)

She was a faded face in the darkness of my dreams,
    a mystery, an enigma to me it seems...
To visualise her, whenever I tried,
    she used to vanish.
Leaving me in a state of mental anguish.

But still, I tried and tried to see her
    and not a single girl I met could be her.
In the seas of my thoughts,
    she was like a white pearl.
She was and she is,
    still my dream girl...

Her face is tranquil,
    her eyes are the deep blue sea.
Her hair is a cascading waterfall,
    her lips are rose petals,
        teeth are pearls.

Her breath is warm as the morning rays of the sun,
    her talk is poetry, the laugh sheer music.
Her body slender,
    her walk graceful.
As I admire her,
    as I fall in love with her.
I realise, she is not there anymore.
    She never was...

Absolutum Infinitum

This piece, doesn't in any way reflect my mental state at that time.. was just being creative.. ;-)
Absolutum Infinitum

You’re fine! How am I? Alive? Dead? Certainly not at the time of writing, but maybe at the time of your reading. If not dead, then alive. If not alive, then dead. So far, so good, so what?

Enough about me, how about you? You’re fine. But what is fine? An idea, a feeling, a circumstance, a situation, a state of mind or a mere four letter word.

It all lies in the mind of the matter. If you like being well and you’re well, then it’s fine. If you like being ill and you’re ill, then it’s fine. So anyway, you are fine. I’m fine. The world is fine.

Funny, the ways of life. You come into life out of nothing and you go out of life into nothing. As within, so without. As without, so within.

You come out of nothing into nothing and go out of nothing into nothing. You are nothing but, nothing. So am I. So the rest. We all are nothing but paradoxes in this nothingness called “Life”. A mere existence called “Life”. Quoting Shakespeare, “The world’s a mere stage. All men and women are mere actors”

Life is a dream. We come in it. Play our roles. Say our lines and perform. The world watches. When the curtain falls down, there is no encore, no applause. Because, no one was really watching, though all were present. And then awakens upon you, the hard fact of life, that we all are zilch. Mere puppets in this grand show of hypocrisy and falsity known as “Life”, where all roles are pre-determined and all lines are pre-edited. There is no rehearsal, no epilogue and no prologue. You pass in oblivion to what people call life after death. All hogwash! Where is the place for any other hell? Or heaven! Heaven is obsolete.

Ever wonder how life changes from time to time. You change. I change. All change.

Change! To good? To bad? Too worse…No one knows.

We all live without knowing and we all die unknowing and unknown. No one mourns us. No one misses us. They all are busy wrapped up in their miseries and calamities, or so to speak. They don’t understand that they have done nothing, are doing nothing and will do nothing. They amount to nothing and eventually are nothing.


The time has come, to go, to love, to hate, to live, to die. So bye, for all, for God, for Devil, for life, for death, for now, for ever…………


The Walking Dead

This one, written in a burst of creativity and imagination!
The Walking Dead
Graveyards opening,
    sweet smells of decay;
Rotting corpses are
    coming out to play.

They are out here
    and they are here to stay;
Watch as evil unfolds
    and see life drain away.

Pain troubles them no more;
    they lost it long ago.
All they want to do is kill
    and kill and still kill more.

No one can stop them;
    nothing gets in their way.
They are the walking dead.
    for Satan is their ray.

As I watch their gory deeds,
    I can't help letting out a plea.
And I see them all stop at once
    and suddenly turn on to me.

The more I try to run,
    the closer I get to them.
They finally catch hold of me
    and drag me in their realm.

Inside, I see hordes of them;
    they seem like a great rising flood.
And all seem to do one thing;
    drinking, what resembles human blood.

My heart is pounding, as I see,
    they slowly start approaching me.
Death is inevitable and I can't flee.
    I am bound, their next victim to be.

They are very close.
    I can sense their scheme.
And looking in their eyes,
    I see a wicked gleam.
Holding back no longer,
    I let out a loud scream.
And wake up perspiring;
    realising, it was just a bad dream.


The Open Door

Another favorite one depicting the pleasure and pain of parenthood...
The Open Door
A gift of life has come to thee,
    whose innocent beauty beckons you to see.

The tiny feet, those eyes twinkling,
    the pretty mouth, the gurgling within.

The throb you feel, when you hold it close.
    The warmth of its breath on your neck it blows.

The first step it takes, makes your heart glow.
    When it gets hurt, your tears start to flow.

The joy you get, to hear it call you.
    And nothing in this world, except it, seems true.

You want it to be happy, even if you have to cry.
    To give it the best, you will always try.

The small successes it gets, makes you feel so high.
    than see the sorrow in its eyes,you would rather die.

How would it feel, for you to know?
    The apple of your eye, will one day grow.

Fluffing up its wings, will turn away and soar.
    And you will be left wishing for your child
        and watching your open door.


Another one written some time back..
Vision of a person
as it cuts through the haze.
Feeling of the eyes,
when they return its gaze.
Bestowed upon you
is the blessing of God,
as you look up to the heavens
in a fit of daze.
Blessed are you,
grateful you should be.
For you can look at the sun
and see its rays.
Think about those who live their lives,
in darkened nights and blind days.

Friday, November 07, 2003


Here's one to start off the show!

Almost every intelligent individual who is slightly aware of his or her self must have asked this question. And it has been asked since eternity, maybe since the days of the first man and woman on this tiny little third rock from the sun.

Here is my poetic version of it.

Had written this on 8 Dec 1997, an unusually creative day for me. Was sitting at home, had just graduated, was trying to find a job or rather elude one for the past 5-6 months, searching for some meaning in life and pop goes the weasel. Wrote some 7 poems on this single day..

This one is called
Who am I & why am I here?
        Why do I cry
               & whom do I fear?
How have I come & to where do I go?
       Who do I rule
               & to whom do I bow?
What shall I do & how shall it be done?
       For life is nothing,
               but a big question....