Sitting under that mahogany tree, my emotions floating free
Your eyes were so blue and deep, I laid my heart for you to peep
The warmth in the air kept on rising, every moment mesmerizing.
You did not say a single word, I did not say a single word
all those talks in anticipation, two budding hearts in participation.
"The unexpressed Love"
I knew u wanted me to speak, expectations on the peak.
I kept on finding words to say, How I sketch, How I portray.
How to make you feel the same, Oh my love, Oh my Dame.
To listen your "NO", I was not prepared, To think of your loss , was so scared.
My message did not reach to you, You said Good bye , I murmured "I love You"
"The unexpressed Love"
Monday, May 11, 2009
They call him love
Wrapped in a stinking blotted piece of rag, he lies there on his back, emaciated, pale , excruciated and counting the last few movements of his wind pipe as it struggles for the air to pass in and fill his lungs to keep him lie there as a leftover piece of meat, to be destroyed and devored by hawks and crows.
the dried stream of tears coming out of his dried eyes, stays there as a mark of stigma he has gone through his entire cursed life , for being a creature who has a heart which pounds, which pumps blood and which can feel good for someone.
He has seen for ages, deluge of humans moving over here and there, developing from crabs to cranes , stones to five star hotels, pitches to pizzas, he has seen them all being strangers and seen them working together as brothers , then he saw them slaughtering each other. He tried his best to reach out to them when they all were filled with rage, hatred and dislikes,but all of them found his ways specious and treated him as a betrayer.
He was numb, he could not find a home, nobody willing to give him shelter, he is all alone.
Those were the days he became hemophobic, the stench of blood made his respiratory system weak. his lungs started striving to avoid the suffocations. But they never cared for him. They had to rise, they had to grow. He lied there beside the traffic signal, looking at them, having mercy on them , praying for them, but he was so helpless. The sounds of bombs made him deaf, the stampede of people crushed him.
the innocent faces of the babies who became motherless wanted to kiss his face but they did not let them do it.
He is still lying there, he cant listen to all the Naras and slogan, he cant understand all these political statements, I know he will bleed his lungs out very soon and take his last breathe.
We will put a statue of him and put the garlands and will call him "Mr. Love"
the dried stream of tears coming out of his dried eyes, stays there as a mark of stigma he has gone through his entire cursed life , for being a creature who has a heart which pounds, which pumps blood and which can feel good for someone.
He has seen for ages, deluge of humans moving over here and there, developing from crabs to cranes , stones to five star hotels, pitches to pizzas, he has seen them all being strangers and seen them working together as brothers , then he saw them slaughtering each other. He tried his best to reach out to them when they all were filled with rage, hatred and dislikes,but all of them found his ways specious and treated him as a betrayer.
He was numb, he could not find a home, nobody willing to give him shelter, he is all alone.
Those were the days he became hemophobic, the stench of blood made his respiratory system weak. his lungs started striving to avoid the suffocations. But they never cared for him. They had to rise, they had to grow. He lied there beside the traffic signal, looking at them, having mercy on them , praying for them, but he was so helpless. The sounds of bombs made him deaf, the stampede of people crushed him.
the innocent faces of the babies who became motherless wanted to kiss his face but they did not let them do it.
He is still lying there, he cant listen to all the Naras and slogan, he cant understand all these political statements, I know he will bleed his lungs out very soon and take his last breathe.
We will put a statue of him and put the garlands and will call him "Mr. Love"
I hate Politics
I have always had a hatred for politics, It started with scoring low marks in political science in the premilianary classes and propagated through dark streets of disbelief and lack of congeniality and has recently consummated with the induction of incendiary and sordid words vomitted by the scion of the Nehru family, Mr. Varun Gandhi.
I have always concieved politicians as a Non- ambulatory, Non-Emphathatic, pot-bellied and to an extent less educated work force. I remeber skimming through an article in Sunday suppliment of Times of India about the younger generation of the politicians , all of the them hailing from the Big names in Indian politics, all of them having thier alma matars as the best of the educational institutions in the far west. The author looked to me an epitome of optimism and showed faith in these rising stars when i had all the skeptism prevalent in my mind about these bloods.
last friday, I was watching the much disputed and TRP enhancer episode of how Varun gandhi was puking the venom out , making the Hinduism a ladder to step upto the pinnacle of politics of vote, the whole gamut of gullible voters of the poor land getting misled by the politics of hate. I find it an anethema to the helpless people of this country when I see people exicted about these denigrating incidents rather than shedding tears on the grave of the principles of communal, lingual and traditional integrity dreamt by the people who sacrified their lives to set this country free.
I really feel grieved when see people like Varun gandhi slaughtering their intellectual remains and getting ready into the corpulent body of political effigy of selfishness, nefarious actions and inhuman deeds of achieving the success easily.
I have always concieved politicians as a Non- ambulatory, Non-Emphathatic, pot-bellied and to an extent less educated work force. I remeber skimming through an article in Sunday suppliment of Times of India about the younger generation of the politicians , all of the them hailing from the Big names in Indian politics, all of them having thier alma matars as the best of the educational institutions in the far west. The author looked to me an epitome of optimism and showed faith in these rising stars when i had all the skeptism prevalent in my mind about these bloods.
last friday, I was watching the much disputed and TRP enhancer episode of how Varun gandhi was puking the venom out , making the Hinduism a ladder to step upto the pinnacle of politics of vote, the whole gamut of gullible voters of the poor land getting misled by the politics of hate. I find it an anethema to the helpless people of this country when I see people exicted about these denigrating incidents rather than shedding tears on the grave of the principles of communal, lingual and traditional integrity dreamt by the people who sacrified their lives to set this country free.
I really feel grieved when see people like Varun gandhi slaughtering their intellectual remains and getting ready into the corpulent body of political effigy of selfishness, nefarious actions and inhuman deeds of achieving the success easily.
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