SCREAM, SCREAM, SCREAM TO THE HOLLOWNESS OF THE NIGHT,

ITS DARK EYE LASHES FANS MY ANGER ALL THE TIME,

SCRETCH THE FABRICS HARD, IT WILL BLEED

THE BLOOD WHICH CAST A SPELL ON YOUR SOUL, LET IT FLOW

AND THEN YOU WILL KNOW THE TRUTH.

Life seems worthless to me, 
because I don't have you,
i know you still love me 
and so I can't even blame you.

Sometimes love feels like a crime,
No, it doesn't kill, 
worse, it chains people together for life, 
takes them away from friends and family,
when the distance cut like a blunt knife.

This addiction is legal,
but who teaches the ignorant,
who will bring the addict to his addiction, 
I never wanted to quit, I know you too can't.

And I forget

why do I cry,

why do I feel sad and low

I forget 

the wailing of the girl,

the begging bowl and her tattered frock,

I forget

the bullets which killed the kid,

the blood which still stinks.

I forget

the ravaged souls,

the silenced lips,

and their crimson tears.

I forget

who am I?

and what I am here for.

You are still wet clay
incomplete, too far away
Soon you will wake up to a day,
manhandled, pushed to the fray.

Are you listening, Maa?
They are sculpting your face,
shaping your eyes to see,
Do you know, you too are in the race?

The world has changed a lot,
I want to talk you into it,
It is scary and dangerous here,
your sons are full of guilt.

For five days you would be revered,
and then you will float in stinking waters,
Amid corpse and carcass, you will rot,
there is still time, give it a thought.

My Irascible wife

Knowledge bore you,

you find logic simply illogical,

discussion - a futile exercise,

and humour is just a form of mocking,

you need to get your act right, my love

or else I have to resort to lying.

As much as I try to love you, I fail

But I am still trying.

You are spoiling the fabric of life

My beloved Irascible wife.

Don't just hear me out, listen

and there won't be any reason for crying.
I know your wings are clipped
and how much you love flying.
But then it is no reason to give up hope,
no reason is worth dying.

I have saved my moments of happiness in drafts. Someday I will revisit them, edit them and post it. But will there be an audience then? Probably No. But how does it matter. Isn't it better to save them, rather then discard them or ignore them completely. Always trying to get the words right, the right sentences and the right grammar, the search is still on. Probably, there won't be a perfect moment, no perfect result. Still I search. 

*****************

What do I do with this emptiness? How do I wash off these stains of eternal sadness which engulfs me. It has spoiled my entire canvas. I don't have another canvas, I can't afford it anymore, it is too late and I am old and tired. Find me a way to get rid of the stains. Bring me a new sunshine and a new stroke of brush. I want to paint the old story in a new way, but the story is stuck in the past. It is scared to see the dawn. It wants to get lost. I need to add new words to it but I struggle for words. The story wants a different ending and I have a different finish to the tale but still in this disagreement we still hope. I hope to paint the old story new and the story has its own aspirations. We are becoming estranged still we come back to each other, in fact, we don't run away, never did. I never tried to weave a new story, nor the story tried to seduce a new writer. So thus we stay, estranged but still bound in an invisible thread. We still call it love even if it could be something else. We are unaware. We don't even try to know, we are happy being ignorant, lost in our own world, walking up to our own dream and finding solace in them. It used to be one dream, one world. Now I see the dreams breaking into two and cracks appearing in the dream. I don't want the dream to break. I have tried all adhesives. I am still trying but no matter how much I try the crack keeps appearing time and again.

There is a hole in my existence,

a vacuum,

a black hole,

it grows a little each day.

Sometimes it is a part of me

sometimes, I become a part of it.

It sucks life out of my existence.

I don't run away from it.

I know there is no running away,

It is a truth.

Like the blood, it exists.

It will exist, now and forever.

When there is still time...

Look at the flowers,

pick them up and hold it together,

the thrones won't hurt you much,

smell its fragrance and spread its smiles,

now, when there is still time.

Sing with the rain,

hold the droplets in your palm,

Get drenched in its essence,

wash away the stains of hate,

now, when there is still time.

Dance with the wind,

tie your heart by its strings,

let its arms free your soul,

soar high, let go the strings which bind you

now, when there is still time

Walk with the flowing river,

let it guide you, find you a path

Don't hold your steps anymore,

explore your destiny,

now, when there is still time.

An eternal sadness engulfs me,
I am sick and tired of being myself.
Everyday I try to zip together,
zillions of my scattered souls.
rebellious and religious, they all are mine.
But where am I? Time defeats me.
My incongruous heart seeks freedom,
unfazed mind wants governance.
How do I sew them together?
May be I need to kill some,
slaughter or subjugate.
I need to be rude to be kind.