1.

This slavery is shrinking the sky,

Soon I would be able to measure it,

with a tape or on my fingers.

Stars too will become countable,

like these coins in my pocket.

When the evenings smudge in the glass houses,

we too will melt away slowly

First the words will fade,

then our senses-love and forgiveness

Only hate will remain and

fear.

2.

This bubble will burst,

Sooner than I can possibly decipher,

and then when I fall,

free-falling like the rain,

for an eternity,

weightless and worthless,

into this empty pit of self consciousness,

bottomless into the core.

Will you give me a hand?

Will you pull me away?

I could have brushed all of it aside,
And would sit under a saffron sky, 
singing songs of patriotism.
But I can see the clouds milling around, 
embracing into a pattern.

The winds swept away my home, 
rain melted all my paper boat dreams 
but nothing changes the face of clouds.
They look back with crimson eyes now, 
thundering down with a frenzy. 
Its stares can burn past me,
and turn me into dust,
a mannequin of ashes.
The breeze that whispered meekly once
now breaks into a vitriolic scream. 

What this euphoria and pride for? 
Why this chest thumping for belonging?
This longing for a home 
which doesn't figure even in your honeymoon packages? 
Is it for what you and me wear in our fingers 
or dangles around our neck 
or its for the one we could not bribe our way out, 
though we try everyday?


Alas! This sudden saccharine love 
makes hating the only option now.

A postcard to 1967

For long they wept by the river,

waiting for boats to bridge their hunger,

making clay lamps from the river bed,

soaking the wicks with their blood.

they sent signals to the island of hope

The night only got darker,

but neither the postcards came,

nor the boats returned to the shore.

They ploughed the lands 

with hands and fingers,

dragged their feet for food,

but hunger is an insatiable beast,

and soon this incurable plague stared at their face.

So one day they rose in despair,

and fight for their crops before they fall,

bullets rained under a laden sky,

across a crimson land, their bodies roll.

A rage had taken over them that day,

And it still fuels their fight,

decades after decades, swept like leaves,

but there is still no end to their plight.

Verses of a meaningless song

A Four letter word
And a journey of seven heavens and hell.
Circumventing planets, stars and galaxies,
Still no sign of home.

----

A weapon tastes blood
And grows a secret blade
Hate cut both ways,
Keep it away from your tongue.

----

The Isle is not far from here
A few nights remains to dawn.
Don't doze off now, not yet
The boat is ready to take you to sleep.
Tie the remaining broken threads in a knot,
You will always remember who you are,
Long after you are home.

-----

Don't search them in your pockets,
They must have escaped through the nights,
spilled over on weekend binges,
Or vapourised in midnight haze.
Torn socks can't keep you warm through winters,

So stop running now,
Hold your breath as long as you can.
And you will find them again.

------

Dreams have a voice,
They talk in hushed tones.
Don't try to decipher them,
Caging them is losing them.

-----

Vapours on glass
gets erased in sun.
If you try to swim across the night,
Be prepared to get wet in silence.

------

You can't store hope in a jar,
This pickles are timeless
But dreams won't last long here,
Mix ginger and mustard oil,
And spend some time under the sun
They will remain forever young.

-----

One tea spoon of sugar in a cup of tea
That's how he liked his mornings
He learnt early
Too much love or too little
could be injurious to health.

The walk to freedom is a long one,
don't doze off yet,
the night is impregnated with doubts,
don't let it rain on you,
and wet your feet.
You have treaded a rough road,
orphans in the land of bastards,
If they try to erase the blemish with your blood,
don't let the sword touch your soul.
Wear the scars over your name,
like it has always been your own.

Social media is the best and worst thing that has happened to us. Because here is a platform where we can pour out our emotions instantly, share our knowledge and also educate us in many ways. We can throw our anchor in this vast ocean and someone on the other end will catch it and we can build a bridge.

But it is also a corner, which is slowly taking over our home, where we can blow our own trumpets, indulge in chest–thumping for the ideologies we believe in and can get instant gratification through the likes and shares of our friends, fans, bhakhs or comrades whatever we like to call them.

Selfies with pouting lips offends me, while the pictures of the recipes which someone cooks offends someone else, my selective outrage or eulogy against or for a particular ideology or political party offends my friends and their silence over what I believe in makes me boil.

When I croon a Kumar Sanu song, I become a dimwit who drools over Bollywood, while I dislike your boisterous self-indulging superiority over Hollywood flicks.

You can spit venom at my choices and preferences and name it a banter, while my playful remarks becomes snide sarcasm to you.

Who are we trying to fool my friends,
who are we trying to trick?
Who are we trying to fool with speeches of development and intolerance?
What are we gaining with such sermons on nationalism and freedom?
Where are we heading with this rivers of hate?
why are we feeding this hiding monsters of our souls?
when will we end this war of pain?

As we stand across this raging river,
let us sing songs of change and freedom.
yes, let us sing songs of freedom,
together as we stand under the sun.
A song for
Freedom from lust,
Freedom from anger,
Freedom from greed,
Freedom from Arrogance,
and
Freedom from pride.

It doesn't matter

what we are or what we have been?

What remains is what we could be.

Left or Right,

RSS or Communist,

Indian Army or Maoist,

A writer, a poet or a business man,

nothing matters.

One who can kill,

One who can rape,

One who can break into a dance of death,

will never stop till the land is red.

They will never stop,

Till they become the land,

and land becomes them.

When the bone

rusts to dusts

and customary tears rain down from the heavens

You too will muddle through the mud

of men, women and children,

who once were your own.

Words

Like stones they fall,
Relentless,
heavy and bold,
leaving me with a headache.
A concussion that leads to delirium.

Like blades they slice,
bleeding,
soft grass of thoughts,
splitting the seeds of our conscious,
an entire life winding down a time capsule.

Who will cure this hysteria?
Who will bridge this multi-polar existence?
Who will stop this homogenization of minds?
I need some valium to find a way back home.
The clouds are waiting at the other end.