The Question

This is not a joke to be laughed at. Nor is it a game to be watched. It is also not a rhyme for the poets to sing. Neither a story to be told nor a drama to be enacted on stage for the enjoyment of the onlookers. It is a question delicately poised before your soul. On your answer depends a person's life, which is right now hanging precariously on a balance. The question is not about a lengthy ordeal or a programme which will take time. From the moment you answer, till the last breathe, the question will force the mortgaging of life. There is a great emotional intensity attached to the question. The sincerity is being tested. It hides the poison of shameless selfishness. There is also a malicious threat concealed in it.

"Are you mine?"

Around this question dances many a titillating dreams. But it is a pair of moist eyes and a trembling heart that is waiting for the answer.

Now it is twelve' o clock in the night. Rain has been pourng malignantly. Inside me it is a torrent of woes. I love that face. I adore that smile. Those eyes, those words...everything...

But as Tagore said, "O dear, let my love not be a burden to thee..."
The rain is increasing. If you came to me as a dream this night and took my life away with you...

But 4 You...

Lilies of the spring are in gloom,

But for your smile with which they bloom.

First drops of rain aren't with bliss,

But the moist impact of your kiss.

Benighted are those summer suns rays,

Which don't cascade off your face.

Drops of winter snow isn't cool,

But for the warmth of your wool.

Roses red are colourless, faded,

But for your lips blush shaded.

* * * * * *

Cascade of reminiscence never ever dry,

Sweet moments too can make you cry.

Memories titillate, they tantalize true,

But I hope my sorrow never haunted you.

Your land is not of soundless birds,

But a garden full of primrose tufts.

You don't lie buried in a grave over there,

But asleep in the deep of my heart here.

These lines don't make for beauty a poem,

But because written in your memoriam...

Reality Pecks

Love is wings which reality breaks;
A sweet promise at the end fakes.
Sculpted with care found so rare;
Deep it pecks, is it fair?
Horizon blushed, but where's the sun?
Rose bud pains, it is fun?
Crickets will cry, no tears shall rain.
Longer the longing, greater the pain.
Life moves, but scars don't fade.
Yet living, a fool in heart's trade.

Disturbed Spectator

Last day in Electronics lab, our professor noticed me sitting comfortably in a chair 'supervising' my lab mates' progress in arranging one of those goddamn complex circuits. He came near me and said, "You are being a passenger, not the driver. You got to change your attitude. Don't wait for others to lead you... blah...blah...blah..." I had the counter reply ready for all his accusations, but thought it prudent to listen silently. I didn't want my grades to be an F written in blood red. But in the depth of my heart I knew whatever he said was someway true. My life has been like playing Counter strike in spectator mode.

It was easy for me to digest the concept of God looking at all our sins from a telescope high up in the sky. But when you start spending your life as an audience of others lives, it is not possible to avoid your stomach getting upset in the long run. In the beginning it was interesting to watch others, their behaviour, how they hog the limelight, their fumbles and further fumbles to cover the earlier ones... It gave a nice feeling to criticize them, and imagine how I would have copped better in the same situation.

But slowly everything gets boring like everything else. How many times would you like to watch being out run by some and the same people again and again? You find everything is happening around you, but never to you. Many top the exams but not you. You score goals and runs, but there is always somebody to outnotch you. You are never in the spotlight, rarely in the focus of a snap. Celebrity status keeps eluding you. Even gossips refuse to include you. And a lot of smooching and hugging is going on around you, but there is nobody but life for you to fuck with. You feel like you are not a part of the same (sane?) world.

This can happen and it did to me. The last time I was in the driver seat of my life was when I had, or rather thought I had a girlfriend. I witnessed her growing intelligent for she dumped me quiet soon. Might be she realized that I am in the process of converting her into another spectator like me. But that time was a nice one, one of the few happy notes in my otherwise monotonous life. One of those times which I wish to live again.

But is it that I have never really tried to be at the cynosure, or am I afraid to swap my place with the dude who was the center of all eyes. Being a jack of many trades and a master of none, I know this is the only way it can be. But is it fair to give nearly everything but nothing worth recognition to a person??? Might be I should do a little jig in between the data structure class or kick the institute directors ass during one of his long speeches or might be I will accuse Mr. Kalam of sexually abusing me!!! :/ I don’t care. I just wanna be, atleast for a day, the center of attraction for some bloody reason!!!

I hate you for that promise never made
for those secrets you always saved.
I hate you for your hugs were warmless,
tender fingers were of coldness.
Those gifts we never exchanged,
And memories you etched.
I hate you for reasons may be silly to have,
The need to hate you more than I ever love.
So that tears wont rain.
Hate,
so that I'll never know the pain.
Let my heart go numb,

I wont miss you now.