Let that hold hold yours

As kids, whenever,
we would tumble upon a marshy land
We’d stop, wail for help
or sometimes even command

We’d Grasp the unpretentious hand,
that has stretched beyond its limits
And move forward, smile back
when reached the summit

Paradoxically,
Growing older, perhaps, we’ve grown unwise
Today, when we fall in the trap of marshy land
‘I’m sure no one has seen me,’ we surmise

Quivering, we move forward,
Let time curb the fears
act balanced
hide those shredding tears

Why has our maturity over powered our intellect?
Why do we not shout for help?
Over silly things,
Why do we brain storm and introspect?

Let that hand hold yours
help you cross that line
They may not play a pivotal role
But they help you smile and allow you to whine

Thank you to all the strangers who have not allowed my life to be a stranger to me.Dedicated to my friend Anil, whose birthday is today and has been a support to me.

Journalist, Today

Buttoning her shirt,
wearing a tight ponytail
she stepped out of her house
to make her life a fairy tale


Her will built over the years
and innocence ubiquitous in her eyes
She was all set to rebuild integrity
in this world of I’s

how a revolution started
In the books she had read
with the stroke of the same weapon
she devoured to paint the town red

Slowly, as time passed
Nothing appeared right
For spice and plagiarism
She was now paid to write


A war waged within
She had to differ
But with the relentless pressure
She unintentionally deferred


Today, she refuses to recognize herself
Her amour-propre evanesced with yesterday’s air
As a prowess of vanity and injustice
She stands as the next heir

Glossary:

world of I’s – Selfish world

stroke of the same weapon- pen

amour-propre - self-esteem (thanks to online dictionary):P

Written not to degrade any journalist. It is a matter of concern. As once upon a time there lived journalists like M.K. Gandhi and Bal Gangadhar Tilak and today we are left with spice all over I admit there are good ones but they get camouflaged with the bad ones..

Jago Grahak Jago!

hAPpY bIRtHdAY tO hIm

My first stint with love
Began with thou

You showed,
how sweet love could be
How there is only us
Neither you nor me


Its you who showed
How painful it is when heart bled
When love became grotesque
How passionately it could be dread


Love and its forms
Wouldn’t be so beautiful
Love and its obsession
Wouldn’t be so painful

Its because of you,
romancing the country was so exquisite
Without you, Love and its siblings,
Wouldn’t be so Explicit

If not for thee,
Love would never have touched me

Gardener, My Friend

Gardener, my friend
There’s somebody special I know
In his back yard,
the tree of happiness grows

Whenever I visit his garden
He lends me a fruit

Sometimes its love
Sometimes its patience
Sometimes its understanding
Sometimes its endurance

He says:
Don’t keep this fruit with you.
Share it.
We all need it but keep mum


Perhaps the shrub of ego has overgrown
Watered, even before it was properly sown

The fruits of emotions which as innocent kids we snatched
Today,
We learn to live without it unaffected, detached

Mama, I am going to die today

My roommates’ cigarettes smoked at me

I asked them not to allow it

But they refused to listen

As my memory fades to recognize them,

Today, they realize and weep



The doctors gave me the wrong medicine

It caused some chemical reaction

They empathetically apologized,

and I forgave, though, in vain.



Mama, I rise above your world today,

Leaving dreams unfinished, Love untouched

But I beg to defer this law of nature

why should I die, mama ?

when I listened to everything you said

Why should I die, mama?

Is this your blessing in the form of death?

One crackered-night

Dusting the spider-ed cupboards,
I found a tattered wearied paper
It contained a list
Standard Sparkles – 2 no.s
Flower pots – 3 no.s
And a penciled tick after them

Excited on finding an evidence of my childhood,
I showed it to my son,

He grinned and asked,
What is this mama?

I said: a list of crackers?
Puzzled, he asked:What is that?

I replied:
We used to burst them during Diwali and the sky used to light up
With different colors

He asked: Wow! That’s wonderful!
But mama, why don’t we cracker now?

Beta,
The crackers leave a lot of smoke causing Pollution
So we stopped.

But mama,
Don’t autowalas, buswalas leave more smoke?
Doesn’t Sharma uncle and his friends smoking leave more smoke?
Then how can one crackered night ,
Leave the whole world polluted?

All Characters and events here are purely fictitious...Any resemblance with either dead or living is purely co-incidental ;)

Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, and Sukhdev

Body, whipped
Skin, ripped
Soul, untouched

Alike three musketeers,
To the isle of death,
Lo! They sing and go

Even the heavens were Star-struck
By the courage they showed

Never again,
Were born such men
Till today,
For a similar make of clay
The lord explores

To Bhagat Singh and his companions Rajguru and Sukhdev,
esp the last days where they struggled yet smiled !!

Today is Bhagat Singh’s birth Anniversary