The Final Journey

A death march was in full swing. A cacophony of drum beats, trumpets and noise disturbed the peace of the otherwise silent surroundings. Flowers were littered throughout the stretch of the road and the place looked like a wedding in full swing what with the dancers and the musicians. Some solemn and glum faces were visible amongst the crowd in stark contrast to many who seemed to enjoy the procession.
Amidst the exuberant celebrations, a speck of white was visible. On close inspection one could see a man in his late 40s, cursing the procession. He was tired and badly in need of rest but he willed his ailing back to bend forward and sweep. Cars and bikes whizzed past him. He was beginning to feel dizzy now. He took a few uncertain steps here and there, and suddenly, dropped to the ground.
Lying face down on the bed, she was still brooding and crying. Despair and fear continued to haunt her even with the police reassuring her that her child would be found soon. He was always a difficult child to deal with, but now alone, in his absence, she realized that her world held more love for him than what she had portrayed down the years. She was missing him and it was hurting. She remembered … All those arguments, all those negative emotions, the tension, the trauma, the uneasiness that had crept into their relationship. God, please, please…give me another chance.
He was carried home by his friends, he was told. His children were crying. He had no money to even buy them a meal. Overcome with overwhelming guilt, he didn’t have the guts to face them. He looked away into a far corner of their hut and lived his life all over again in his mind. God had not been kind to him. He had not even helped him out during his troubles. He thought of all the others in the world, those politians, those cricketers, those actors… Sometimes, he wondered, if God is really all that goody-goody as his devotees claimed. He wondered whether god even had any heart at all.
She wasn’t able to sleep. Facing the ceiling, she wondered if the police had sorted things out. She didn’t have anyone to fall back on, to lend her a helping hand in these turbulent times. God is cruel, she cursed. He had after all, left her all alone in this world with her baby for company after a car crash wiped out her family. He wasn’t really that bad a child, she thought. She was now feeling guilty. Her hard ways seemed to separate the two of them hour by hour. He had gotten so upset at one point that he had stormed out of the house, only to come back the next day. He came back for me, she thought. He loved me. Silently, she wept. The empty bedroom was her companion and maybe, God too… if He was lurking somewhere nearby.
The night passed.
Today, is payment day, he gushed. Putting on his best clothes that he could afford, he rushed early in the morning to the government office. He had promised his wife new provisions. Maybe he could buy a doll for his children. Maybe a clay horse… something to make them happy.
“Good news, ma’am, we’ve located the gang. We’ll bag them soon…” The police had called early in the morning. She was overjoyed. God was alive after all, she thought. She really wanted to put the past behind her and start afresh. After all, her child was the only one whom she could call family.
“Don’t you know, the government went on an inspection yesterday and found your beat littered with flowers and all. They say your job is not satisfactory. They refused to give you the month’s payment.” Shell shocked, he leant against the office wall, hands on his face, and cried out loudly. Cursing God…cursing fate… cursing life. There was no way they could survive now. He had seen enough of it. I’m tired of my life, he wept. God, I’m coming to you… I’ll give you a peace of my mind as soon as I get there…
“ma’am, on inspection of their grounds, we found that your son is no more. He has been murdered on these very grounds sometime yesterday. We’re sorry ma’am…We truly am”. Overcome with remorse, she couldn’t cry… tears flowed but it was silent. She turned right and there she could see it. There it was, yearning to be visited by someone. Her empty outstretched hand… it was crying out for warmth of her child. Crying out for the comfort of his soft hair that tickled it as he slept. Whatever the day, whatever the hour, he had always slept on this outstretched hand for fifteen years. But now truth finally dawned on her. She couldn’t go on, she couldn’t bear her outstretched hand to be of no use anymore. Gasping for breath, she turned her eyes towards the ceiling, towards heaven… towards the fan… she had an idea.
A death march was in full swing….
Three of them, infact.

God and me- Never been good friends...

I witnessed a rat on the verge of death,
Twisting, twitching and turning it was,
I couldn’t bear to see it cry,
I couldn’t believe when suddenly it died.
I sprinkled water on its face to make it wake up,
But it didn’t.
It just lay there eagle-eyed.
As things dawned on me,
I couldn’t control myself.
I was crying and crying hard,
Oh God! Why is there such a thing as death in this world?
I ask you, god,
Have you ever lived in a family?
Or have you ever known what it is to be loved?
Well then, if you have,
How come you take away our dear ones form amongst us?
They say there’s a life after death,
And that it’s just another journey,
But god why don’t you let us all
Enjoy it together, as a family again?
Why do people age?
Why do animals, plants and trees age?
God, how unfair can it get?
You idiot, do we ever portray you as an old man?
Do we portray rama or jesus as old?
We let you be,
Don’t we?
But then,
Don’t you ever think
Of returning the favor?

Devil's Snare

Well, words don’t come naturally to me,
And poetry certainly doesn’t.
Is poetry all about those high class words
That makes no sense,
Or is it all about the rhymes
That sound nonsense?
Well, even I want to write poetry,
Put my thoughts, my emotions, my trauma,
Into words, but then the publishers don’t
Publish it for lack of poetic sense,
Then what the hell do I do with those feelings?
Trash them into the bin, huh?
Get a life, you dumbo,
Poetry’s not about lifting words from a dictionary,
Or from someone else’s work,
It’s about you,
It’s about your life
And not like
“Thou that countless of pulchritude
Thou this... maugre... taciturnitude…”
All my barking and my trauma,
You never pay attention to.
You ass,
You write about life and you’ve never lived it,
You talk about love, and you’ve never felt it,
You talk about joy, sorrow, hurt and pain,
And never ever fuckin known it.
This poem won’t get published too,
“For lack of poetic sense”, they’ll say
“And for the use of bad words…”
But all I’ll say is,
You ass, get a life!

Mom- Man Of the Match

There are times when things never go your way,
And that’s where my mom comes in.
Gives me joy, gives me pleasure,
Gives me hope, gives me love,
It’s tough bein a mom,
And that’s why I say,
I love you, mom.
Love you loads.
Well mom, I know it’s not easy for you,
I wasn’t born with a manual,
Nor were you born with a golden arm,
You’ve got no prior experience in givin birth,
You learn through the course of time and I do too.
I admire you mom,
You’re a successful Pro Ex,
Writer, lyricist, orator, poet, on-screen personality,
Anchor, thinker, visionary…
Above all, you’re a successful mom,If they call anyone multi faceted, it should be you.
Teach me mom,
On how to drop the burden of office when you reach home,
On how to smile that priceless smile even when you’re tired,
On how to kiss the way you always do that makes me smile and blush,
On how to care, live, love and die for someone.
I don’t have to look elsewhere to find a role model,
Apj doesn’t inspire me, mom,
You do,
You always will.
Mom, I’ll do anything for you to see you smile,
To see you laugh,
To see you grin,
To see you by my side,
To see you as my mom, always.
I never wanna leave you alone, mom
Please mom, take me with me, wherever you go,
Be it pizza corner, fashion look, beauty parlor,
Music world, restaurant, or even heaven.
I love you mom,
I always will.

I'm a terrorist for God's sake

Well they call me a terrorist,
And frankly I don’t know why.
Maybe coz I love shooting,
Maybe coz I love killing,
But are you not as much a terrorist as I am?
You want me to die,
You want me to get killed,
You say I’m a disgrace to the society,
You say I’m bad, killer, terrorist,
But who is?
Your son is already in my ranks,
You can’t take care of your own child,
And you want to take care of the world.
I might kill some people for the fun of it,
But you go about hating people,
Mistrusting them, shitting them,
Killing their joy, killing their dream,
Killing their future, killing their lives,
And you say I’m a killer?
You marry four times, divorce thrice,
You force your ideas onto your son,
You want everyone from the government to your cat,
To abide by your rules,
Who’s terrorizing?
You or I?
You might not like me one single bit,
Well, frankly speakin I don’t like you too.
You say I’m rippin people apart,
Rippin peace, rippin harmony,
But, how dare you steal what rightfully is mine?
Rippin me of my pride, rippin me of my honor,
Who’s rippin whom?
You might pay to see me die,
That ain’t wrong is it?
Well, I pay to see you cry.
And that is wrong, ain’t it?
Who’s terrorizing?
You or I?