Not Just The Former President

In a time when all causes felt lost,
He was a beacon of inspiration.
A fire, a powerhouse, a man with a mission,
A man with a vision, a man of action.
He was a father to millions,
A dependable, reliable personality.
A workaholic, a role model, a man of research,
A man who'd always stick to his word.
Innovative and creative, he was the perfect leader,
Frail, yet bursting with energy,
He was a man of humility.
A man, who deserved immortality.

RIP APJ Abdul Kalam. You'll always be remembered.

Woolgathering

It's like we're running endlessly.
Moving across a loop, moving,
But getting nowhere.
Wondering out aloud, chit-chatting with our conscience,
Talking, yet not speaking, breathlessly.
Hearing but not listening,
Connected to reality, but oh so vaguely.
Chasing after thoughts, rambling
Through the meadows of our ideas,
Living in our own mind,
In a world of our own making.
Thinking, but not registering, endlessly
Moving, just moving,
On a path called nothing,
To a place called nowhere.
Perhaps, we're just woolgathering.

Mother

Her hands caress,
Her hands soothe,
Her hands heal,
Every wound.
Her hands guide,
Her hands fight
Every battle of mine.
Her hands shape,
Her hands mold,
Her hands hold me close.
her hands have calluses,
Yet they are soft.
Her hands are ever so gentle,
As they help me grow.

When my heart takes the pen.

Biting my lips, I try scribbling furiously,

Searching, seeking, the right words.

Emotions weigh me down, but not my pen.

It finds no words to write.

Tearing yet another sheet,

I scramble towards the next in the pile,

I see blankness again.

No words, this time either.

Slowly, I let my pen drop,

And hide my face within my cupped hands.

Defeated.

The paper conquers over the writer.

I look up when the numbness in my body 

Overwhelms me.

Another cold night without fire.

And yet I waste these pages, with words

Unwritten, untold.

It's as if the paper taunts me, 

So I pick the pen up again,

Grimace, at the blot of ink, now adorning the carpet.

The page before me stares rudely,

In answer, I stare back.

For a second, only.

I assault the paper this time.

Hours later, I finally eye the rectangular sheet,

And marvel, for I won this time.

I understand now,

The page remains wordless when I search my head,

But words flow freely,

When my heart takes the pen.

A Fire

A spark, it fascinated me,
Zest -the zest for something bigger,
Burnt within it.
It was a start, a beginning.
A prologue to something brighter.
A flame.
It intrigued me. It was a rebel,
From crimson hues to deep blues,
It burnt. It enveloped. It grew.
But something changed.
It consumed now,
It hissed and it spat,
It devastated.
It became something worse. Fire.
It burnt me. Within.

What if?

Imagine if you were given a choice,
To read the story of your life.
Every detail, every inevitable circumstance,
With the condition that you can't change your fate.
Would you read it, and know how life will be for you,
Would you face the monotony?
Imagine if you knew the day you'll die,
And couldn't change it, too.
Would you rather enact your life,
The way written on your chapters,
Or would you let fate decide,
And follow blindly onwards.
Would you let each moment speak for itself,
Or would you live in a predicted future?
Would you rather live in the fear of predicted death,
Or would you be glad for another day to live?

The walk

She began her life with a cry,
She had a long way to go.
There was a path waiting to be threaded on,
That bore her name.
She started off, toddling on it,
Before she was 18 months old.
She found it special, for it had its thrill,
And an unknown destination.
The lovely child, that treaded on her little feet,
Was walking on the path of life, my dear.
There was no end, just a series of beginnings.
Sometimes she went slow, in dread or joy,
Either she savored the moment,
Or let it pass by.
Sometimes she had to run,
Sometimes they were narrow escapes,
Sometimes she faltered,
Sometimes she lost her way.
But all the time, she walked on time,
She walked through her life.
Youth turned to senility,
And her steps grew infirm.
And though she knew not where she headed,
She had to walk along.
Maybe there was an end, a destination,
But her journey ended before,
And somewhere in the middle,
She rested forever more.
It was before her final step,
It was before her final breath,
That she was given the satisfaction of knowing,
That the path itself was her goal,
That the walk she savored, the walk she dreaded,
Was what was meant for her.
She realized, that this was special, unique,
The path that bore her name.
This path that had been crossed by many more,
Was her very own, never to be treaded on again.

Together Again

Remember the day,
When we travelled in metaphors?
Others were speechless,
We were not.
We babbled stupidly for them, 
But we knew the truth inside.
Understanding, we call it now,
But for us it was a magical power,
Through which we read each others' meanings.
We were kids with childish thoughts,
And expressed ourselves irrationally,
But, our expressions weren't false,
They were simply metaphors,
Only we knew the truth inside.
Let's travel back in Time,
Let's travel through the metaphors again,
We'll unravel the truths again,
But this time, we'll do it together.

This Can't Be Goodbye

I walked the dusty road that led to the cottage,
It seemed like a decade had passed since I'd seen the place,
Yet truly it was but yesterday.
Still, yesterday seemed so distant,
And I tell of it, before my hazy gaze,
Shall fall when I last met him.
Near dusk, a trudging traveller,
Had come home at last to a cheery fire.
She had come to visit her grandpapa,
Who she'd longed to see many times before.
And there at dusk he sat with pipe in hand,
A soft whistle, a welcome sign was all that was heard.
He got up when she drew into sight, though he had grown feeble,
He hobbled on his feet with difficulty,
To meet the child he'd longed to see.
He knew he was not to live, life was counting its last days,
But love, dear love! Was what brought him to his feet,
And sent him blundering forth.
She caught his hand, held it firm,
And gave a cheery smile,
How dear he was! How could she ever say goodbye?
He trembled as they sat together
and talked into the growing dark.
She was light in his humble dwellings,
She was a breath of fresh air.
She talked with determination and hope,
And she thought a lot more,
So dear was her sweet grandfather,
She'd stay by his side forevermore.
Was fate playing a petty trick, or was it some noble blessing,
That his soul shall finally rest,
Amidst the trembling and quivering.
And now, Farewell! Oh Dearest soul!
Rest in Peace, you deserve it!
Bless you for your kindness,
You have left me forever indebted.
Take care, take care, in the angelic world you dreamt of,
Be happy as you always were.
Grandfather, this farewell, is all
You'll remain in hearts, so I shan't say Goodbye, after all.

A True Devotee

I could say that I believe in Shiva, Allah, Jesus,

And I dare say that saying so will not create a fuss,
Yet will I be right in doing so?
Till I haven't controlled my anger,
Till I don't stop being in a temper,
Till I don't feel humble in my heart,
Till the silliness of discrimination, I don't outsmart,
Till I don't follow and believe in equality,
Till I don't adopt serenity,
I cannot be believing in Shiva, Allah or Jesus,
And that may create a fuss,
But doing is believing, and devotion is believing,
And until I don't fulfil the cries of humanity,
I won't be believing.

The Last Day

The Earth shook and shivered,

The lands trembled and quivered,

Earthquakes were common these days,

Just as the old prophecy says,

And whispers spread-the Earth dies,

Dies right in front of our eyes.

Grumbling, muttering clouds roll in the sky,

Even the Sun seems to be saying goodbye,

Shades of dark melancholy, enveloping everything,

And as the prophets had always been thinking,

And truly so-the Earth dies,

Dies right in front of our eyes.

Silence and dread of the nearing end prevail,

Every being sickly and pale,

And death, death only is in sight,

As the Earth fights its final fight.

And whispers spread- the Earth dies,

Dies right in front of our eyes.

A Battle Lost

In a cold place, and with colder heart,

In jumbled lanes, and jumbled lives,

In white, pristine white,

Too dark, too dark, oh, too dark,

With hearts too heavy, too grieved,

With guns too ready, a battle perceived.

A battle, not of kings and queens,

Nor of a display of power, of strength,

Nor one fought for religious ambition, 

Only a battle, Only a battle

Only a battle of life and death,

Of pain and sorrow,

Of grief and despair,

Only a battle, lost today.

The lingering, white world,

Only a battlefield,

Why worry, today,

We've lost, anyway.  

( Entry to Prompt of the Week )

Pollution

Busy roads and crowded streets,

Have made the world with less feet.

Cutting down of trees,

Is making oxygen decrease.

The rivers are now trash,

Making the waves crash.

Allthe places filled with noise,

Oh God! Is this why we have a sweet voice?

Pollution in water and land,

Will we ever understand?

( my first poem)

A book

A book is a teacher,
Respect it.
A book is a friend,
Love it.
A book is precious,
Treasure it.
A book is another life,
Live it.
A book is a book,
Read it!

Lost...

When and where?
How and why?
Now and here,
Hear the cry.
Why, just why?
Why the cry?
Oh there she lies,
Cold inside.
They came at their leisure,
For only their pleasure,
She fell a victim,
To them, to him.
One, she knew,
Thought to be good and true,
All was a lie,
She thought with a sigh.
And there she lies,
Cold inside.
Horror flashed again,
And so did her pain,
She was alone, then why,
Did she find herself cry?
Horror, oh horror, oh horror,
Or to be called terror?
But then, what to do now?
So she lied low.
And there she lies.
Cold inside,
For someone to find and know.

( impacts on my mind after the Nirbhaya case)