Truth Shall Prevail

Long time ago there lived a lad

A virtuous heart of gold he had

But the virtue that surpassed all the rest

Was truthfulness in every deed and test

He never lied and he never misled

People believed everything he said

The almighty loved him as his own dear child

A beacon of truth in times so vile

It so happened he had been to war

With a friend who met his untimely end

He trugged home sad and all alone

While the setting sun on the horizon shone

When he returned the first thing he saw

A woman in tears, so pained and raw

It was the mother of the deceased who wailed

Had her son returned or had the ships without him sailed

Her eyes fell upon the truthful lad

And asked her to tell him any news good or bad

In a fix looking at the mother's state

He replied, falsely, that her son was safe

It was the first lie he had ever told

But God above had other plans to unfold

When he turned around and knew forgiveness was due

The dead had risen and the lie was true

(Inspired from an Arabian fable I came across recently)

The Two Of Him

There are two of him
Different souls, single body
And there is a muse

The two fight endlessly
And senselessly 
For one loves the muse
The other despises her
And one secretly wants the other to win
But are prey to ego's sin

One pines while the other plots
Longing and loathing go hand in hand
Steps taken forward are retraced
Back to the same familiar land
They argue and they clash
Over interests so varied
Yet stemming from thoughts of the muse
Are they to be revelled in or are they to be buried

The muse is confronted
And the deed is done
She lies on her back
Blood like water runs
The plotter ceases to exist
Having had his fill
The lover kills himself
And then everything stays still

There were two of him,
Different souls, single body
And there was a muse....

Flowers in the Arctic

Hostility and mean words
Were my birthday gifts
I accepted them wholeheartedly
For I deemed them fit

Justified, thanks to my faults
For they helped me grow,
Taught me that the best emotions
Are the ones that are never shown

Bidding my time to see
When I would be on top
When I would have the upper hand
When I'd be impossible to stop

More cause than effect,
Revenge intoxicated me, so sweet
Trampled in it's hateful wake
I felt like I stood firmly on both feet

I killed, I stole, I sinned
Sold my soul a thousand times over
I had to get back at them
I didn't care if I got any lower.

You ask me, "Have you got all you wished for?"
"Of course! Isn't it how it seems?"
"Are you happy being the last man standing?"
And I'll reply "Yes, it was my dream"

But I will ask you to take a look
At water in the Sahara
And flowers in the Arctic
Ask them what it's like
And all you will get in reply from those solitary revolutionaries
Is silence...

I'm Not Insane

I can end wars with a wave of my hand,
My slightest wish has known to part ocean or land,
Bone and muscle toil to keep me in check,
But the insolent child of the mind that I am,
Would I bother to listen to these mortal elements?
Would I?
So I've learnt and taught you as well,
That it's all about not giving a damn

I can wipe your tears away,
The next instant I could make your biggest fears forever stay
I could cajole you with soft words of love and request,
Or rudely mock you as part of my weekly jest

Sometimes I feel like grabbing you close and making out with you till the break of dawn,
And at times I feel I should leave you to die and just carry on
I help you light hope's warm fire in dark cold times
But simultaneously chill you to the bone with my twisted rhymes

I think and plan for you, and me, and our wonderful future together, never apart
But I also plot and scheme to ensure I have your worst interests at heart
I can offer you help being your accomplice and only true friend,
Or plunge a knife into your heart, making way for your end

See, I'm being dead honest right now with you,
Yet there is so much more you haven't the slightest clue to.....


Now don't think I'm insane
really, I'm not
That's a common mistake

From where I come,
They call me insanity.......

The Secret to Harmony

Blank pages of a blank book
Scream silently
Howling for attention
From the owner,
Either too drunk or too hung-over
Reeling in merry-making or its aftermath
Unaware his end does loom near,
Or could.

He's rich
Got a big car
And more women he can handle
Who couldn't care for him less
Yet they get a lot of what they want from him,
And vice-versa
He's well versed with these dynamics,
For he's not a fool
Yet he lives on
Loving
Not his life, but the fact that he doesn't hate it

The pages meanwhile, too,
Grow selfish
Drawn by the need to feel wanted
And ironically, loved.
They plead
To be
Touched, fondled, caressed or ravaged by ink violently spurting forth,

Anything.

They haven't got it in a while.

Pleased that he is wanted
The man colors the book blue
With meaningless doodles
And words which mean little

The book's happy
So is he

Everyone's got what they wanted
So now you know the secret to harmony..

Prof

They always say the first impression is the only impression. Or in some extremely unbearable cases, the last. You may size a person up, chew him/her up and spit him/her out rightaway when that happens. But not always,hopefully, keeping one's ridiculously high hangout company standards a little secondary-ward as compared to his mortal social needs. So what makes one compromise? Dunno about that, but something sure tells me it's a word rhyming with desperation. Desperation.

Anyhow, the first impression I had of someone I'm now a fan of has nothing to do with the paragraph above you've  spent a good minute on. This man, I'd like to call 'Prof' henceforth is a professor of pediatrics at my college and even though I had been present in Prof's classes at least three times including today, I'd never payed attention the first two times, so this was, for all intents and purposes, the first impression. All I did the first two times is what I'm doing right now in an opthal class on IOLs. 

But I listened and listened and when I realized I was listening I screamed a bit at myself in my head. But Prof was magnetic with a totally profound point of view on bacterial meningitis. I've come across a LOT of professors in the past, MANY of whom I never paid attention to because they looked like they just wanted to get a bunch of medical facts over to the other side. Not Prof though. He seemed genuinely interested, his rasp of a voice oozing enthusiasm, not undeterred by the lack of amplification and acoustic clarity which he could have availed using the lecture hall microphone. What made Prof so unique was that I've never seen someone so animated in his talk, hands waving around, eager to teach, to extend knowledge which for all practical purposes was, in fact, in its true essence, medical WISDOM. 

Prof asked very few questions because he knew the 90 odd people were actually listening, if even with one ear, to his lecture. And that's a real accomplishment for a teacher teaching our class, believe you me. I myself, in the last bench was asked a question, the answer to which didn't seem difficult at all. You see what Prof was doing here? He wasn't just maliciously picking up students and testing whether they knew stuff he knew they didn't, he was merely allowing himself intravenous shots of pride with satisfaction in his work, which I felt he totally deserved.

Prof wound up 10 minutes well before time, and told the junta half smiling that it was his last class at AFMC. Hoots of "treat sir" were greeted sportingly and he graciously agreed for an All Present. And all the while Prof took to walk out of the lecture hall, for what might just be his last time, and out of sight, I was sitting right back there in the last bench thinking "Wow! Now that's how you make a first impression!"

Burning for me?

There's this light burning out by my window,
Blazing on throughout sun and snow
Bothers me no end
Shining relentlessly even at night
Trying wholeheartedly to prick my near- numb conscience
Trying to make it known to me,
That there are lots of things for which I have to fight
Before I can indulge in a good hearty sleep
Which I questionably presume to be an unquestionable right

I stare at the glimmer
Try to reason with it
Try to talk to it
As it burns moths and other clueless creatures of the dark down
Flames eating away at a small circle of  black around it
Makes no sense to me
Why the effort in the first place?
Why try to change things?
When no one's interested to change their ways?

Maybe you were born that way
Unchanging for the sake of change
And strangely enough, it comforts me
That something awaits for a rain
Which will nourish me,
Yet put out the embers of its dying flames...