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...

A game of chess

I've been thinking a lot lately. Thinking about things which concern me directly or indirectly, most of which I can do nothing about. Most of these things happening to me are not the result of my doing, but a result of those around me; a butterfly effect so obviously pre-planned by some force some would call pure coincidence and others something more far fetched as fate.
Then a few days ago, these thoughts going round in circles in my head, I came across a couple of friends playing chess on one of those dime-a-dozen androids available these days. Though not as avid a player I was a few years ago, I do enjoy  watching a good game and peered out of genuine interest over their shoulders. It was a slow game with one guy taking hours to decide what to move and what not to. As the game progressed, it became clear the way they were moving their pieces was so dependent on how they had moved earlier, something as a 15 year old I had never fully appreciated. And at the same time, I couldn't help but notice how similar the pieces' positions and movements affected their immediate future and 'fate'. Sounded real familiar to me. Anyhow, the game ended with the slower player getting thrashed thoroughly with only his king left to hop in handicapped fashion till the other guy used a rook and a bishop to execute the finishing moves.

At this point, a comparison.

The chessboard has 32 pieces with 64 squares. Two players move them around trying to outwit one another based on a constant set of rules. The only aim is to checkmate the opposition by rendering the king immobile.
Now welcome to the real world. Our chessboard has as many pieces as the ones you would care to/have to interact with. The number of squares are the places you'd want to go to ('going places' is a good thing apparently, hence the phrase). And yes, you yourself are a piece; a pawn, a bishop, a rook or a knight. You don't get to decide that, the others do as they are the ones who perceive you as what you are or aren't. And each piece has an intellect. No one is moving them. They are moving all by themselves. The ultimate goal is survival. Period.

A few questions now. If no one's moving us, what determines to what extent we can do something about stuff we want to? How well can we judge others based on how they've moved previously? How predictable will they be in the future? To what extent can you influence that to your advantage? Can you actually do anything about it? And what is your idea of a checkmate? Do you get to decide what it could be or would it be lumped on you like it would be when in a real game of chess your opponent says "checkmate!" and you have no choice but to lump it?

One of my most confused posts, no doubt, but I really had to, you know..just realized what I really am is a chess piece which can think for itself on a presently very confusing chessboard.

Comp'any'?

Friends around me
Some true, some false
Some with a motive
And some with nothing better to do
Than to care

I ask myself
Am I aware
Of who's who
And who's true

Question myself whether it would be rude
To search for the hidden snake
I know exists somewhere
For I can feel it in the air
But alas, I have no time to stand and stare

A friend who lets me be
Doesn't talk to me
Doesn't bother me
Seems to be the dream
In times driven by greed,lust and money
And circumstances as sweet as poisoned honey

I wake up mid-daydream
Size up the individual offering her hand 
Take it in mine
And introductions later,
Resumes the mind game which I play so fine...

Fantastic hope

Alone in the confines of a cell I am forced to call home,
With the idea of a good night's sleep being reduced
To nothing more than an impossible dream,
I am, frankly, intimidated by what scene the morning sun rays shall behold,
How things shall seem,
To me
And the people around me,
Cruel and cold,
To my emotions, blunt and bold
Or shall I be granted a new lease of life,
Which shall free me from this seemingly endless strife

I wish to be an optimist,all along the way,
Wish to extract comfort from what I think and say
Laugh out loud at things I would normally have scorned,
For this is my weak reaction to things going worse,
Something I'd like to call the optimist's curse

So oh creator, if you're listening up there, on your throne so high,
Could you kindly pardon me and let out one last exasperated sigh,
For my lesson is learnt and your deed is done,
All I ask for is your mercy
-A sinner, yet your favorite son

Silence is Cold

Silence rules unhindered by everything else,
And locking of eyes so cold, seems to do the rest
Maintaining the frigid wall, which has now formed,
Strong and tall,
Seems by far, the easiest bet

Let's not converse,
Let's not get into depressing pieces of the past,
To which mutually, we are so averse
For we respect the malicious philosophy,
Which says everything happens for a reason,
And that all forms of lying and ill-directed treason,
Are last resorts thought out by minds, so subtly evil,
Yet clever enough to defend oneself when caught up in emotional prison

Have you begun to enjoy the sound of silence, my love?
For I certainly have, as it takes my mind away a bit above,
From what I hate to love and love to hate
And strangely sometimes, those things are one and the same
All thanks to the darkly funny game,
Played by a friend of mine, I'd like to call cruel old Fate

So forget the happy times for a life unseen,
And maybe if we meet one day, for real or in a dream
Each will take care to ask how the other's been
Make small talk, and try not to appear a wee bit too keen

No awkward silences, I hope would arise then
For, like you said, time is a healer
Curing all the whys and whens
So I believe you once more, as I have no other choice,
But I do hope this rhyme at that point,
Finds its way to my voice..

A bird's eye view of a pair of hearts

Silhouettes gleaming in the moonlight,
And hearts beating fast,
Visible a thousand miles away,
And yet, the inexplicable chill remains to stay

Why, oh, fellow creature, why
Do I sense this cold in the air?
When all I feel deep down within,
Is just a sense of togetherness
I so badly wish to share

For how many times and on how many occasions,
Do you wish that I lay down all to bare,
For you to see, yet again,
Of how precious i consider you, as i always have,

So take my hand,
And don't let the past be in vain,
Though I know they say,
That togetherness eventually makes one pain

But it'd be nothing compared to the thought of you
Never sharing with me this moonlit hue,
Our hearts beating fast, visible a thousand miles away,
Beating strong and beating true...

How does a swan help me?

Your eyes say something so different,
To what your words seem to imply,
Confused, baffled and in two minds you leave me,
About my eventual end for this high

The swan floats on,
Unhindered and unperturbed,
About the plots around it being it being plotted,
It tried to ignore, yet unfortunately overheard

Oh, serene creature of the water,
Teach me something worthwhile,
How to fend off these random attacks,
And to get to get back on my feet,
With splendid and admirable style

These ancient secrets you appear to guard,
For no great apparent reason,
But for the self-righteous pride,
Your fore-fathers taught you,
And swore you to be true
I request you,
Oh sacred avian beneficiary,
To bestow upon me,
The art of reading her mind,
When cryptic girly jargon is all I find.

Obtaining the unknown

I wake up from a dream so real,
One I've seen
A million times before
And yet, of it I don't seem to bore,
It's like my mind refuses to believe what I see,
Refusing to believe a truth,
So pure and carefree

I struggle to rip the blindfolds of my eyes,
To save myself from these lies,
But my hands remain calm and content,
As if this is what they were meant,
To do,
To come of use in finding no clue
About what lies beyond the realms,
Of sanity, reason and pale contempt

Pale contempt
For all attempts,
To think beyond the ordinary,
And to stop being cautious and wary

For the things you desire,
Need a fire,
The height of which should reach heaven above
Fueled by the fury of your passion's love...

None for the road

You gulp down your glass
The one you hold in your hand
The rush of alcohol going straight to your head
And behold, on top of the world you stand
You along with the others yell for another
A bottoms up this time around
After all this is an occasion to celebrate
And to feel free and not tied down
I look at you with a wary glance
For I've seen you this way before
It wasn't pretty any of the times
My heart skips a beat as you stagger towards the door
I get to my feet
And follow you out
There you are leaning on the railing
Already in the act of throwing up
I pat your back
To help you out a bit
But you don't seem to need it
As the party animal within you wins again
And back you go to get yourself a drink
Half an hour passes in a jiffy
And in the mood you are to ride
A long cruise in your car
I try to reason with you
Try to make you see some sense
For the feeling in me is something I just can't hide
You do the same,
Try to convince me to join you
Try to talk some of your brand of logic into me
And plead with me
Try to make me see
The thrills
Of the random frills
You foresee for that night
But how can I make you realize
Of what I fear
The anguish of what I'd feel, so sheer
You take the last resort
And ask for one for the road
But I stick to my guns
And stand unmoved
Finally talk you out of it
For I care for us, and value the days I'd have with you,
The ones I fear I'd never have if I let you go
For I care more for you, sweetie
Than the road you want to toast to.


This is an appeal to all of you out there not to drink and drive. And please stop any of your friends and family from doing so..it is simply not worth it.

Beyond the business of murder

I knock at the door,
Loud enough to announce my arrival
To an awake you,
Yet softly, not to awaken you
If you're asleep, as it's half past two
I wait for a tense five seconds
And then I see your shadow
And prepare myself for a major row
You survey me with wide sleepless eyes
Pleading with me all the while
That what you think I've done
What I've repeated for pure fun
Didn't happen again that familiar night
But I can't assure you,
Just like I can't assure myself
Of what I believe to be wrong
And what I view as right
A tear trickles down your pretty cheek
As you already sense a hint of my fixture in the air
I want to hold you tight,
Tell you it sucks and that life's not fair
But I am uncomfortably aware
Of the trust and the love you feel
Despite the thing in me you so strongly hate
I wipe that dewdrop of pain away
And plant a kiss on your lips
Feel a sigh pass through your body
Wait for it to tide
For eternity
I hold you in my arms
And the beast within me 
Momentarily
Ceases to exist
And in my mind, 
I see the family of the man 
I just killed, break down wildly
Seeing his mutilated body
For I left it lying in the street
In front of his very own house
The knife still in his heart
And his eyes cut out for good measure
And unexplained cruel pleasure
I take my mind off that picture
Comfort a sobbing you
Running my murderer's hands through your hair
Saying it'll be alright,
But unsurprisingly. I don't convince myself,
And so, how could I convince you?

The plight of a less fortunate creature

Bird of paradise, in all your splendor
Flying through the twilit skies,
Experience the joys of freedom on a first term basis,
But be warned that these are just convenient lies
You return to your humble abode,
The one that you yourself had made
Only to discover it smashed and burned
For lo! Has descended the angel from Hades
You take refuge on a nearby branch
And scope out the new creature you see,
In size much bigger than you, though doesn't fly,
And shows no regret for it's deed
Soon enough, it is joined by another,
And they, together,
Also tear down the house of your little brother
You watch helpless, for you know not what to do,
Watch your world fall apart, right in front of you
You wonder in anguish if you are being punished,
For some sin you now forget
But fret not
And stress not your little avian mind,
For it's just the result of being in mother nature's debt
You take to flight yet again,
To search for a new home this time,
Flying through the now moonlit skies, you know how free you are,
'Survival of the fittest', unfortunately for you,
Is the name of life's malicious rhyme