The inexplicable feeling...

There are times in your life,

when you want to be free,

you've existed for long enough,

you want to live for once.

For too long a time,

you've been waiting,

for a moment to set you free,

for a light that makes you shine.

You have been always surrounded,

there have been people all around,

some friends, some others,

yet, there has always been a haunting loneliness.

There has never been peace,

although all has been quiet,

no screaming, no shouting,

yet, only chaos.

Then there comes along someone,

who makes you feel calm,

makes you feel wanted,

makes you live.

Yet, you don't know what it is,

you try to give it meaning,

the words fall short,

the dictionary loses out.

You try to let it go,

it sticks on to you,

you try to move on,

you're stuck on to it.

You don't need to hold on to it,

it is there with you,

you can't decide what it was to you,

yet, it makes you want to live on.

One day...

One day when you look back,

and you see only empty shadows where i used to be,

don't be sad,

just know that i've gotten used to the oblivion.

One day when you have only memories to look back on,

and you think about me,

don't be sad,

just know that there are plenty of good ones to remember me by.

One day when you get tired of running,

and you do not find my shoulder to rest your head on,

don't be sad,

just know that i'd be supporting someone who needs it more.

One day when you realize what i meant to you,

and you want to tell me that,

don't be sad,

just know that i always knew that.

One day when you feel lonely,

and you look around for me in the shadows,

don't be sad,

just know that i've found my place in the oblivion.

Tum jaa rahe ho...

Tum jaa rahe ho, yun lagta hai k zindagi ja rhi hai, humari khushi, humara pyaar, humara sansaar ja raha hai... 

Tum thhe to hum thhe, khushi thi, gham thhe, jeene ke do pal thhe.. 

Tum thhe to lamhe thhe, kuch khone ke, kuch paane ke, ummeed bhare zamaane thhe.. 

Tum ja rahe ho, zindagi ja rahi hai, pal do pal ki hi thi jo, wo khushi ja rahi hai, jeene ko majbur karti thi jo, wo ummeed ja rahi hai..

The Sound of Silence

Then there was no sound, 

No voice.

There were people around,

they were speaking something,

I could make out the moving lips,

yet, I could not hear a word.

I tried to speak to them myself,

tell them I wanted to hear what they were saying,

I wanted to be a part of their conversation,

yet, their ears were immune to my voice.

I kept on listening, 

straining my ears so that I may hear the faintest of sounds,

Finally my ears did hear something,

yet, it was only the sound of silence.

Lost in Translation...

I was waiting there by the roadside,
Looking at the people passing me by,
The lady with the shrilly voice,
The small kid selling balloons.
And then i saw her,
Fixated by the beauty,
The gaze turned to a stare,
The masterpiece that God painted.
The eyes held my stare,
Mesmerizing me,
Taking me into the ethereal,
A world that could only exist there.
The face so bright,
The moon faded into the darkness,
The stars lost their gleam,
The world yet shined in my eyes.
The smile was a drug,
Killed the sad and the pain,
It filled me with happiness,
Filled the world with joy.
There was something about this girl,
That could make life so simple,
That could make the problems disappear,
That could make you dream when awake.
I tried to tell her how i felt,
Yet there were no words,
There was no sound,
The heart and mind were still in awe.
I tried to hug her,
Yet i could not move,
Afraid of waking up from a dream,
Betrayal of my own heart.
And then she walked away,
The dream ceased to exist,
The world lost its beauty,
The heart lost its purpose.
The people started moving again,
The stars and moon shone,
The shrilly voice was heard again,
The balloon was still being sold.

Once in a blue moon

Once in a blue moon,
You come across somebody in your life,
Someone who makes you laugh,
Someone who makes you cry.
Someone who talks to you,
Someone who hears you out.
Someone who will care for you,
Someone who will shed a tear for you.
Someone who holds your hand,
Someone who sets you free.
Someone who likes you for your imperfections,
Someone who doesnt change you on the pretext of perfection.
Someone with whom you can be yourself,
Someone who will make you love yourself.
And then you have to make that blue moon last forever,
Cause that someone is someone who makes you who you are,
That someone completes you,
That someone makes life beautiful,
That someone makes you believe that love does exist.

The last meeting

And she left him there,
with nothing but loneliness to accompany him,
the tears in his eyes reflecting what he had lost,
the mind too numb to comprehend the situation,
the face a pale shadow of what it used to be,
the legs refusing to move,
the arms stiff from top to bottom,
the soul battered beyond repair,
yet there stood the silhouette,
looking at his life passing him by...

Tour de Dope

Sport has always been, and will always be a hugely emotional experience, for all those involved with it, whether playing or following it.
While all sport churns out champions, it also creates role models, people who determine how the general public perceives the sport, responds to it, and makes it a part of their daily lives.
These people, these champions, they are the people who carry on their shoulders the responsibility of marketing their sport, carrying it forward, and also protecting the sport.
The first time I heard about Lance Armstrong, he had already won the coveted title of the Tour de France a couple of times.
I happened to be in a store with a friend of mine, looking at a yellow-colored wristband that had the title 'LIVESTRONG' written on it. As I picked up the band to look at it up close, my friend told me the story of how this guy who was a professional cyclist, had battled cancer, months of
extensive chemotherapy, to come back stronger and even more determined than ever before, to win back to back titles at the Tour de France, which he ensured me was the Holy Grail of the Cycling world.
Every year after that I used to tune into the Tour de France, just to pledge my support to this God-like figure, who had fought Death face to face, and yet lived, to fight it out another day.
If this was the case of a person who hardly knew at that time what Professional Cycling was all about, it really was not surprising how he had become the beacon of hope in an otherwise hopeless world, the epitome of strength and courage, the toast of the cycling world, the champion of life, the one person the world would look upto when it needed heart.
Lance Armstrong, the name, the brand, the legend, kept on growing year after year, adding titles, breeding new fans and followers, making believers out of people who thought hope was a lost cause in their lives.
Such was the legend, the fan-following, the belief, that when the first time a speculation of him using performance-enhancing drugs was made, it was almost dismissed collectively by the whole world.
Sadly though, it was this world that was to be let down when 6 years after that first allegation, he admitted to the usage of the drugs during his reign as champion.
I have been a huge fan of Lance Armstrong for the most part of my life, and though he still remains an inspiration for fighting it out with death, yet he does not remain the role model I once considered him to be.
Had he admitted to doping in the first place, maybe he would have been forgiven, and remained a hero, although a little marred, yet still a hero, who fought his way back into life, and maybe in his will to fight back, had gone a little overboard, but, no he did not.
The world stood by him, and then as details of the scandal came out slowly, the world shattered all around him, the beacon of hope was suddenly a bundle of lies, who had fought death no doubt, but in order to become great, had cheated on his world, his profession, his people, just like he had cheated on death.
It turned out to be a scripted movie that had been running and re-running year after year to entice the world into a notion of hope, into the creation of a legend that would become greater than the life it lead.
The sad part is that it is the sport that is suffering the most as an aftermath. The people lost an inspiration, but the sport lost a legend, and along with that, its credibility.
The person who had breathed life into the sport was sadly the one who puffed the life out of it too.
The coveted title of Tour de France has lost its sheen, and cyclists the world over are now being looked at with suspicion. What wrong did they do?
The Tour de France probably made Lance Armstrong the brand it became, that was its only mistake.
It made a legend, but got a career full of lies and deceit in return.
Lance Armstrong was the one involved in doping, yet it is Professional Cycling that has taken the hit and would be now paying for the damage done.

  

Help

There he was, standing by the traffic lights, trying to catch a lift to the hospital.
He had been waiting for quite some time now, asking people here and there, to drop him to the hospital, but every single time, he got the same reply.
Nobody seemed to be going toward the hospital, or so they made him believe.
He was a stranger, to the town, to the people, to their ways. Never before had he seen such unhelpful people in his life, which he was sure had been long enough to see plenty, and more.
In his own small village, no one would think twice, before helping any man in distress, let alone an old man like he was.
For the umpteenth time, he tried asking another young man, who had just halted on the signal, to drop him to the hospital, and yet again the reply was "I'm not going in that direction".
Then, came an auto rickshaw, and halted right next to where he was standing. He checked his pockets, turned them inside out, and snap, there went the rickshaw.
He was dejected, and disappointed at the helpless attitude of the people, and more than that, at his own helplessness.
Sadly, he just sat back under the shade of the tree, the only solace the hot afternoon had to offer, waiting for someone else to come by.

He had to get to the hospital, and quickly, for what reason he could not quite remember.
His old mind had started playing games with him, and although he knew there was someone gravely ill, he could not remember who it was.
He got up all of a sudden, as he saw an auto-rickshaw coming to a halt. Frantically, he checked his pockets, and unable to find anything he could offer to the driver, he started cursing his God, the hysteria of his bad luck echoing through the silent air.
His eyes red with sadness, his throat coarse with cough, his legs trembling with panic, the old man looked on in disbelief at the world passing him by, apathetic and unmoved.
The old man turned around, and went back to the empathizing shade of the tree.

Redemption...

All of our lives we spend in shackles, of self-imposed righteousness, of what is, and what will be, and if it should be, or it should not. Some times its just good to let be, take things as they come, move on, enjoy what is, not wonder what will become, some times its just good to cheat out a moment from this examination of life.

Even a single happy moment holds enough promise to take us out of the misery of the life we seem to be living. It is just that we need to string together enough of these happy moments to last us a life time. Moments are waiting to happen, but we some times are the biggest barriers to their existence.

We want to control each and everything happening in our lives, and in search of this control, we destroy the very essence of the moments our life is made of.

Knowingly or unknowingly, we are all becoming control-freaks, each one of us having postulated a routine which we need to follow, fearing the unknown, afraid of what would happen if we would just be spontaneous for once in life.

The young, innocent, fun-loving boy who once did not even get bogged down by the blistering heat of the summer sun, some where down this road of life, turns into a mechanical robot, going to work and coming back home, seldom finding time to do what the heart desires.

Its time to let the soul free, give it the air it desires, the heart it needs, the drive to do what it wants to do, if not forever, just for this once. It deserves a chance, at least a single chance, in return for the strangling it has received in the hands of the material riches that this grey world has to offer, to live its dream, to be colorful, to be free, to be its own self once again.

It is time for the boy to resurrect from the mechanical death he had died.
It is the time for redemption of a life that was once lived.

Slow-motion

I want to stand still for a moment,

look at all that's passing me by.

I want to inhale the scent of blossoming roses,

intoxicate myself with the fragrance of their freshness.

I want to stare at the gleaming stars,

admire their beauty amid the darkness all around.

I want to walk into the night,

feel the solace of its tranquility.

I want to smell the grass early in the morning,

freshly moistened by the cold winter dew.

I want to dance around in the rain,

splattering and spraying the droplets of joy.

I want to play along with a child,

enjoy the life he breathes into the game.

I want to find the joy in the small things in life,

which I've lost in my pursuit of material happiness.

I want to be in slow motion for just a little while,

much of my life is to quickly pass me by.

The final act....

There he was on the center stage,

one last time.

He was conscious of the huge audience,

just like his first stage appearance.

The legs still didn't miss a tremble,

every time he had to face them.

Hundreds of eyes focused on his every movement,

one step wrong and they would devour him with their laughter.

The first dialogue still came with a stutter,

yet increased his confidence manifold.

He was playing the part of a melancholy man,

a man who had lost everything his life had stood for.

It should have been just another day in the office,

he had done plenty of roles of a similar type.

Yet, something was different this time round,

he could just feel it was not the same.

He was going to miss the stage,

the stares, the laughter, the applause.

He was going to miss the drama,

the lights, the music, the emotion.

The dialogues soaked with his sadness,

the expression made stronger by his emotion.

And as he spoke the last dialogue before the curtain came down,

he did not want to give into his heavy heart.

Yet, the next moment he was crying his heart out,

as the audience was standing in applause, shouting for an encore.

Life would have been so simple....

Life would have been so simple,

if only I could be a kid once again.

Running, playing and falling all around,

loving the joy and not caring for the pain.

Life would have been so simple,

if only I could go to school once more.

I miss the fun and frolic,

of what once appeared to be a bore.

Life would have been so simple,

if only I had my parents around me.

The care, the love, the selfless devotion,

giving me the freedom to just be.

Life would have been so simple,

if only college had never ended.

The pun, the quarrels, the fights,

yet in the end no one was left offended.

Life would have been so simple,

if only I had all my friends here.

Enjoying all the good times together,

for the world we wouldn't care.

Life would have been so simple,

if only time would not have passed by so fast.

Living each moment for an eternity,

forever I would make it last.

Life would have been so simple,

if only I could go back once again.

To the time when I used be happy the whole day,

when there was no time to waste on sorrow and pain.

Fear

Fear is...

When you are trying to run away n all you can come up against are dead-end alleys,

Fear is...

When your face is fully submerged in a bucket full of water n won't come out despite your best efforts,

Fear is...

When you close your eyes to sleep n get up after a few minutes with sweat all over your face,

Fear is...

When you try to eat something but vomit everything right after,

Fear is...

When you are trapped in a room as big as you are with no windows,

Fear is...

When all your life appears a question mark cause of one moment that went terribly wrong,

Fear is...

When you are tied up in knots n the more you try to free yourself the more you get entangled,

Fear is...

When you see the person you want the most walking away from you and as you try to run after your legs just won't work,

Fear is...

When you are standing on the roof of a multi-storeyed building and your best friend gives you a push
Fear is...

When running is cowardice, thinking is out of the question and tears are natural.....

Thinking...

As I sit in front of my computer, sipping coffee and trying to concentrate on what I'm typing, my mind's drifting away, enveloped by a cloud of thoughts. Tried as hard as I have to control it, I finally came to the conclusion that the mind functions on completely its own terms. You can try to curb its instinct, but in the long run that really affects you even worse than it ought to. The best you can do is find a reason for every single thought that occurs, which results in even more thinking. So, the mind embraces you into a vicious circle by the simple process of generating a thought that's so strange even to your own self, that you need to find a reason for the mere existence of that thought. The implication being that you can never let yourselves live a simple life. It just seems converse to the very nature of human beings that they live a life full of simplicity, without being worried about one thing or the other. Every single droplet you try to maraud from the cloud surrounding you, leads to another one and another one, the end result being that you start drowning in the flood by the time you're done.

To every problem you face, you find a separate myriad of these evil cronies, waiting to be sighted by the bright lights of your mind. Searching for a solution as you are, you find yourselves indebted to doubts and consequences that earlier did not show a sign of their presence. The problem gets even more complex than it seemed initially, and then you have to resort to crisis control, wherein you try to find that one thought that simply seems to suit you the best. This task is not the simplest of them all, and yet when it is somehow accomplished with more strain on your brain, you seem to have found some sort of a solution, or so you hope. Then comes another added characteristic to your hope, stubbornness. Once you make up your mind on the path to follow, no one's better sense could prevail upon you to abandon the path you've chosen, until and unless that person somehow convinces you he's God( in some cases that still might not be enough though). If the path you choose does lead to even a part of the problem being solved, you pride yourself on the choice you made, but when it leads to another problem because of its outcome, or worse still, it makes the original problem more profound, you just end up damaging your own psyche, and criticize your stubornness in hindsight. Ironically, the droplet of hope and direction you were trying to find is what leaves you high and dry in the desert of life, while another new cloud starts meandering overhead.

Thinking it seems is hazardous more often than never, and when you've nothing else to do, you find some existent or non-existent problem in your life, and let this hazard damage it to an extent that you're living with both the problem and the scar this procedure leaves on your mind. To still think of it, Thinking was supposed to be a gift that separated the human race from all other species. And here I am, sitting and thinking about 'Thinking' . Strange, but true. As someone rightly said 'An idle mind is the Devil's Workshop'.

The Moment...

It was to be my life's best moment,

The most beautiful picture was to be painted

Every pain was to lose its torment,

Even Hell for that instant was not to seem tainted.

It was to be the beginning of a bright new day,

The gory nights left far behind

Enchantment was to be received through every ray,

The Sun was to have never appeared so kind.

It was to be the relief of a sweet lingering pain,

After a long and gruesome bout

The world was to cease seeming insane,

I was to be on my feet after a staggering clout.

I was to be completely lost,

Lost in the beauty of that blissful elation

The people around were to pay the cost,

They were to be forgotten in that momentary translation.

I was to be a part of that moment's beauty,

Was to be the one among the very few

God was to endow me with that duty,

I had to be the one to share the moment with you.

I was to be the one who would have paved the way,

For blossoming this beauty into a never ending mile

Yet it was I who was to turn and walk away,

It was I who lost everything in the moment that I saw you smile.

One-sided Love Affair...

The day starts with the same lazy drift

As another sleepless night passes by,

The cloud just does not want to lift

Inspite of the drought it makes me cry.

I spend the whole day thinking about her

Fantasizing a world that's decorated by her beauty,

She spends her's such that I'm not hers to incur

As though I'm out of bounds in her life's duty.

I search for any moment we can use to talk

She's got hardly any time to waste on me,

Even at that moment its just silence that i get to stalk

Her world is centered on my letting her be.

I care for her from the bottom of my heart

Her smile lights up the entire universe,

The pity is in the insignificance of my part

For her its nothing so for me its a curse.

Sometimes I feel she wants to say something

She wants me like I want her to be mine,

Yet I know its just a sweet little nothing

It's my own desire thats hallucinating this incline.

She tells me a good person I am

I try to keep her happy and for her I care,

To her its just another obligation of sham

But to me it's just a sad one-sided love affair.

The True Love...

That day she was waiting at the same place she had met him a few months ago.

She still vividly remembered the day she’d actually met him the first time, inspite of being aware of his presence, as she was sure he was of hers, for the better part of more than two years. Waiting there, sitting on those steps, as was a routine habit for her now for some time, the thoughts of these past few months slowly drifted into Aloya’s mind.

The first time they met, she’d been very hesitant. It was not her fault that time too, the past one year had been a torrid one for Aloya. It had taught her that trust was a mere formality that existed with the time bound stipulation of being broken ruthlessly. It had shown her things she had hoped were only meant for nightmares, which should have just been a part of wicked folklore. She had let herself drown in the ocean of love, giving it her all mentally and emotionally. It had all gone well for a few months, and then the effect of the love drug began to wear off. She desperately tried to hold on to the tattering mast as the sail of her love went into rough waters, but her fantasy world just fell apart one day when her love, her supposed true love, just dumped her feelings for a more pretty face. The ordeal left her mentally scarred and emotionally tarnished to the extent that she’d often start crying when loneliness struck her, and what remained in her head was the big question mark about what love actually was. Aloya had forgotten to smile, she’d forgotten to enjoy, and she’s forgotten to speak. It was as though the whole world had left her alone in the middle of nowhere, and there were just empty spaces all around. Love had taught her to be remorseful, to dislike everything, to mistrust everyone. She wondered if this was the love about which legends were made. Life felt like a sugar-coated poison to her. That day she was brooding over her past and was lost in her thoughts, when a sudden prod made her come back into the present, and she turned around to see Suleiman. She didn’t know how long he’d been there watching her cry, nor did she know how to react as he started the conversation. She could just start with a jittery hello, but as though Suleiman knew exactly what she was feeling, he tried to lighten up her mood by joking around. Though hesitant, she sat there and just listened to him that day, speaking rarely herself. In the next few days she surprised her own self by going to those steps at the same time everyday, and though still lost in her own thoughts, she would wait for Suleiman to come and take off her load by talking to her. It was in these few days that Aloya started talking again. She would talk about anything and everything, but still would not say a thing about herself, and Suleiman would not force her to either. As the meetings started growing into a routine habit, Aloya gradually revealed her story, the care and warmth in Suleiman’s eyes acting as the perfect fuel. He listened to everything she had to say very patiently, and made her realize things she was missing out. He made her realize how truthful and sincere she’d been in her relationship, how it was none of her fault that it did not work out. He would find a reason to make her smile all the time, which had been a dormant expression on her face for some time now.

Slowly and surely, life was coming back to Aloya. It was like the oxygen mask being put onto a patient’s face who’s struggling to breathe. Suleiman’s caring and understanding nature had overcome her wariness. It was a friendship she was starting to cherish. She started re-discovering who she actually was through their friendship, and of all hopes she’d ever had, the strongest one was that this friendship would go the distance. It took her a couple of months or maybe even more to come out of her slumber of moroseness to an extent that it hardly bothered her any more, because she’d got a much more beautiful friendship to look forward to.

Life was going on wonderfully for a change, when Aloya saw the glint of sadness in Suleiman’s eyes for the first time. It made her feel guilty, because surprisingly even to herself, she realized that she knew nothing about Suleiman, his past, or, his present, and had yet managed to bare her soul. When she asked about his life, Suleiman would recall all the happy moments in his life but would not give her a reason to believe that he was sad. Aloya thought that maybe he needed some time on his own, and did not pursue the matter for some time to come. In the coming time, the glint did not go, and yet the reasons would not come. This made Aloya more and more restless to uncover the truth behind his sadness. As she continued to ask him about his troubles more and more often, Suleiman started becoming impatient and gradually came to the point of ignoring her altogether.

 Aloya was starting to learn a new lesson in the difficult course called Life. She realized that it was not just necessary to get care to feel happy, it was also equally important to care for that person. She realized that no matter how hard she tried, Suleiman was not going to give her an opportunity to do this. It was as though he had deliberately bound himself within an invisible cloak. He was capable of making her smile from within the cloak, he could bind her with himself within the cloak when he needed to protect her, but when any concern about his own problems propped up, he would just tighten the cloak around himself and would not allow any room for anyone else. As time went on, Aloya would wait for Suleiman on these steps, where he taught her how to smile again, where he cared for her, and where he bound himself into the cloak so tightly that it seemed he’d prefer suffocating himself than letting out his problems. He started meeting her lesser and lesser, as though he were afraid that he would lose his cloak to those tender probing eyes of Aloya.

The turn of events bothered Aloya. It seemed to her that life had come a full circle. She had gone from being helpless, to being happy and joyful, to being helpless all over again.

She wanted to finish Suleiman’s fears like he had finished hers, she wanted to care for him like she had for nobody else, she wanted to show him how beautiful the world was within their friendship. She could just dream of doing these things because she realized that he did not desire any of it, and even if he did, he just could not get the strength to tell her his own troubles and ask for it. Aloya was returning to her days of sadness because she knew she had befriended a person who could give her all the care and happiness in the world, but would still leave her sad because he wouldn’t let her care for him. The glisten of sadness in Suleiman’s eye could well turn into the glimmer of a tear, and yet Aloya would not be able to help him out.

It depressed Aloya to be aware of the fact that she made him bind himself within the cloak by asking him about his troubles as though he thought of her as interfering in his life. Maybe, it was because he didn’t want to burden her and make her sad with his own troubles, but then isn’t friendship all about sharing yourself, happy or sad??

As she was waiting on those steps that fateful day, all these thoughts flooded Aloya’s mind. She hated herself from that moment onwards. She hated herself for turning a caring person into a cloaked statue, for trying to interfere in Suleiman’s life. She hated herself because she could not bring happiness into the life of the person who taught her to smile again, for making him even more miserable by asking him about his troubles again and again. If he was more happy being within the cloak all by himself, she had no right of compelling him to come out of it and hence, make him sadder.

She had no right of getting involved at all in his life, and was guilty of doing so.

She had no right of making him sad and depressed, in return for the care and happiness Suleiman had given to her. She had no right of desiring him so badly. She had no right of…loving him. Aloya realized she’d finally found out what love actually was. It was on those very steps itself, where Aloya had got a new lease of life once, that she now got the death of her most beautiful friendship to endure. Yet, she was sure the love would live on. It was ironical that as she got up to leave, the first drop of rain and her first tear hit her palm at the same instant.

Aloya never returned to those steps ever again.

 

The beautiful world...

The Moon was shining beautifully, the stars gleaming with all their might, but still there was something amiss, the silence all around was of a different kind.

It's strange how you see the world as you want it to be, or rather as your heart is feeling at that particular moment. As the wind gently struck my face, I got the feeling that it was heavy and damp, but yet so subtle. It was as though it had to maintain it's composure just so that the beauty of the moon and the stars wouldn't be compromised. The pain was all hidden and made the air heavy. It was laden with rain, yet it could not shower it's tears. It was as though nature was living my tale, enduring my fate and was destined to this obscurity.

 My life's been full of ups and downs, but so has been everybody else's I guess. Everyone has their share of joy and their share of pain, yet the other person's pain cake will always seem smaller as compared to your own. It's stupid to show your tears and spoil somebody else's sheen, by making that person known to the world worse than he or she ought to be. It's better to believe that there has to be some kind of misconception on your part, or maybe the other person just had to do what he or she did cause of being in a helpless situation,  than thinking that the person did wrong to you or is doing wrong to you just because of selfish reasons, maybe because you're not good enough. Somewhere though, a thought still haunts me. It asks me what I did wrong to get what I did, and what I'm doing wrong to deserve what I'm getting. It asks me that why don't I deserve a fresh start in life, why every other person is oblivious to the fact that I can start anew. It asks me about what I've got in life by being the good person that I'm dubbed to be, that if good people are few and I'm one of them, why do I end up as just another person for everyone else. The thought is a dangerous one, it impregnates the mind with fear, yet I cease to cry, because I'd hate to see my world lose it's sheen through my tears.

The Book

The book doesn't reveal until you start turning da pages,
My Story lies unread from da first word to da very last...
The words are the same as said by priests n by sages,
But still for you their usage goes on turning aghast...
The Book is there in yur hands,
It lays waiting to be read...
But you want to mute it by rubberbands,
And feel the urge to throw it instead...
You just don't want to waste yur time,
On a story depressingly associated wid me...
But maybe there's something in there to rhyme,
Maybe wid happiness or wid glee...
It wouldn't interest you i'm sure,
Cause you're happy wid what you know...
But maybe I ain't so impure,
Maybe it'd be better fer us if you gave it one go...
You're so sure of the image you've made,
You wouldn't care bout da depiction in da book...
But maybe this ain't a game i've played,
Maybe this actually took my whole life to cook...
You're just so right in whateva you think,
There'd be all lies in my story...
But maybe i've not made up dis link,
Maybe this is not just my shot to glory...
You're just so unfazed by whateva i've said,
Hardly bothered bout my story n me...
But maybe this story is worth being read,
Maybe i'm not just another one in the melee.......