Wednesday, 25 December 2013

Playing Santa


Right Now 

Shanti was amazed. She opened the little note. It said " A gift from Santa". 
Neha walked down the street with a smile. A smile she felt that made her the most pretty girl in the world. A smile that came from her heart and glowed bright in her blue eyes.

A week before 

Neha felt a strange pulse of anticipation tingling down her spine. Would her wishes be truly granted? Will Santa visit her this time? Mumma had told her about Santa last week. She said he would come with gifts for good children like her. And the other day she saw Minnie - the girl in her favorite TV show - writing a letter to Santa, something she called a wish list. And you know what happened? Santa granted all her wishes. Now how could Neha resist herself from joting down her wishlist? She would sent it then to Santa, Neha resolved. 

The other day Neha saw a pretty doll in the big shop near her Papa's office. Though she wanted her Papa to get it for her he was too busy. Okay Neha thought, Santa would bring it for her then.

She also wanted a pair of shoes that she had seen Minnie wearing in the last episode. That would make her look a princess in the X'mas party. She was excited to the core at the thought of her looking like a princess. Mumma's friends would adore her. How she would love the envying glances of the other kids there! The mere thought brought to her ounces of joy!

She concluded her wish list by asking for a princess gown. She knew her Papa would buy one for her. Still if Santa could bring something better,
 won't that be awesome? 

Yesterday- The Christmas Eve

"Aah! The silly girl. Why can't she just tell me that she needs these stuff. Why this Santa drama? Oh my Lord! What all does these 8 year olds learn from the daily soaps?
Now let me see, the doll, shoes and a gown. Is that all she needs? And she believes that a Santa would bring these to her? Poor lass!  Anyway she is MY daughter, daughter of The Business tycoon Vikram Bajwa and she will get whatever she wants." He folded the paper into 4 and kept in back under Neha's pillow. He could imagine how happy she would be seeing the gifts tomorrow.

22nd December 

Neha tossed restlessly in the bed. She couldn't sleep. Shanti's words echoed in her mind. Neha couldn't even imagine life could be that sad. She was passing by the kitchen that day when she heard Shanti, her Nanny's daughter talking to the latter. Shanti didn't have toys like Neha had and they lived in a small house. Neha had once been there during Pooja festival. A very small house that smelt very bad. Shanti didn't have many toys. She always played with an old doll with tattered clothes and shabby hair. But Mumma said that was what God gave them. So Neha thought that would be okay as God couldn't do any wrong, Granny had taught her.But today Shanti was almost in tears. She was asking Nanny to get her a needle and a clothe piece to make a new dress for her doll. But Nanny refused. Nanny pacified Shanti saying that she would get them when she got her next month's salary. With red eyes, Shanti agreed. 
Neha didn't know why but Shanti's red eyes and the sad face wasn't getting off her mind. She ran her eyes through the innumerable toys she had displayed in her room.They were just everywhere. Big and small, soft and hard, with remotes and wires, quite a lot of them. But they were all old you know. Neha won't play with toys more than a month old. They would bring dust and allergy, Mumma said. But Neha couldn't let them go. They were her's and her's only. So it was her idea to keep them in her room. And then again Shanti's face popped up in her mind.


Christmas Day

Neha woke up to surprises. She was astonished to see the beautiful gifts wrapped up and kept on her bedside. Without losing a moment she pounced on it. But her heart didn't allow her to tear up the wrappers. She got dressed up and headed off to somewhere. She had only been there once and she knew Papa would be angry if he came to know of this expedition. But Neha knew this was important. Thank God her destination wasn't too far. She knocked on the wobbly door. Before anyone opened the door, she carefully kept the wrapped up gifts on the doorstep along with a little note and walked back home. Shanti opened the door to see a bounty she had never seen in her lifetime. 


....................................


Let us too play Santa's in our life and gift a poor child with a toy. Yes, it's no less than gifting them their childhood. :) Now take a glimpse of an NGO " Toybank" that works for the cause.

Activity: Toybank, a non-profit organization has been set up with the aim of providing toys to children who come from a weak socio-economic background.

Details: Goals: To ensure that children from under privileged backgrounds receive toys through collection and distributions. To bridge the gap between children from different backgrounds by creative play/group events/community events. To make play space available for children through-- Toy libraries in available infrastructures; reclaim open public spaces for children. To design and thus provide toys that will be context specific, by having toys made in local languages as well.
Support: Children, Right to Play, Right to Leisure, non-formal education, toys.

Note: We are looking for volunteer coordinators in Pune and Bangalore. We are looking for NGOs working on education of children in Delhi/NCR.

This post is a part of BlogAdda's Bloggers Social Responsibility (BSR) initiative. I am exercising my BSR. You can too with three simple steps. Visit http://www.blogadda.com/bsr/ and support the NGO's.

Saturday, 14 December 2013

Perspectives




 Cathy's perspective ....

"OMG! Not again." Cathy hissed to herself. She was getting late, terribly late and now it was going to be more trouble, all thanks to the non ending pool of vehicles that restlessly was honking to rush. Catherine, in short Cathy the busy bee was in a rush to reach her office. The young executive woman fed on her nails and literally was ruining the manicured art! She decided to let go her priced nails, to take a breath of fresh air and unrolled the window that shielded her from the world out. Street hawkers enticed by this act of hers, crowded near her car. She said no and no and no to all of them though with a smile. Ah! Saying no is a grace bestowed on her by her profession. Her eyes ran through the narrow space between the packed traffic. All she saw were busy faces, irritated and desperate. Motorcyclists dotting on chances to creep through somehow. The sun was setting and seemed to bid bye with tears. A rain would follow, she felt. "Didi ..." Cathy turned to see a puny, messy boy in tattered trousers. He held to her a bunch of flowers. "Didi ... Good Phool ... Only 40." He said to her in a broken dialect. The scent of the vivid flowers starkly contrasted the persona of the little marketing expert. As in a trance, her hands went for her purse, her eyes still fixed on the little boy. He was writing something on the dust laden backseat of a bike that stood near to him. She was reminded of her own childhood. The days of obscure freedom and happiness. Cathy too had loved writing on dust laden glasses of the vehicles that visited her house. She drew a picture of a small girl smiling and wrote "Cathy" alongside and believed that this would be a gift to the owners and they would remember her forever through this autograph of hers. A smile lingered through her lips and glowed in her eyes. She handed over 2 crisp 20 rupee notes to him. The boy almost snatched from her hands the money and ran through the gaps to where she din't know. Curiosity aroused in her to get a glimpse of what he had wrote on the bike. Maybe she can find his name in it. She peeped out and  "40" was all what she saw. Her smile faded. 


 Little marketer's perspective


Another traffic jam. Thank God. Maybe some one will buy these flowers and I'll get some money. All those windows I knock on, why don't they even bother to open those glasses? Do I appear a pest to them! The sun's setting and it would be dark soon. And Maai's alone at home. I need to rush. Please will some one atleast take a look at these flowers? None knows the pain I took to steal these flowers from Mrs.Ganguly's garden. How I ran from there .... Will all my effort go wasted? Maai always says stealing is bad. But what else could I do? None bothered to lend me money, though I begged hard their mercy. Cruel people. Maai says bad people goes to hell .... Will I go there too? But .. Maai needed medicines. She isn't well. She is too ill. Ah! There is a Didi. Maybe she'll buy these flowers. Good lord why is she staring at me like this? Am I nothing more than a pest? Can't she just pay instead of smiling strangely at me! What is going on! Ah ... 40 Rupees . That can pay for all medicines.  With overwhelming happiness I drew a 4 and a 0 that I saw in the Tonic bottle that the shopkeeper showed when I asked for the medicine. Now Maai will become alright and she would sing lullaby for me as she always used to do. Finally I got the money in my hands. And here I come Maai. 



Saturday, 16 November 2013

A Silent Tale

Picture courtesy magnifier
Life is a journey. And what we encounter midst of them makes up the gist of our lives. Alone none can lead a life, yup, wisely said, humans are but social animals. People may drop in and out of the arena of our life, but a few, a very few make an impression so strong in our hearts.

It was little Diya's first day at school. Holding on to her Mumma's fingers the blithe girl, hopped on through the pavement of the traffic-laden highway. A school within a walkable distance was a delight to her, who found this morning journey alluring in all senses. The jerks and screeches, the non-stop honking, the busy faces, the pups and kittens, all seemed to entice her. Though, the roadside pond was what she loved the best. She loved popping in little pebbles into the clear waters and found joy in admiring the ripples made by them and the music in the "blum". She smiled with her blue eyes to the reflection of hers, but who was that in water with her? A smile? She saw in the water, reflection of a woman who very much resembled her Granny, wrinkled with pouches of skin, and grey hair. But her smile was something that made Diya smile too. This was their first encounter. 

The little girl grew from the sanctity of innocence, but this habit of hers never changed. The ripples and the "blum" continued to steal beats off her heart. Or was it the that smile she actually craved for?? She christened  her old friend "Mitra" and scribbled of her, in her secret diary. She never had talked to Mitra, and never did Diya accept the toffees offered to her all these years (thanks to Mumma's piece of advice) . She came to know that her friend resided near the pond in a makeshift shelter. How she wished, she too could spend her life by the pond! Still the reflection of her friend smiling, along with her, as in a cherubic photograph was always a matter of glee for her. The eloquent silence that bridged them apart, pulled them even closer each day. Diya knew it, her Mitra knew it, this was a special bond!

Years fled and a lot more journeys took Diya to distances. But at the end of it all, all she wished was to find a moment of peace. To seek solace in the smile that comforted her, she fled to the pond side. But then, none was there to offer the smile. Instead a newly dug grave and the local gossips told her the rest. But none, none could gauge the deepness of the void, Diya found in the reflection of hers in the water. A void she could never give words to. And thus was how a voiceless girl, lost her silent friendship!

Sunday, 20 October 2013

Redemption




She ran about the dark corridor that smelt of lotions and drugs. The refrain of anklets echoed like prayers that kept a graveyard alive. Was she destined to spread the ounces of joy to them, who fed on nothing but doses of tabs ? Was her smile the key to their peace ? Questions I din't have answers to! But she was their sunshine, their bundle of joy. And her smile was the shower that pacified the thirst of those weary souls.


But who was she ?? This question was but answered with remorse by all who knew her. Pari, the youngest patient of the Cancer ward. The vilest cruelty of nature. But the word Cancer could mean no more than Cold - the only illness that existed in the world of the 4 year old! Her glass-bell laughter echoed, piercing through the shadow of death and the clutches of crab. Together they saw beds being deserted and corpses being carried away and entry of new migrants. And ironic to all this the girl hoped around embracing the sunny side of life. Her cancer cells healed with the days begone, still, she was unaware of the potency of the crab. But this ignorance gave her the spirit to fight, when the clutch tightened on her again. The bosom now was the cradle for the crab. She fought hard and got off those days too. 


As she grew up to be me, to be crowned the Miss.World, the people hailed the courage of a woman sans her breast, who became synonymous to Beauty! Ignorance indeed was a bliss, I thought to myself! If little Pari wouldn't have hoped around, then I would have been forever confined to the looming darkness of the cancer ward and never would have been blessed with the sunshine and spring! 


Tuesday, 1 October 2013

DRAFT

" And before she knew it, she had hit ‘Send’. It was in her name to be forgotten and she hoped they would forget her. 

...................

Suha had always an air of mist around her. She had her besties, kith and kin, but none did really know her. Like the veil that gave her a mysterious beauty,  the smile that adorned her face curtained her true reflection from the world outside. None but one knew her, too close, too intimate. Her mailbox. She had a strange habit of giving words to her feelings, her innate thoughts in the mail and she would save it as a draft. All that she left unsaid, the incomplete conversations, the feelings she could never give words to, all, found a place in her Draft. Solace she found in this revelation made her heart light. Though she loathed being known by none who claimed to be too dear with her, something in her always curbed her from opening up. 

...................

The day went really bad. Suha was torn at heart. The smile wouldn't let others peep into her sorrow! Emotions overflowed through the QWERTY and the mail was brimming with words synonymous to tears. With moist eyes that blurred her vision she reached for the close button. But the day had more in store for her. And before she knew it, she had hit ‘Send’. She cursed the innovative thirst of men that piled the Earth under a single umbrella. The message was delivered to her BFF list. Mistake, a grave mistake. She didn't know why but still had added the name of all her dear ones, when they asked her to whom she would like to send her mail on DAY 1, she started composing it! 

Having her castle of anonymity shattered in the leaf of an odd moment, she fled the place. For no more her smile would be believed. No more she would be their DEAR one! "


Faizal raised his head to see an elated audience. A smile spread on his face, his dream, was no more to be confined within the bars of his heart.  The words his pen crafted, earned him applause and paved the perfect path to his first publication! Suha was lucky to him, indeed!
                                       

Sunday, 29 September 2013

The Royal Plea



I sit and stare, 
As another dawn sets in, and sheer rays tease me 
With envy, with anguish 
I see, they giggle at a passive me. 
Aah! turn of prey, 
But, no.... No preys nor feasts anymore, I sigh,
Pounding at the dirty dose of flesh they feed.
Growls and roars heard from where I never knew, 
The roars , near yet too far, lone, bereft a pal ...
Roars of pent up hunger, roused at sting of rotten brawn 
The sole meal we deserve here.
Limps that craved to hunt down,
Now scrap morsels, off a damp floor!

I pace up and down.
Glances piercing my solitude, glances par the comfort of bars.
Gasps, squeals and guffaws 
Whispers and amused shrieks.
They poke me, they mock me, 
All I do, but stare!
They relish my strips, my pomp carcass 
But never they see the ordeal of my eyes!
Shadows keep moving far and wide 
Left in with not even my shadow!

A distant dream of lush green woods,
Of shiny lakes and fresh air,
Of a pack and mighty life,
Luring me to live through the bars. 
But as I heave to breathe in, the last ounce of life,
The bleeding eyes, the pain that prevails, 
tells me, it was a mere dream, never to be real!

My fate stifled by the sound rods,
My life on an ending note 
Words of a broken heart gone unheard, 
YOU Bards, free to sing, but WE the pack of Pards,
Left to sink,
Sink in a gloom of futility,
To exist on shackles and chains .
Today, morrow and ever ...








Sunday, 1 September 2013

The Rainbow



The house seems to choke hard in the crowded aura. Tears spilled and none spoke.An awkward silence echoed hard. A spark of life flashed as the crying machine blurted out a noice.

The monotonous clamor of the telephone pierced through the damp walls.In an urge to put an end to the unsought cacophony Ananya pulled herself up. She wearily went on to pick up the crying machine. Reining a cascade of emotions, she mumbled "Hello" . A silence that burnt her senses followed and she heard it. "Anu, this is your Dev. I'm returning....". She felt numb. The world had a copious reserve of words. But none could fill the void of joy that rushed through her. The phone went dead, giving life to her hopes. 

"Anu...." A familiar hand caressed her head, and she was awakened from the bliss of the dream. Still in a trance, she stared hard at her Mom, with swollen eyes. Was it her mind rusing her? Or was it Dev?  "Anu... won't you see him for a last time? It's time for the cremation." Ananya din't budge. All the young widow could do was but sit and stare at the photo of hers and Dev. How happy, how perfect! Why couldn't the seasons freeze with the sunny spring? She wished nothing had changed. She wished Dev held her hands forever rather than lieing on the floor, bruised, pale and dead. It was more than she could bear. And she sat there, tears gushing from the crevices of her broken heart. "Anu, atleast talk to me, wail your grief and bid bye to Dev",her mom, hugged Ananya. But she din't speak. A shroud of anguish slurped down her voice. And without him, what could mere words matter to her! She let herself drown in the dire currents of silence! 

The death of the brave soldier, who sacrificed his life in the war front was mourned with grace. The final salute was adorned with charisma and the Tricolour shone bright on the corpse. She din't wish to see him so inert, so battered. And the corpse was carried off to the pyre. 

The phone went on pricking the stillness of the house. Ananya with a beam of hope, answered. "Hello" .... A hurrying voice hissed, " Is this Mrs.Dev? " Without waiting for a reply, it continued. " This is from Apollo Clinic, Mrs.Ananya's report is +ve. She is carrying". And the line went dead.Yes, Dev was returning to her,she yelled to herself. Poised between the sour and sweet ballad of life, she smiled through the misted eyes. And a tear rolled down, for this wasn't a chimera, but the rainbow after a fierce downpour!




Sunday, 18 August 2013

Alone



At the stroke of midnight, when the world was fallen in the abyss of slumber, there was someone awake. With teary eyes that misted her already blurred vision, she scanned through the pages of her heart for the right words.How to begin? She dint know!     "Dear ....", she inked with trembling hands. Tears fled as the word smiled at her from the crimson note of love. 

A shy, introvert girl of 16 could never imagine of a life with a stranger, a man born a decade and 2 years before her. Swollen eyes of hers, on the most special day of her life told of her grief and anxiety of leaving Moms shade. It was gonna be a new life. A life she was unaware of. But fate wasn't cruel. Though the waves rocked her hard, the shore was humane and affectionate. The buds of her life bloomed in this new dawn of happiness. Her family grew. Her soul found oneness with her mate and they weaved a nest of their own. She was his angel and he, her savior. But fate had then resolved to frown at them. They too had to face the test of time! 

Was it fate that the autumn of separation should follow the sunny spring of love? Her soul was ripped apart. They were spaced miles apart. But love could only grow. For their kids, they could stand it all. Sans each others warmth, they found solace in memories. Though none could see through their smiles, the wet pillows told the tale of the tormented hearts. 


No! She couldn't put her heart to words. Tears of agony had eaten her up. And all she wrote was, " Happy 70th Wedding Anniversary" 


For all those ruthless hearts who rob their old parents' smile and separate them in an age when their bond of love is above the world, shed a moment to think.... Is this the tale of your Mom and Dad ????  



This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Sunday, 11 August 2013

Remnants




A Reunion. It was a journey to trail the once trodden path, to rekindle the dust laden memories and to capture moments. The beach, the moonlit sky and the vestige of a drizzle . The old melody that was sung led our hearts to those vibrant days of youth. All were now the same lads and lasses in early twenties, just as when we parted! The ambiance cheered the once young friends, now in the dawn of fifties. An aura of obscure freedom and carefree abandon draped us in the folds of love and friendship and let us free of burdens. Light at heart, we were all feeling good. 

The "young" lads danced to the music that flowed in the air in the euphoria of alcohol, the girls tapped their feet, gossiped and laughed, the kids perplexed with the youthful vibe and drive of their parents munched on the food, the couples swayed hand in hand, like newly married ones and  then there were the guys with serious faces smiling at the "lads", silently singing along the melody,paddling in the waves of memories. And there was I watching them all, a silent bubble floating in a sea of noises! 

The soft, cool breeze hugs me and I watch him, her husband, my bestie, dancing with her, holding her tight. The refrain reminds me of her, my first love. A love that I buried deep in the crevices of my heart, for my bestie. The libretto talked of her. The hazel eyes, luminous face and angelic smile. She was still the same. The zephyr suddenly seem to spread the fragrance of flowers that once adorned her frizzy hair. It brought in the remembrance of a familiar ache that pestered my heart then, every time I saw them together. I smiled to myself. Yes, once I was deeply torn in love. 

The waves beat hard on rocks and the palms swayed in rhythm and then ended the melody. I felt my eyes moisten at memories that smiled at me. Just then, a known hand fondled my arms. "I love you", she hummed to me. Yes, she too couldn't escape the spell of time warp. I breathed to her, my better half,  "Love you too Bella". And, she is why I loathe the bards who sung that love touched you only once in life. 






Sunday, 21 July 2013

Crime and Punishments


Shifting blames wouldn't help. Attitude need to be altered. Award them the same rank as yours, put yourself in their shoes, think and feel. Then, rein the battle to save them from the trail to their pyres. Homage to the 23 lives who withered away, before the spring. Being hungry was their crime and this the punishment? 




picture owned by
http://www.indianexpress.com/news/bihar-middaymeal-tragedy-probe-report-blames-principal/1144092/


Neelam waved her tiny hands at Mauni, her Maai. Striving hard not to sublime to tears, she too waved back.Why didn't Neelam cry, like all the kids used to, on their first day at school? Maybe she too was weary of the chaos of yester night. After all she was too little to know what all the fuss was about! The only thing Neelam knew was, she missed her playmate, her brother and he wasn't to be seen anywhere. Least did she knew, her brother waved bye to walk to his grave the last day, from this very gate ...... With grief misting her eyes, Mauni waited before the office.....

The society would spit on her. They would call this, a ruthless act of a heartless mother, and the people with the mikes and cameras would weave stories out of her. But only Mauni knew that mourning and pity wouldn't fill her 3 year old's tummy. And she was left with no option than to sent Neelam to eat from the same kitchen, which served her son, his last supper. Several officials and media people, in their pricey attires and serious faces hissed curses on each other, inside the worn out office room. But it couldn't matter to "lesser mortals" like Mauni and thousands like her. For, she knew the battle, they claimed to fight for these people had nothing to do with real pains of their lives. A futile battle it was, for survival was the biggest battle for all of them! 
At last the self acclaimed warriors flooded out of the office room, through the puny door. Mauni entered and met the lady inside. She pleaded with the Supreme Lady to admit her Neelam, in the school. She nodded her head slowly. Mauni sighed and turned back, to take her leave. Then she heard Her, speaking under her breath, " Ah! Is she nuts? She lost her son the last day and instead of being at home, she decides to admit her daughter to this same school today! Does she wanna kill her daughter too? Insane."  Mauni couldn't take it anymore, she wept bitterly. But more was in reserve for her.  

The media pounced at the Mother, with the pleasure of having found the prey of the day. Questions pierced through her heart and tears were all Mauni had in reply. Little did they know that, for mothers like Mauni, mourning was way too expensive, but hunger came for free and ate them up! 


Sunday, 2 June 2013

An Angel

“Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them.” 
― Mitch AlbomFor One More Day
Photo courtesy 
https://www.facebook.com/themagnifier

 She finally found the key to the question that had driven her crazy years back. Sipping the hot coffee, she sat staring at the obituary, as memories from another, but fond era of life cuddled her.

Jancy and Angel? Na! Ann was big enough to know who an Angel was ... And none could play tricks on her, the little self in her dotted frock, thought to herself. Her Moral Science teacher had very well taught her of Angels, their magic wand, and the beautiful snow white attire. They would come with an aura of light around them and wings (though Ann actually was searching hard for the explanation on the Aura part!). Her hazel eyes popped out of the sockets when she first heard Jancy talking of being an angel. How could she think of fooling Ann, who added Jancy in her BFF list? She giggled endlessly at the thought of Jancy in that white attire, with her tanned dark face and red teeth. But she wouldn't tease Jancy or retort, for she had always counted on their friendship. 
Ann was at her Grand’s place. She woke up to a bedlam the very morning. Her Grandma was on a heated dispute with a lady. It was the first fierce head to head battle Ann had witnessed. She hid behind the pale blue curtains, this was the only world war she could imagine of. As the battle ceased, she couldn't really make out, who was actually on the winning side! STRANGE! Both of them were left with nothing but smiles. Is war not that a bad thing? She mused hard.
Days went on and she got used to the clash between the titans. She befriended her Grandma's foe at war. Though at first she detested the dark lady, who came around with a pungent smell of rotten fish, and a basket on her head, slowly, she began to admire her! Her name was Jancy, she came with a basket loaded with sand and ice and fish, a lot of them, and with every news on Earth! The perfect way she balanced the open mouthed basket on her head, and the way she narrated spicy tales of anything under the sun, made Ann love Jancy. Ann even secretly wished to be a fish seller, to be welcome everywhere, at anytime and just to know everything as Jancy did! 
Jancy too loved Ann. She even left the tiny fishes Ann loved, for free, everyday she brought them! But, Jancy was always a pack of surprise for Ann. Once her Grandma asked Jancy about her family, and Ann was thunderstruck. She couldn't believe that this lady would have something like a family too! Jancy had told then to Ann that she lived far away, in a small house with her daughter's family, and until she becomes an Angel, she would sell fishes and get back to her home, to play with her daughter's baby. That was a different picture of Jancy, Ann never could even imagine! But wait, what did she just hear? Jancy and Angel? She speculated on it, day and night, though the obvious answer, she knew! Jancy was playing tricks on her, for every time she talked of it, both Jancy and her Grandma had a smile on their faces, a strange smile, as though they both knew of it, as though they both were partners in this crime.


Years dashed away, and Ann grew up, to another world, sans the solace of Grandma Tales and untrodden innocence. But now she knew, what Jancy had meant years back. She knew that Jancy would now join her Grandma at the FAIRY LAND and smile at her Ann, to whom Angels weren't an illusion anymore! 

Wednesday, 3 April 2013

A Land of Lore


In my dreams I saw a land  
Near but far 
Miles away yet beats apart 
Here raise your head and stars smile at you
Bow a little and you get lost in petals
fallen in love with dew 


Land where dreams and hopes are woven as one 
Torn apart but mended hard 
Land of love Land of lore
That here you just wish for more 

A land that never close its eyes 
To the world of hue
A land that never close its eyes 
To sinking souls as you 

Not a trace of angry waves 
Not a sight of disgrace
A land where you breathe joy 
In an air none could destroy  

A bubble that floats far and wide
Taking you by its side
Would take you there  
To a land of lights that fail to fade

Go for it  search for it 
The bounty for you 

The land is here 
the land is there
Nowhere but deep in you 


Friday, 22 March 2013

The Lady of the Evening


Endless nights spend on arms of bare men 
The mask of their days kept aside
The true demons of dark

A voyage from despair to money
Set short by a daughter's plea 
Stories of hungry stomachs to fill 
That paved to a living for brothers 
Luring wavered hearts to taste flesh of their blood 



My life poised between despise and pleasure 


Bruises of body masked by rogue 
And beneath a bleeding heart

Pampered secret of dark 
Me. One with the loose morals
And they with the masks on deities of virtue 

The raucous curses spat in daylight 
Sounding better than ruses of night 
With tears tired of being kept back 
and emotions none knew existed 

A soul wounded deep
Craving a chance 
Hushed up everywhere 
But I exist beware 

I. Lady of the evening
With painted lips and fleshy curves mine 
Comforting you with a pleasure of wine