Are we that different?

Are we that different, you and I?

We have the same problems, the same desires

Were born out of the same earth, at different times.

The same land is your's and mine.

Shave and wash, and you look just like me

In my rooftop office, I watch silently

Life for me, is a test of my will 

As it is in your hideout in the hills.

We both are at work 24 - 7

Work from a broken life offers haven

Thinking not about the lives we affect

A busy schedule leaves no time to reflect.

You think about if you will be alive

To feed your kids and starving wife

I think, will my wife still be there

waiting for me when I arrive?

Are we that different, you and me?

Bullets are your weapon, mine is money

Death for you, means eternal life

A life without money means I'm dead already.

Face it, we are all the same inside

A quirk of fate changed our sphere of life

So why fight each other, come let's unite

And fight the criminal that allows you to thrive.

Death

The sun shining through your auburn hair
As it billowed in the gentle, caressing breeze
Was a feather floating gently to the ground
framed in the dying evening light.

The twinkle in your eye, so alive,
that it danced and shimmered like the evening star
Was an ember glowing in a funeral pyre
Beating its last rhythm as it lay there dying.

The warm, wet burn where you planted a kiss,
Sealed with a gesture, the bond of love
Was the last drop of rain that fell on my cheek
Before the cloud that produced it, evanesced.

The bronze of your skin as you played with me,
As we played in the water of a gurgling stream
Was the deathly carpet of leaves that crunched
beneath my feet as I walked to you.

The jagged shapes of rocky outcrops
At the bottom of a cliff, sheer and high
Were your arms, lovingly open
Waiting to embrace me as I fell.

I am proud...

Typed into my BlackBerry during the worst days of Fall 2007, I now think this poem sounds a little too haughty, or perhaps defensive :-) But still it ought to be recorded.

I am proud of my bloodshot eyes, reveal
The nights spent gazing at my notes, bleary
I'm proud of my shrunken skeleton, for it speaks
Of the effort that goes into reaching one's peak.

My lank sparse locks tell of a desperate need
To forget all else in the quest to succeed.
Overgrown fingernails speak of an arcane creed
That saves every cent, curbs impulses of greed.

I'm proud, for I know I'm paving my path
with blood, sweat and tears, so I know it will last.
=======================
This is another one I wrote...This one in Spring 2008.

I fall.
Over the edge and into the abyss.
My first instinct, to claw wildly.
To hold on to any link, however tenuous.
To arrest my bottomless plunge.
But I come up with air, rushing by me.
Air that claws back, whipping me without mercy.
Punishing me for daring to leap.
And in the howling rush, I can hear
Voices of the past that numb me with fear.
Time slows to a stop, then rewinds
I am turning back the clock.
Reversing the tragedy.
At this point, I stopped... it just seemed too dark a poem to continue :-)

Can man become God?

The poem that follows was in part, inspired by the Tamil song, Manidhan Enbavan by P. B. Sreenivas, and certain other events...

Can man become God?
Perform an act of kindness without naming a price?
Can such an act redeem
The many wrongs by his people?

Can man trust man?
Offer a place to stay to a person off the street?
Can such an act become a movement
To spread seeds of trust?

Can man reverse the tide?
Fight the flow instead of following it?
Can one such act become a trend
And incite rebellion against the rule of law?

Can man kill man?
Not one, but millions because they were different?
Can such an act be called a solution
And be evaluated as a possibility?

Can man kill God?
Partition one's faith into religions,
Cast one's belief as superior?
Can one such act make him murder?
Kill the very vehicle in which He resides?

Dear Mom . . .

A letter from a son on the battle front to his mom...

A big hi from your dear son here,
I am perfectly all right, so dont you fear.
Save for the occasional blast that chills our nerves
Im happy and grateful for the chance to serve.

Canned tuna and K rations make me miss home,
About the quality of food here, I could write a tome.
Upturned helmet serves as soup bowl, as mobile latrine.
A hot shower is a fictional story I'd read in a magazine.

We are the pointed end of the political lance
But we'll die in our own shit before we get the chance
To whip the enemy, Im sure they are the same
Stuck in their trenches since the war hell became.

I wonder sometimes, when they break out of their dirty holes
How I will feel after I kill a soul.

Happy that each kill brings me closer home, away from strife?
Guilty that I stole his chance to a fruitful life?
Angry that politics can turn men to murder?
Wishing all the bullets would stop, not go further?

It begins, mom, I gotta go now and fight
Cant think of anything else now, just what is right.
I may live or die, but dont you weep
You will get this letter, for I hide it deep.
And should you get it bloodied, don't you cry
Just know that your son is home, for his soul didnt die.

Life is a goddamn sinusoid,
A curve I have grown, like the plague to avoid.
The joy of being at the zenith is marred
For a downward plunge is on the cards.

The upward road is slippery steep
And try as I might, I fall back in a heap
When I finally reach the peak of one, I gape
From here till infinity stretches the undulating landscape.

Life is a goddamn sinusoid
An epitome of critical stability, its called.
Stability, Ha! Id like to shout forcefully
Its nothing what it touts to be.
If this were stability, I dare not think
What the tides of transience would bring.

Memory

Silently beckoning doorway to the past,
Wondrously momentary, too fleeting to last
You are my memory, whisper you do
'Remember me, for I shall remember you.'

You are the silhouette in a blurred image
Never complete, yet so well defined, of age.
Silently you remind me when I gaze at you
'Remember me, for I shall remember you.'

You are the yellowing pages of a book
Memories swathed in the colorful robes of emotion
are concealed in the pages with words so true
'Remember me, for I shall remember you.'

You are the past I carry with me
The past that makes my eyes watery
You are the wind that rustles up the leaves
You are the sunshine that I stare into forcefully.

You are the distant vision I look at but don't see
You are the smile I give but don't mean
You are my irrepressible memory
Always whispering, 'Remember me.'

That day, after I had put a photo of my pals (in silhouette) on to a photo frame, I took a step back and stared at it...

I look at the photograph, blink away
Tears of longing for those friends I left
Paving their future, brick by brick
and looking back at me as they went their way.

I gaze at it and am transported instantly
Washed away by a torrent of memories
To a beach where I taste the salt laden air
And feel the silken sand beneath, gravelly.

Carefree voices are carried by the breeze,
Caress my ears as I look lazily yonder.
Worries to the wind, they laugh and play
Reminding me to live each day.

The setting sun casts their shadows so long,
That they wrap me up in their dark soothing comfort.
I close my eyes and venture a thought
When the sun has set, will their shadows be gone?

Live the moment, the winds whisper softly
And I open my eyes, look yonder and smile.
Aakash is getting a dunking in the sea again.
A moment later, and I'd have missed the scene.

I take a bold step forward, shade to sun.
For a moment I'm blinded, but I recover and move again,
Secure in the knowledge that their shadows will never betray
In my heart I'll find them, saying, "Bring it on!"

A Second Chance

And then in a flash, it was all over.
A life that was once complete, now lay wasted.
With seemingly no purpose to the endless dance
Of life arcane rituals, he looked back at the crested
hills he'd fallen down, and screamed, "Give me a second chance!"

Ahead lay miles of lush green desolation
A winding cow path scaled heights and plunged valleys.
He shrunk back, desperate to turn back the clock
To when he had erred, and all the strength rallied
went in vain, as he fell to destiny's mock.

The terrain that had been friend, protector
had lost trust in his once reassuring step, confident.
And as he tried to regain footing, faltered,
the ground crumbled beneath, unsure, diffident
Thus did one mistake sacrifice trust at the altar.

He tasted his own sweat and blood
Once reassuring sounds now carried foreboding
The wind whispered threats in his ear
Fear began eating away at the strength he was hoarding.
He trudged, eyes downcast, unable to bear nature's leer.

And then in a flash, it was all over.
Or so he thought as he stumbled, fell.
Three days passed and he awoke in a bed.
His wounds bandaged, heard a church bell.
Unseen friends had raised him from the dead.

He hobbled painfully toward the oaken door,
And saw the mountain, a torrent of memories.
Framing the image forever with one last glance
He prepared to confront life and his vagaries
And forever felt grateful for the second chance.

The Crossroads

Initially written long [2 months] ago for a very dear friend of mine, this poem actually applies to all those who walked with me through these past four years...


Dont turn the corner, dont vanish forever,
And leave me here, more heartbroken than ever.
Can I walk with you atleast till that end?
Maybe a little further, maybe till the end?

You see, I dont want to hear your voice
Fade one last time into the noise
of the rain that reflects my weeping soul,
I cry silently, never again whole.

We shared everything, food and fights,
You helped me through from darkness to light.
Part of me is you, is made by you.
I dont want to lose that too.

It is true, I hold on to the past,
Hoarding memories, that they may last.
I take pictures in an attempt to capture
fading memories that fill me with rapture.

I read diary entries of the good old days,
Then re-read them till the page is frayed.
With words and images, a futile attempt
To recall disjoint memories, unkempt.

Such measures have I taken desperately,
That after three years they are now part of me.

And now I descry the crossroads of life.
Like a mirage, I see beyond, a world of strife.
I look back and see our footprints on the dirt and grime,
Soon to be washed away by the sands of time.

I look forth and see a gray milestone.
"Hitherto you shall walk together as one,
But not any farther, to each man his own."

My heart is filled with cold grief.
So long it was, yet so dissatisfyingly brief.
"Even though we may never meet," you now say,
"I will never forget you, nay."

We come at the crossroads, we part our ways.
No futile promises, not much left to say.
Your path is surer than most, I know,
So you wont look back, or I think so.

Still I wait, for one last glance,
For our eyes to meet and share the dance
You round the bend, then hesitate,
Look back and reward me with a meaningful gaze.

And then I know that this is life,
Friends will come and go with the tide.
Its what they leave behind that matters
For they are never really gone, are they?

Rose Red

Inspired by Rammstein's 'Rosenrot'

The pale sunshine illuminates the faces of lovers true
As they walk hand in hand through the snow
And the blood that pulses through them as one
Rose red, oh so rose red.

Her eyes fall on the alpine glacier yonder
A bluff guards a beauty, that fills her with wonder
Thriving in desolation is a single rose
Amid the snow,
Rose red, oh so rose red.

She is used to getting her way
For her lover adores her spirit so gay
Her twinkling eyes, dainty feet and her cheeks
Rose red, oh so rose red.

One hand above the other, he battles fear
The winds whisper threats in his ear
But he climbs on, guided by the beacon
Rose red, oh so rose red.

His eyes threaten to leave their upward gaze
He is so high up, yet so unfazed
So he soldiers on, till his face is red
Rose red, oh so rose red.

Finally he reaches within arm's length
Heaves a sigh, proud of his strength
He reaches out, but is pricked by a thorn
Guardian of the rose red, oh so red.

Surprise more than pain, causes him to slip
The mountain seizes the chance, the winds pick up
He grabs at the rose, it comes off in his hand
But eyes wide with terror, for he is falling fast.
Not far away, she sees the body strike the ground
The blood leaves her once red cheeks
Running, she comes to the spot where she sees
Lying in a pool of blood, the rose
A beacon, that now mocks one and all
Rose red, oh so rose red.

Me

Readers, Dont dare assume that the poem is about Me, your "beloved" Vishy. Well, most of the points are true as I see it, but not all. Ill tell you where the poem falls short... But first read thru.

[Poem written in the midst of Engg Vivas]

I may hide behind a rosy veil,
Barely discernible to all but a few
But whatever be my reason to deceive
Deep down inside, I am still me.

My mind is like the murky depths of a pool
Outwardly calm, collected and cool
Yet you don't know what turmoil goes on beneath
Deep down inside, I am still me.

I change moods like the weather in spring,
Sunny one moment, cloudy the next.
Even if you know me, you cannot fathom me.
Its not your fault, its just me.

Few are allowed in the inner sanctum
Of my mind, for it is like a tome
Whose pages are forever bound permanently
By the irrepressible force that is me.

I can be helpful one day, swarthy the next,
A slight from me is difficult to forget
Who am I, I ask pensively,
And the answer comes, I am me.

I dont intend to be swarthy, it just happens, like those unintentional slights that keep happening. Happens to anyone...
Anyway, thats where the poem is false :-)

The 8.08 fast - Part II

Antithetical continuation to the previous poem...

Grimy, slovenly, forever late
Are epithets of choice, to delineate
The tumbling mass of rusting junk
Is this a train or a rotting trunk??

But pause to spare a fleeting thought
For the silver lining in this polyglot
Medley, that binds every traveller as one
Forcibly perhaps, but with good intention.

So many days, running late,
We stand at the door, trusting fate
To feel the breeze through your hair,
Isnt it great to just stand and stare?

Out at the door, life is free
Like a razor, we cut brazenly
through the slums and slovenly squalor
Of the armpit of the island city.

Out at the door, there is no scent,
No odor to mark the workman's sweat,
No cellphones to pierce the screaming silence
The wind blocks out even the best of friends.

And just when you feel, you re getting to know
the wind, as a friend or maybe more,
It seems to falter, hesitates
A break in the wind as the train decelerates.

It reduces to a whimper, lost and shallow
Then dies down...reflects the fact that though
Friends will come, friends will go,
All of life is but a lonely road.

The 8.08 fast

A sunny morning won't cast away

The feeling of dread, as I plod my way
To the station where young and old have passed,
All on their way to catch the 8.08 fast.

As I near the station, a drop of rain
Falls on my nose, forebodes me in vain,
For I'm late as always, having woken at last
Just in time to catch the 8.08 fast.

Breakfast was strictly chew, swallow, repeat,
Books went pell-mell into the bag, not really neat
Morning prayers missed again, alas
All in the attempt to catch the 8.08 fast.

As I enter, the gleaming red eyes indicate
With not much subtlety, my miserable fate,
Forget thou,dreams of travelling with style and class,
You're condemned to travel by the 8.08 fast.

OK, I sigh, resigned to my destiny
Do a hop, skip and jump to reach the FOB,
For I can descry in the hazy distance at last
The glimmering lights of the 8.08 fast.

Lumbering ponderously through the sheet of rain,
A groan ripples through us mortals, for the grimy train,
Is jampacked with mortals, trying in vain
To appear nonchalant while really in pain.

Men clinging to the edges, hanging precipitously
Some perched on the roofs, imitating Mowgli
No shaft of light let through from inside the bogie
For it's packed to capacity, well and truly.

A roar chills the blood, as the cloistered crowd
Lets out its fury at the system, and pours out,
Why not be relieved that the ordeal is past,
Are they not free from the clutches of the 8.08 fast?

Cowed, intimidated, I take a deep long gulp
Steel my self, step forward and jump
Into the fray that is all elbow and fist
A scrum at the doorway of the 8.08 fast.

Scratched and bruised, I get one foot in,
The other knee jams into someone's groin
A passage way clears, giving me cause
To plunge into the dank bowels of the 8.08 fast.

My legs have lost feeling, my arms begin to hurt
And still I try to survive, breathing in spurts
The train lurches and moves, leaving half a thousand lost
Failed in the attempt to catch the 8.08 fast.

A slit of light is all that penetrates
The slovenly interior of the Iron Crates
I see sun morph into shade, it seems at last
The train is pulling into a station, avast!

I prepare myself for war as a passenger tries
To swim against the flow, and get outside
He is slaughtered instantly, and I think, Alas!
All in the quest for the 8.08 fast!

One station, then two, all add to the din
Make no difference to the crazy angle Im in
A cessation of pressure is too much to ask
This aint no ordinary train, its the 8.08 fast!

A prod in the back, the grunted request,
"Will you get down at the next station, [and end your quest] ?"
I reply in the affirmative, clearly
And in no mood to continue with the 8.08 fast.

Before the train slows, I am pushed out
The person in front falls, largely of my own doing
He is trod on and kicked, but I dont give a damn;
For i am finally on solid land!

Then i feel pain, a trickle, then a flood,

A cut on my hand, oozing crimson blood,
The pain of a century awakens and I sigh, Alas!
All in the quest or the 808 fast!

Its not merely a crate, this Local train
But its the lifeblood pulsing through this city's vein
Be it riots, floods or local train blasts,
Im always gonna go by the 8.08 fast.

The Curse

I jolt awake from a terrible dream, with fear
dancing in my eyes, your piercing screams echoing in my ear
And again I remind myself that it would be bliss
If you were screaming at someone else.

I drag myself out, glancing at the clock wearily
Its 3 AM, once more have you roused me forcefully.
I curse my destiny and try to convince myself, thinking
I can choose not to act as a wailing wall for your suffering.
That I can choose not to hear you yell
Choose not to endure your monotonous drivel.

I move to my room, hoping for a soothing zephyr
Nurse a cup of coffee as though it were elixir
And then, as if in a trance, I hear you screaming
You dont merely haunt me, you are always with me.

I think about the songs you sang, repeated them
Trying doggedly to shake my blissful REM.
You used to sing about the sweet child o' mine
But you have no right to take his name or mine.
You have no right to turn lovely songs into meaningless noise,
As you exercise your very shrill voice.

Yet, as you so faithlessly sing
I drop whatever I am doing
Because I love you
I have always loved you.
I love the shimmer of your dark skin in the sunshine
Reach out and touch you, cos baby, you're mine.
I love the covetous glances people give you
And as though they are unlucky, I possessively shield you.

I care for you so much.
Then WHY do you wake me at 3 AM every morning?
WHY do I keep looking at you every few seconds?
WHY do you have to be made by Samsung, the one company who's products I love?
You are a polyphonic curse!

Hehe...first of all, this poem is dedicated to none other than my cell phone, a Samsung X620, whose looks I am crazy about. True to my word, I keep looking at it every few seconds as though it may ring just then [as every cellphone freak does].
Apart from looks however, is the fact that I, a true engg student [:)] use my cellphone as a morning alarm[...or should I say midnight alarm...LOL...] And over the past few weeks of gruelling sixth semester exams, my cellphone has been the one factor in my waking at Ungodly hours to [pretend to] study, and scrape through my exams.
Laudatory remarks apart, I hate the cell waking me up. True, if it werent for the cell, I would probably be taking 5 KTs per year, but that DOESNT mean I like its sound at 3 AM in the morning. Well, that explains the theme for the poem...