Anunoy's Scribbling & Photo (s)CrapBook

Softness of Pink

2012-01-28T13:18:00.005+05:30

Our garden is sadly getting barren day by day and more sadly the entire blame rests on our "lack of initiative" attitude towards it! I'm too lazy to pet a puppy even though I long for one... too lazy to even jot down the stories those overcrowd my mind at times... so it's much easier for me to digest the blame than taking a step towards gardening (am I sounding like a moron?).... Presently only small pink or crimson roses are found scattered in malnourished branches of all the poor shrubs and that too not daily. A couple of days back, after I failed (failing is so common with me!) to get up early to capture some sunrise photographs in the riverbank I thought to aim at those fast extincting beauties in my garden...

Spring Onion Flowers

2012-01-23T23:06:00.007+05:30

As per Wikipedia (that's the only sensible link came up after desperate googling!), Spring Onions are the edible plants of various Allium species, all of which are "onion-like", having hollow green leaves and lacking a fully developed root bulb. They are also called green onions, scallions, salad onions, green shallots, onion sticks, long onions, baby onions, precious onions, yard onions, syboes etc. They're no special food item unlike lobsters or Hilsa and usually manage to get an unnoticed corner of our vegetable basket. But they have something awesome to exhibit... their white tiny flowers... and my Nikkor was too sensitive to appreciate that!

In the afternoon I promised to stay away from my obesity-inducing slumber and so wanted to make it productive by clicking some cool frames. But again my laziness was restricting my mobility inside my house only... so, ran behind two cats for a while and at last when I failed in capturing those restless souls my Nikkor showed me something more charming amidst the heap of vegetables... I never knew that spring onion flowers can compete with jasmine in a close up/macro shot!

Mirage

2011-07-10T22:50:00.006+05:30

The baffling darkness moved away
To fill the space with a silvery dawn...
I almost had slipped back to my senses
To see her, still sleeping in his arms...

Bewildered by the time’s parody
Heart full of wishes all I could give...
Pulled the curtain to veil her window
To keep her glee I chose to leave...

Miles and thousand faces I munched
To plaster a crack on the bygone paint...
But a pair of eyes did never let me doze
Neither in any cave nor in a polar tent...

In the crimson tone of sun bathed horizon
I backed my caravan to the land of charms...
Only to set free those enslaved tears
To see her merrily falling asleep in his arms...

- Anunoy Samanta

Sunflower Garden

2011-04-30T19:41:00.001+05:30

Mahendra Park zoo Nepalgunj Snaps

2011-04-10T23:51:00.012+05:30

Some ‘If’s & more ‘Why’s

2010-08-09T18:00:00.006+05:30

[This is a blog post to be read only if you’ve got some time to spend for yourself and a mind ready to reflect. No, it’s not expected to focus on the lump of words I’ve piled up but please put a little effort to feel the still notes of melancholy coffined in the depth of the event. Tears, however artistic they look are stinging to our eyes. Listen to your reasons first and then let the fragile heart to ponder but once this crystal takes the baton free it to find its course. Then you won’t have to coexist with those whining ‘why’s and an indolent ‘if’s at every point of your life…]

“Honey, we’ll take two…
One boy and one girl…
Oops isn’t that a fair demand?
OK your wish my command, so one only…
Look Jennifer, then it has to be a cutie beauty doll
And I’ll call her Barbie…
No madam, find a name of your own,
Coz Barbie will be only and only her dad’s copyright….”

Why do seasons roll by…
What for colours do fly…
Why do hearts make a tie…
What for there comes a Bye…

“Don’t cry baby…
I realise, it’s all my fault…
No Robin, you’re not to be answerable-
I should’ve thought about it hundred times more…
May be I leaped like that foolish bird of fables
And that’s how I got myself wounded, take it like that…
I’ve no grievance dear, not even the agony of deception,
But pain… only and only pain of not having you…”

Why do hopes are born and prematurely die…
What for all silly emotions rain down as cry…
Why do all priceless promises turn out to be lie…
What for this silence lives forever with a single sigh…

“When I stand before the mirror today I see nothing but a bundle of black stickers with countless holes. I fear of making new friends… I fear of tarnishing any canvas on my way and that’s why I live inside a crust sculpted by my own inabilities. I don’t know how to tunnel out from this cave of bareness… may be I don’t want to… or, may be till now I don’t know what I ever wanted… God bless you Jennifer wherever you are…”

“Till today, in the middle of a Christmas eve, in the laxity of my professional leave or under the provocation of a momentary grief, whenever I stare at the point blank haze, I fail to transfix few age old puzzles, I fail to drive away those queries which have always played with my sleep… I live with my toxic wind chime Robin… it abandons me when it’s still and with every swing it wails out some more ‘If’s & still more ‘Why’s…”

[There’re thousands of Robin and Jennifer among us… some get attached to pubs… some are liberal enough to give life a second chance… few become too apathetic to live… though their paths differ they share something in common- an irrevocable pain of ever piercing Ifs and Whys… till their very last breath!]

-littleWriter

May be Some other Day

2010-07-02T09:43:00.003+05:30

“Are you still the one…” the cell phone tune broke the silence under the cafe umbrella where two human beings had been self adjusting with their vapour vanished coffee mugs since last half an hour in exclusive silent musing mood. It felt damn scratchy to digest the tune, so Siddhart accepted the call in a hurry.
“Sid what’s the time now” the most familiar disgusted voice came from the other side.
After a momentary pause, “Oho, sorry baby, I couldn’t even give you a call… you know till now I haven’t yet taken my afternoon tea…” somehow he enacted his management curfew.
She softened in a millisecond. With greater care and concern she asked, “Honey is everything ok?”
He suddenly altered his plan. In a firm mutineer’s tone Siddhart spoke, “No more I’ll tolerate these shits. This’ my last presentation out here and then I’ll throw the other file to that fatso’s face along with Siddhart Mehra’s resignation. What does this bloody hippopotamus think of himself…” and then paused for the effect.
The first canon ball had hit its target. She got intensely worried, “Sid what’s this baby… please calm down… tell me the matter… tell me what’s that bully has done to my tweetu…”
“Just leave it. This time I’m determined, I know what I’ll do.” He didn’t like leaving his handicraft without an ultimate final touch.
She almost cried out, “Please tell me the thing… honey can’t you tell me?”
Suddenly realising the place awkwardness of his ongoing private call, he signalled her “Excuse me” and moved towards the washroom to give a last push to the trigger, “Anita why baby why? Why does it happen with me every time? I can’t take this anymore… I have been thinking from the lunch hour when you gave the last call, which shirt to put on… whether that new belt will suit the white trouser… that cherry shoe will look better at the bottom or the white leather one… and finished all pending jobs by three o’ clock. When I was about to leave at four, the sick bastard came into my cabin and tossed two shoes to polish… I don’t think I can finish them up before late evening. No baby, I can’t bear up with this slavery anymore. Anyhow I’ll attend your friend’s anniversary party today; Anita you just get ready while I gift him the final hook” he finished with a deep breath.
“No Sid, you won’t do anything like that. Cool down my excited young man. Just finish your priorities like a good boy. Somehow I’ll manage the party thing” she tried to normalise the heat of the moment.
“No I can’t let you go alone sweetu, I’m coming…”, Sid still unconfident of his drama.
“What no? Don’t worry dear I won’t go alone, I can join Sakshi. You promise me you’ll throw away your anger and complete your task. Promise me baby” Anita was desperate.
“See every time you convince me like anything coz I can’t ever tell you ‘No’. Ok if you insist… Love you honey” he thought it enough baked.
“Love you too… and listen, no need to wish them on phone. Just come back when you’re done. I’ll try to return before you” she added.
“But won’t it be good if I atleast…” Sid asked once again.
“No, because I’ll tell them that you’re in Kuala Lumpur to hunt some eyed clients” Anita gave a naughty smile and continued, “and on your way back home, don’t forget to bring that… and not that banana one please… I feel like vomiting, you know baby right?”
Planting a digital kiss, Sid ended the conversation. Huh what a relief…
He reoriented his back brushed hair with a sprinkle of water from the washbasin. Pleased with his mirror image Sid came back to the open air table where a fair lady of his age was playing chess on her mobile.
“Sorry Richa…” he said with a gentle smile and occupied his chair.
“What happened Siddhart?” she spoke first time in that post dusk coffee session.
“Nothing can happen when Sid becomes Siddhart” he tried to plait a voice of complain.
“Your old trick never fails right?” she looked up at Sid stretching the corners of her hazel eyes treasured by eye liner and gave a detective smile.
“What could I do Richa… somebody has always topped my priority list” he tried hard to solidify his statement with innocent most gaze and extended his crisscrossed forearms beyond the midline fence.
“Shut up Sid” she coined.
Yes great, “the old trick really never fails” he whispered in his mind. He had been waiting for this sweetest rebuke from a long, long time…

A purple glow was fondling with her hanging locks and highlighting the mole on the corner of her right cheek. Sid tried to remember how many times he had sensed that mole with his lips. The glow showed her double pierced ears, his most desired lollipop of once upon a time days. Richa was looking like a damsel in her azure silk salwar suit. His eyes were sipping the charm of her beauty like a young boy falling for a girl for the first time. Sid’s gaze slid down the oblique line sketched by her magical eye lines, fixed for a while on that heart-shaped nose, and then slipped down to the lake of those pink sensualities, farther down to the chin... the throat… deeper down the limit of the sapphire pendant he entered into the world of unfathomable passions… the victim of destiny’s whim, lying in the vast no man’s land separating their present worlds. One after another warm lost fragments Sid kept on rediscovering in his transposed mind- “Uff leave me baby, it’s tickling”…
“So what about that challenge Sid?” Richa nailed down Sid’s full blown balloon.
“Which challenge dear?” he sounded unprepared.
“That five years… no marriage… Oh Saturn! You’ve totally dumped that off your memory?” she gave a cute mischievous smirk.
“Oh devil! You still remember…” the small bygone challenge turned up in Sid’s mind. In one of her birthday, when they were standing at a point of ambiguity about the future of their relationship he himself had thrown her the challenge, “Ok you think I’ll get married before you? Well now I’m telling you, you’ll get married before me. Not only this, even after five years of your happy marriage I’ll remain a bachelor. This is a challenge!” She had smelled the hollowness in it, so she said “No honey it won’t be like that… I’m sure” to which Sid toughened the statement for her, “Fine now tell me what will you give me if I win this bet?” Off course “Anything…” she had replied. “Then you’ve to spend one night with me leaving your hubby and kids aside. Are you ready?” that was the maximum a confused young man’s heart could seek for. Yet she had no problem. Yes, she was that damn sure… after all she knew him, she knew him much more than he knew himself.
Shyness enveloped Sid’s face as he told, “Those crazy days… common I was such a kid… congrats you’ve won the bet Richa”
“Really? What can you give me Sid?” her voice became firmer.
“Anything for you…” he replied desperately.
“Do you have anything at all which you can sacrifice to keep your words?” her chin got more prominent.
Sid didn’t anticipate such a grey monophony. Before he could search for a proper reply, ring tone broke the still air under the umbrella for the second time. It was Richa’s mobile this time.
She spoke in a language sounded Greek to him, and ended her conversation in very short. Seeing Sid totally confused, she showed the way out of the maze, “It was my hubby’s call. You couldn’t even decipher the ‘love you’ part right? Actually he was brought up in Russia. He never wanted, but somehow I developed interest and mastered that tongue from him. But yet to catch the accent properly…”
“Good. What about a beer in the name of your new Russian conquest?” Sid tried to take the control of the muddled state that somehow got cleared with her phone call.
“Thanks Sid… but not today… he is calling… sorry I’ve to leave now” Richa wiped the corner of her lips with a tissue and stood up with a courtesy smile that was no longer sheltered the evening heat.
Sid was dumbfounded by the unexpected effect of a simple phone call. He felt a deep cramp in his stomach but somehow came out of the cafe escorting her to the taxi. Before the taxi left, she told, “You know something Sid, you’re still a kid… take care”
He tried to return back her the same courtesy but his tongue got dried and nothing came out of his mouth, not even a reloaded expression. Vacantly he kept looking on her vehicle’s zooming out red tail lamps as long as he could see…

He didn’t feel like taking a taxi there itself, so kept walking along the footpath for quite a sometime. He remembered something Anita had asked in the phone and entered a medicine shop with indecisive steps. He didn’t know what to say until the shop boy enquired, “Bhaisaab apko kya chahiye?”
When you’re partially wrecked you look for better things to glue your cracks but when you’re completely broken you don’t feel like pasting the bits any more, you just feel like digging a hole and burying them. Same happened with Sid, losing his strawberry appetite, “I need a strip of diazepam” that’s all he told.
“Prescription dijiye…” the counter man demanded from the other side.
“Fuck off” he spoke in his mind and stepped out of the shop with stamping gaits.
With every step his guilt feeling was taking colossal shape. He couldn’t push on. He needed something to revive him from the burden of prickling consciousness. Sid entered a pub and ordered, “Without soda…”
He felt lighter seeing three four empty glasses on his table, picked up his briefcase and came out of the smoky hell. When you drink you miss your girlfriend like anything and a new spouse is no exception from this dictum. Drunken Sid started feeling possessive with the thoughts of his Anita like never before. He wanted to give her a call; unfortunately the battery had run out of charge. He chuckled with mild bleakness…
He stepped back to the medicine shop but oops, it got closed by then. In his watch he saw the time ‘10:30’… quite late… Anita would be waiting for him! He got into an auto with tired feet.

Siddhart rolled out of the three-wheeler like a kicked out burglar. In a vacillating mind full of disillusionment, penitence and love, he plucked a half bloomed rose from the garden of his apartment. He opened the door with duplicate key. Dim lamp of the dining room displayed the covered dishes over the dining table with his plate kept upside down. He understood that Anita was asleep, why won’t she? It had been 11:30 already… he went to the bathroom, changed his attire and again came back to the food. He wasn’t hungry anymore, so put the bowls inside the refrigerator and went into the bedroom. He didn’t light the lamp as Anita was deep in her dreams. But he could see her childlike face in the red glow of a tiny LED of the hanging voltage stabiliser. Siddhart came close to her face and touched her cheeks with the dew wet rose in lightest possible way. Then he went to her toes and lodged his regretful lips over them until he converted his kiss to a hybrid smooch. “I’m sorry honey” he recited in his mind hundred times before he could get up from her leg side. In her sleep she had disoriented her dress code. Her loyal husband didn’t even miss that… he pulled her frock little down her thigh… He felt the intense urge of knitting the art of love with his love but his sensibility of letting his queen rest somehow watered the flame. He lowered the room temperature, covered her with a cotton sheet and felt fast asleep embracing her breast with one arm… Whole bedroom got transformed into a still frame, other than the blinking time piece and the breezing machine above…

A throb beneath the pillow broke Anita’s sleep at the middle of the night. She took out her mobile and stopped the vibration, “Oh is this the time to… whatever, hold on” she scolded the mysterious caller in a concealed voice. Anita shifted Sid’s hand from her body to a side pillow very cautiously and then left the frozen room in silent footsteps.

-littleWriter

Because He hated One

2010-06-06T20:38:00.003+05:30

Crazy, flamboyant, different… no, none of these words portray Nishan as precisely as the naive word ‘SYMMETRICAL’. I don’t really know what symmetry means to you folks who’re from science milieu, but for an ill-scientific soul like me whose mathematics had ended with tenth non mentionable board exam it means balanced or to be more realistic symmetry is everything which is natural or somehow related to the goodness of nature, like flower, river, tides, seasonal changes etc. Oops! My bright and breezy curse for the intellectuals who have stood on their toes by now to interrupt me for sniffing the symmetry in seasonal variations… fools it’s not nature, it’s you who’re responsible for molesting these natural symmetries. And yea, my middle finger for those brains once again who’re whispering in their mind “empty vessel sounds much”… huh it’s thorny to hide this complex I had developed since my college days… now coming back to track rather snail track once again, bad part was Nishan was a boy born, brought up and baptised in science, simple reason being his dad’s stinking service as a mining engineer in a nearby coal mine…

I had joined a new school (worthy to mention it was my first entry to the world of co educational dream) after concluding the chapter of primary schooling. It was first time I was suffocating inside the vain prestige of a serpentine necktie, because my previous school lacked such deceptive sophistication. I was not even used to with etiquettes like “May I come in madam?”, “May I go to toilet?”, “Sir naughty X is disturbing me”! What best I could do was to stay numb before the teachers as much as possible. It was first day, first period and I was semi hiding at the back most rows with some impish brats (whose reputations I was not familiar with at that moment). I was struggling hard to get enough space to place my ass on the bench as their wicked group was constantly pushing me side down. You can’t imagine how lowly it feels when you’re ragged by your going to be fellow mates… The whole class stood up with the entry of a middle aged pokerfaced lady. She was Mrs Roy, our class teacher for that session. First thing she did, I still remember after so many decades, is allotting sitting arrangements to us. It began with a relief but ended with a brisk moment of anxiety. I was made to sit between a boy and a girl… what a disaster! That was the first time I met Nishan, my first bench mate of secondary school, my first friend in the new school and my closest pal till intermediate college level until he went abroad for graduation. At first sight he looked so eerie to me; he had two pockets on his shirt (I didn’t have any pocket shielding my chest at that time)… he seemed more creepy after our mind-numbing class teacher left the class. He stood up and told the girl at my right, “Annu you come to the middle”.
I was astounded by his bloody bossy attitude; he spoke to the girl as if there was Mr None in the middle! Huh! My occurrence and my sanction were of no value then? The Barbie haired cutie gave him a damn friendly wink and stood up with her bag and bottle, staring at me with glowing face as if I had promised to swap my place the day back! What a new comer could do, other than abiding by their silent order like robot… but I tell you, I was boiling from inside until “thank you” came from the pretty Barbie like a soothing ice cube… common I was a boy after all. From a fifth standard boy’s point of view, I saw so many crooked intentions that day in Nishan’s master plan of picking the girl and a pocketful of rowdiness in possessing two pockets at two sides of his hanging necktie. Oh my God, sitting by the side of such a beauty, that idiot started poking his both the nostrils in chorus engaging both his hands! “Great, you’re boosting up my prospect”, I spoke in my mind unconsciously gripping the knot of my tie. My satisfactory sigh did hardly bother his poking hobby and he kept on digging the hole of his misfortune till the commencement of next period. I indulged myself in my other bench mate’s fantasy completely ignorant of the fact that it was the official beginning of my getting accustomed with Nishan’s exclusivity of being symmetrical…

As the calendar caught up its speed, I discovered so many novelties in Nishan. His practice of keeping two hankies on two sides of his pant, sharpening the wood pencil from both the ends, equally gesturing both the hands while reciting a poem, munching alu parathas using both the hands and even playing cricket equally incompetent with both his hands. Don’t know why the fool had never practised writing with his left hand as well… when he had to shake hand with somebody he had a very warm gesture of grabbing the right hand of the other person, sandwiching between the palms of his two hands. Everybody used to call him by Iyer-babu, getting irritated with his nodding head on both the sides to signal ‘yes’. Don’t know if it’s so distinctive of south Indian mannerism. I must confess it looked so hunky when Nishan dribbled the ball with both his hands in every basketball tournament, yea that was his favourite game as far our schooldays memoirs permit… Once he had met with a small bicycle accident just when our yearly exam was knocking at our doors. Nishan got his left hand fractured, that was what I came to know from a common friend who lived near his neighbourhood. When I went to visit him next morning, I was literally shocked by seeing him on his dad’s easy chair with both the hands plastered. “Nishu I heard of your left hand getting injured…” I couldn’t help screaming at his surprisingly double misfortune.
His dad shaving at one corner of the room broke open his frustration before I could finish my sentence, “No no… I’m fed up with his madness. Have you ever seen any other crap getting bandaged on both the hands even when luckily one is injured?”
Before I could understand my role out there in the middle of a pissed off dad and a lunatic son, uncle further continued, “Yesterday your friend made such a drama in my friend’s clinic and washed out my prestige like anything. Yes like anything… now those bloody people will get free passport of spreading the rumour that Mr Ahuja’s son has gone mad! Can you believe it? This greatest ass Nishan Ahuja thought it most prudent to put a condition before my friend that if his left forearm has to be plastered then the same treatment has to be given to his right arm! Just think of the level of irrationality!”
I was in a real dilemma whether to nod at Mr Ahuja’s grumble and provoke him to sustain his high blood pressure or to pacify him like son’s dutiful friend. So I chose the third option- silence was gold… Disgusted at my indifference poor uncle finished his shaving in hurry and left the room. I knew asking him the noble reason of putting on double plaster would beget nothing but more disappointment for me which I’d experienced quite a number of times in prior occasions. What had followed next was no less surprise for any of us when Nishan appeared for the first paper with a hired writer along with him. Yea it was a special arrangement procured by his dad by lying principal that both of his son’s hands were fractured! Actually, although uncle had that rough outer shell of a typical authoritarian Indian father but his soft corner for his only son extended way beyond this which had further got deep rooted probably after his wife’s death…
Unlike me Nishan was quite sensitive to the essence of teen age romance, may be partly because of his liberal background at home and his full schooling in co educational English medium schools right from nursery level in contrast to my primary schooling in a hardcore over disciplined Hindu boys school, for which in later days also I could never bridge that gender gap from the core of my boyhood mind… He once fell for a pretty Brahmin girl who belonged to a very conservative family. I had warned Nishan earlier of the feasible dangers but as always he “couldn’t hold his heart back once given to somebody”, this is what the idiot used to cry every time before me to melt me emotionally and get the best help out of me. Yes, the result I had foreseen came out to be true. One day just after Nishan had given her a well versed love letter (I think not less than 5-6 pages!) her dad came to school, called for Nishan and gave him a tight slap before his pretty daughter. I was too scared to go to the battlefield to support my friend, so covertly kept witnessing his ultimate insult. I was expecting him to fall on that bull’s feet to make a narrow escape from further worse possibilities. After receiving that first insult over his crimson converted cheek, I could only see Nishan pointing onto his other cheek and I knew by that time what he meant and what next to happen… after repeated refusal the girl’s dad had no other choice than launching another slap with a lower zeal, just to end the episode…
Although it was Nishan himself responsible for fancying the second slap, the whole incidence had broken his heart badly (Don’t get carried away by crocodile’s tears)… he stopped falling for girls for quite a sometime and started smoking, especially in evening gossip hours at our usual meeting paradise, our old river bank. Nothing unusual it’s to smoke in your mid teen but lighting two cigarettes concurrently and even absorbing the bad smoke from both the sticks together at the same time hardly anybody of you’ll support. The picture didn’t change much until Nishan finally got committed to a Christian girl, Sylvia. It was the beginning of our intermediate college life after our tenth board exam results were out. Nishan had passed with rainbow hues, especially in science and maths, whereas, I had shitted badly particularly in those subjects that left me no option other than taking admission directly to arts stream. We got admitted once again under the same roof but our cells had changed. That was the first time I went to our meeting venue all alone with a cigarette, a hired lighter and a boxful of anonymous unlfilment. I had smoked in that evening for the first time with the lips of a suckling infant and tears of a tormented mother. Probably that was the first day, yes that was the first evening I was fully all alone with unbound emotions to shed, not even an insect to witness my overflowing impulses in the dense black darkness…
Nishan was newly settling down with Sylvia, who had taken admission to the commerce wing of the same institute. When a boy falls seriously for an opposite sex for the first time, he gains a lot of things- like sense of responsibility, maturity, power of adjustment etc., but perhaps the only thing he loses is his time for old friends… no off course it’s not his fault, probably it’s a simple adaptive mechanism to meet the growing demands of the time for his love life… Was Nishu in love then?... Something I realised for sure, he had found out the symmetry he had been chasing from his childhood days…

It was in the middle of class twelve that I could persuade my father to get me a second hand scooter. In the present set-up it might sound a bit funny to you but in those times an intermediate college lad speeding on a scooter was not a very common sight. By that time I had initiated filling up my purse all by myself with some private tuitions, so I had strong logic to support my two wheeler purchase. In one winter evening me and Nishu went to river bank after a long gap of Saturday-evening-whisky-session. Post dusk chilly breeze had always been the same effective healer to our tired liquor wet warm wits. Under the golden liquid’s magical spell we laid down on the damp grass, spoke of our obsolete professors, political instabilities, neighbourhood beauties, family woes, dad Vs son grievances, recent scandals, international porn actresses, last lottery disaster… the last topic I coined, “Nishu, your relationship has progressed…”
We both were happy, exhausted and rolling like two pigs out of gutter until it was quite late when we got back our consciousness partially and felt the urge of hurrying back home in the normal most shape. We sprang up and rode the scooter like most dutiful sons. We were in real hurry as the clock showed 10:30 PM! In that era we didn’t have that much relaxation of stress free night salsa… I was accelerating as much as I could do where as my pillion rider, unable to come out of his hang over, was continuously bumping his head over my backbone. The road was dark and desolated. Suddenly I slipped over a pebbled road and we fell down like crumbled bullock cart. Luckily it was a turning, so our speed was low, I didn’t even drop down on the stony road, but Nishan couldn’t escape getting few scratches on his limbs. A greater relief was seeing the scooter almost undamaged, other than one of its looking glasses getting thrashed… When I could focus on Nishan again, he was almost erect on his feet and grinning like a victorious soldier. I patted his back as a sign of ‘everything is under control’ and was about to start my vehicle. All of a sudden, he picked up a larger stone from the street and hit on the other mirror of my scooter which was intact even after the crash! The mirror crumbled down and the alcoholic bastard lost his balance, dropping down the road he gave a smile of contentment. I was terribly shocked, irritated and annoyed seeing his loathsome action. I directly got down and shook him by his collar and roared, “Hey I’ve been tolerating this fucking bloody whims since years, what do you think yourself you crazy bastard?”
“Relax Mihir… I balanced your scooter…now it’s safe”, he replied in a cold voice.
“You insane bastard you think it’s a joking hour? I shit at your so called balance… you’re the most fucking unbalanced psycho I’ve ever been with… no more of this…”
Before I could close my mouth, he liberated his collar from my fist and pushed me back with firmer grip, “I’m the most balanced rascal in this asymmetric world. Do you get it buddy?” his voice totally changed, eyes sparkling like owl’s eyes…
I was motionless by his frozen voice. Getting the burning charcoal in my voice extinguished I stammered somehow, “How can you say everything around you lacks balance?”
“Look everything nature has made are in pairs… they function in pairs… yes they look good in pairs as well. See the river you left just now, has two banks… idiot, don’t you see the trees?... after a certain height it branches on both sides… ye that’s how it maintains balance…”
Nishan took up a piece of brick from one side of the road and went to the middle of it like a gust of wind, sat down and scratched that over the road to draw the digit one, and then two, while I stood still to witness that street-show of unbound madness in dim light coming from a streetlight some thirty metres away…
He started again, “Just look at this Mihir, ‘Two’ has such a stable ass, yes it’s damn balanced thing in this fucking earth… but see the base of ‘One’ itself is so unbalanced, how can it be of any good to anybody… can’t even stand by its own”, he started laughing like one of those feng shui puppets.
By then I had realised that the fire set by me was no more in my control. I was slowly getting involved in that lunacy… I participated, “Nishu chill down man, how did you get allergic to this poor ‘One’?”…
His mad man’s loud smile got condensed in a fraction of second into a crumbled tissue paper like expression. “I lost my mom and my doll like sister for this bastard”, he cried like a whining baby and sat down on the roadside with two palms veiling his wet cheeks…
Thunderstruck scooter owner had the only option of sitting down beside his broken friend, to keep an arm around his drooped shoulder and help him to vomit out all the poisons he had been petting in his stomach for last twelve years… I won’t lie, that day I felt elevated than never before for being the successful navigator of the corner of my friend’s mind about which I was fully unaware of… not just me, his father was equally unlucky to get the insight of his son’s greatest torment…
“I was a kindergarten kid then… it was summer vacation that we all four were travelling back from Chandigarh. Our train was about to reach our hometown station. It was crowdie. Dad told my mom to advance towards the gate with my one year sister in her lap so that he could manage our luggage. He was opening the chain locks of individual bags and suitcases one by one when mom had reached the door side. I went and stood behind her to enjoy the moving trees and coal smelling air. She was holding the support beside the door with one hand and treasuring her daughter with the other. I was keen on peeping through the open door but every time she was pushing me back with a mild motherly scold. I was lost in some thought till I discovered that a hawker was gripping me from my shoulder and mom falling down the moving train with a shrill cry for help… Dad rushed to the door, somebody had pulled the chain to stop… but by then everything was over… the whole fucking drama was over… I lost my mom forever Mihir… I lost my sleeping queen… I lost my world… I lost the best thing of this life Mihir…” Nishan’s voice clogged in saddest melodies.
It was difficult to keep myself untouched by the tragedy… hot tear drops streamed down my beards… I felt Nishu closer than ever…
The Phoenix rose from the ashes again, “Today you know Mihir, her last cry for survival, the moment of her fall with the baby in her arm, their red recovered bodies, nothing torture me more than the fact that she was standing by the door with just one hand’s support… that fucking ‘One’ killed her… this scoundrel snatched my mom... I won’t ever forgive this ‘One’…”
That whole night I kept tossing on my bed, reflecting of the whole incidence. Little before the dawn I fell asleep getting heavy with the satisfaction of opening a decade old mystery and partly by the depth of the catastrophe linking my friend.
In a few months we finished our intermediate education. I took interest in English language and moved onto Calcutta, where as Nishu made his visa to study medicine in England. In the beginning we used to break our pocket money for international postage but dusty time gradually rusted our string and the frequency of letter lessened… we lost connection in five six years, by the time I took the job of a teacher and Nishan became Dr Nishan and moved to Florida for post graduation.

Yesterday evening after I returned from my college, I was watching news headlines of ongoing political flip-flops, when my twelve years old nephew came to me with two registers and pens. He looked excited about something and sat down on the divan beside my cushion and started writing with both the hands with a hurry to attract my attention from the scrolling LCD. Reading his intention I switched off the TV and ruffled his wood pecker like hair with a swift soft palm, “Oh, now Mr Tintin will scribble his report with both his hands…?” I showed well woven curiosity to my little boy.
“Yeppy Chachu! Now I can write… no not just writing, I can do every… everything with both the hands at the same time…” Rohan finished in a single breath with rounded eyes.
“What?” I developed a sudden wrinkle over my forehead.
“Yes Chachu, now the secret of side dominance in human mind has been decoded. From now onwards a person can use both his hands and legs for individual purposes at the same time! Amazing na?” He finished his informative style with an optimistic shrug.
A lost civilisation seemed to have been excavated beyond my oblivious freedom. I desperately asked Rohan, “Who told you all these beta?”
“Just now I read in a website. At first I was googling for the list of last year’s Nobel laureates and there in one corner of the website I found the nominees for the current year, there I came across this incredible news. You know Chachu it was a single biomedical engineer’s research and the man who holds the entire credit for this………………” Rohan’s inquisitive narrations faded as my single side dominated old mind dived deep into the ocean of reminiscence… I kept on swimming amidst those bygone oysters and coral reefs in paramount solace, supremacy and satisfaction…

- littleWriter

Happy Birthday Ma

2010-05-31T23:03:00.002+05:30

Finally the glow rose up with insomniac wings-
The toxic blue cocooned by their golden fringe,
A stand still lake and some soggy tranquil
All fairy tellers of a vindictive moment;
Not a soul felt those gallons she had bled,
Celebration was on for the Caesarean outcome
Nobody remembered one day she too was born.
But she was smiling… yes she had no complaint!
Sorry I don’t have the time machine
So my blatant belated wishes for you,
Happy Birthday… happy birthday dear smiling girl…

The seed she kept away from the blazing sun
Watered, sowed and nourished till it learnt the art,
Whining blended with the fragrance of wet nappies
Sure all were vital other than her need to snooze;
With every new calendar new priorities replaced her
Reasons were enough to forget the day she was born
Like urge for out of budget video game, daisy first date
Then precious liquor parties and then… it never ended
And it never ends… Don’t know if she still smiles…
Sorry my greatest forgiver, my purest wishes here for you
Happy Birthday… happy birthday... dear smile today…

-Anunoy

His Last Lament

2010-04-13T10:13:00.004+05:30

(A so called petty commoner regrets having crossed his late middle age, and three decades of vain effort of disbelieving God! He can't bear any longer the flashbacks of his demonic triumphs and as the echo of his sin keeps hammering his conscience, he feels it has been time for him to end his abhorrent chapter…)

Oh all red, red and red
Please let me die under a white grave…

I was in my days in those days:
A revolutionary bastard
With ample lifeblood
To spill, spoil and sip,
Mad and desperate
To discover his dream
In each rays of your sunshine
In every twist of your breeze-

A thousand misjudgements those followed:
I had found my idol!
Thus you moulded me
In your own image,
Cleaning my glasses
With your magical wash,
To enlighten me with those
History and civics I knew not-

Mist anchoring my fragile specs is no apology:
I slaughtered a promising countryman!
Scalded the book of his ethics,
Wrongly manipulated a soul-
Dipping those fingers in blood
Had tried to wash every last sin
Ah the vampire you gave birth to
Today can’t live with his gory myths-

Oh mayhem and mayhem all around
Please let me die under the deepest grave…

-littleWriter

Shit over My Morning quilt

2010-04-08T11:59:00.004+05:30

This is not among those usual attempts of updating my blog
But a serious endeavor to show them I’m courteous too-

Just that I was getting frozen in overindulgent heat
My grey matter grinder almost ceased in absolute zero
Thoughts drilling down to dwell with the flock of seals
I had lost the hope of ever catching the shrinking glacier…

You bumped thankfully upon my coffin in solace
As I sensed some shit over my morning quilt
And utterly stupid to say I really loved it…

-Anunoy

Thanks to two of my Lucky Posts:
1)My Reminiscence in a Midnight Platform
2)The Unavoidable

Priority

2010-03-02T22:51:00.002+05:30

For some it’s a loaf of fungi stuck bread,
For some it’s a scratch on some BMW,
And for some simply values do fare….

It’s all about how bare your stomach is,
It’s all about how much bulk it can hold,
And for some simply breeds do the talk…

Directive principles have been stealing the show since 1949
After all everything is not by… for… and of them…
Most of the things to cover, few things to overexpose…
Own the land and sore will be on their back-
Sipping the cocktail of fundamental rights
Feel proud to immortalize the trend
Set since Vedic matinee!

-littleWriter

Stethoscope

2010-02-26T02:06:00.003+05:30

Spinning head and graying scalp-
Tablets unproductive to revamp libido-
Adamant sweat consumes the drying air,
It’s time to break the medical indemnity…

A desperate go to cork the hole-
White coat auscultation runs out of clue
Is it multifactorial then?
Possibilities bubble up behind witty eyeballs…

Diaphragm unable to trap the feeble rhythm-
Chestpiece baffled by innumerable sobs-
What the stethoscope fails the listener perceives
“His medication is banned in formula one age…!”

-littleWriter

Ode to an Attachment

2010-02-23T22:18:00.002+05:30

Wet in the crimson golden farewell rays
I witnessed the loveliest twilight,
Boogied with a swinging chime-
Then the night followed…

So many
Volcanoes erupted against anticipation,
Oceans sipped blood on moon’s seduction,
Castles emulsified by quaky annihilation,
All the creations suffered immature extinction-
Alas my sunset dreams and swiveling wind chime…

Now I’m deaf, I’m blind-
Forgotten to cry, can’t remember how to rhyme;
Dig the dark shadow when I’m awake but
Till now in my sleep I long to perceive that chime…

-littleWriter

Hello Haiti

2010-01-21T15:20:00.002+05:30

Million gloomy faces
Billion sobbing eyes
The world upside down
Wish all were lies…

God’s evil fantasy
Distorted bricks and blue
Chapters out of cover
Fool has lost his glue…

Neither an ocean of cries will cure…
Just like drinking after losing your first love-
Nor Midas’ fingers can lure…
Just like getting your son’s insurance money-
Virginity once lost is lost for sure…

Still don’t lose hope-
Moment this dark cloud dissolves every sunshine will be yours…

- littleWriter

The Ongoing

2010-01-15T13:40:00.002+05:30

The vanishing camphor
And the fine last stroke,
It’s all life honey and we got to go…

Hundred smiles so delicately tuned
Myriad minds out of phase,
It’s all life baby and we got to go…

Preface soiled when born
Contents sensibly torn out,
It’s all life dear, the journey ought to continue…

- littleWriter

Poetry of My Portraits

2009-06-14T22:52:00.002+05:30

The whole day I work with my brush and canvas
I squander a lot of colours like
Violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red
Saturating my six by four space
And robustly endowing it visual trust-

I'm not the God but I want to be
To feed those famished lips in my portrait;
So much misery in the world,
The sorrow of million world links,
How can my six by four hold all of thee-

My hands try hard painting hours after hours
Giving life to a dead man,
Animating a cloth less mother with her kid,
Boosting a pony for its first leap…
Sharing the loneliness of a cursed whore-

Now at last I've rejuvenated the dead man,
The poor mother is now breast feeding her child;
The white pony frolicking over green meadow;
All looks content but the impatient keep-
I've made her helpless without her man-patron…

Conscience pricks me to motivate the man reborn;
And to veil the naked mother with a queenly mantle;
And to call for the mother horse to guard her pony-
Let there be a man on the bed of the waiting mistress,
But I notice the canvases have turned unalterable stubborn-

Only work left for me is to hang them in an exhibition
To nourish my own stomach and creative identity;
While picturing I've thought enough for those needy,
Now my hands are weary, mind is bogged and hungry;
Till my canvases are sold I'll suffer impatient irritation-

Thousand art lovers visit my exhibition –
An intellectual describes the man in his own way,
An economist expresses grief for the nude mother,
A child compares my pony with his comic's character
And a materialist travels to a land of fantasy prostitution-

I return home crediting my fiscal and psychological account
With some inspiration, desperation and aspiration
For stirring my colour soaked brush again over a clear canvas;
In my sleep I sense the divine touch of Jesus and see
Michelangelo portraying me on the Sistine chapel's ground...

- littleWriter

Stick No Bills

2009-05-01T13:29:00.000+05:30

There’s a dusk again-
Wings giving their final strokes;
Redness accumulating on displeased cornea,
Muscles fatigued with undue bills,
Imaginations lived their golden age…
Stagnant air gulps the sigh,
Wish has been long back copyrighted-
They had assured of a damn erotic show
But filthy posters fail to turn me on;
Filled with an anonymous fear
Silence I pick to fence my mannish ego…

Finally midnight hours come-
She moans it has been enough for today,
Lethargy knocking those suppressed hips,
Lips dead beat after the final touch…
Satisfaction caged only in western beds,
Developing license renewed for validity,
Pleasure accessible lone in midday slumber,
Credit adding to the compensatory hike
Masturbation is just what I can settle on-
Adjustment is the key for survival,
Like a ghost I witness the puppet show…

- littleWriter

The Unavoidable

2009-04-29T11:47:00.001+05:30

Panther black leather boot
A weighty convocation suit…
A hefty ticket to the tinny world…
Condensed thoughts,
Black & blue plots-
Aladdin’s lamp
Smoky nude ramp-
All washed away…
Dusty acoustic destined to die,
Must die with the rusted strings…

Restless rollercoaster ride
Love making with blind pride…
Life rocking in the rock-strewn globe…
Neglected sense,
Bygone essence-
Ethnic divorce,
Muddy source-
Soul assassinated…
What life a plastic rose would know,
Must witness a thousand deaths…

They love to live and live to kill…
Suicide note on hundred pound bill!
Cynic smile and lavish wig…
Tongue rapes the roasted pig-
Candle extinguishing in cigar smoke,
Wind is still and nothing to evoke,
Candle must die in cigar smoke…

- littleWriter

Happy Anniversary my Heart

2009-02-04T16:12:00.002+05:30

In the mood of singing today,
Desperate to find my lyrics,
Lost an year ago
Under a whitewash,
Smashed under the fallen bricks…
I can’t be quiet today I can’t be dry-
Have to blow those balloons,
Kiss your cherry brow
Anyhow I’ve to try…
Where are you my heart…?
In the kitchen or the roof…
Drying your hair or stirring my soup?

Honey did you see Roy’s wedding card
Which I had kept over the magazine rack last day?
Oh God I forgot to tell you,
I met little Lira in the early morning!
She was wrapped in the scarf
You’d weaved last winter…
For the first time I saw tears in her eyes
Seeing me, I know not why…
Dear oblige me with the coffee of my taste-
No I better make it for your spoon of sugar
Won’t suffice me…
Cheers darling…your espresso waiting for you…
Enough you’ve given now it’s my turn,
I’ve a surprise for you…
Close your eyes or I’ll dip down thy blue ocean…
One two and three,
Happy Anniversary my love, here’s your…

Pendant drops on the white marble below
Can hear the rolling diamond’s chime-
My castle of cards blown miles away
By the brutal breeze of time!
Reminiscence rasping the wound once again…
I wasn’t a perfect man, just right for you-
Bad in planning my expectations were few…
First and foremost was to be always by your side
Life in your name a lifetime with you…
Lets go for our candlelight dinner now-
As the candle will be glowing forever
Won’t be ever oblivious of our vow…

- littleWriter

Turbulent Flow

2009-02-01T19:08:00.000+05:30

Now when sun goes down
Horizon dissolves in the black,
I feel like pretensions are over
Time to shift the behavioural gear…
Time to rejuvenate the human…
Time to nourish the growing foetus…
Time to take coherent precautions…
I feel like just delivered a neonate,
Severe pain squashed to modest sleep
Silent night falling in my dicey dream!

Love couldn’t be much then
Pocket had adequate air in it as
Carrying a parse wasn’t of practice-
Time for generalised simplification…
Time for diffident masturbation…
Time for mending torn out sole…
Time to live as fraction of the whole…
Seemed like independence day wasn’t far,
Brighter images veiling the cracked walls
Sceptic time whipped my glossy dream!

Sandwiched between the goal and those got
Takes place a shrewd game of chance,
Who cares it’s a jackpot or a blackjack-
When effect outlays audacious endeavour…
Balance plasters all sorts of imbalance…
Evolved perception is the golden trophy
Taught ‘hard to get’ chicks are sexiest ones…
Title of thief is the disgraceful impotence…
And history is just the piece for mart…
At last fucking sunset must revamp your day!

- littleWriter

Captive Lady

2008-08-13T18:43:00.001+05:30

A decade of separation with the outer sphere-
The fair woman is a devoted house wife,
Content with two broods, a loving husband
And a family of happiness devoid of tears.

What else would she fancy when her man
Resides in home in tempting dark hours,
Lounging in the same bed with same mate
Sacrificing all extramarital dealings undone-

The man obliges the lady by restraining from
Getting pleasures in long matured wines-
So she's proud of her virtuous other half,
Even after ten years sticking to equal decorum.

Jim & Jennie are two gems of invaluable type-
This' what their mother, the lady boasts of;
After spending thousands of sleepless nights
In changing nappy without a whispering hype.

Buttering breakfast breads to saucing spaghettis,
Cleansing garments to ironing the outfits,
Peeping through the vent to check any dirt-
She's fascinated to all these household liabilities.

She cares for the man, the kids and the home,
Is she a warehouse of love or a banyan tree?
Or a lean liana with an only twig to cling-
Her description is hazy like well wriggled foam.

What's her meaning to her man is foggy too-
Is she Jim's mummy or Dave's mistress?
Certainly not a lady-love as other than talks
Of family needs, no warm gesture do they show.

The days crawl by, lady sticks to homemaking flu-
Every dawn & dusk fails to rouse the woman in her,
Living the wobbly life of perfuming incense stick,
Perhaps she's detached from her inner sphere too!

- littleWriter

Oops that was My First Time

2008-07-25T11:48:00.002+05:30

It's hard to be oblivious of that day-
Oh I can still feel my thumping heart,
Can smell the cosy divan and the pillow;
I was losing patience and going nuts.

Lips dried up and my face reddened,
Clocks slowed down for a while
As I kept waiting for him nervously-
Biting my shaky lips against my style.

It was entirely a brand new experience
I was waiting for that I must confess-
Like a kid's first day at kindergarten;
Like a teen's first smoking exuberance.

Hush… he entered into my bedroom,
Light was quite dim to suit my mood,
Tossing me a smile unbuttoned his coat-
My only solace: the man looked good.

My temperate skin was getting hotter as
He came close to me to finish up his job,
With a parched throat and wet eyes
I tried my best, still failed to sob.

"Will it hurt?"- I stammered at last;
The expert guy playfully winked at me,
And I felt like a timid deer under
Lion's claw, no escape route to flee.

He clasped my part he was looking for and
Massaged a lotion which seemed an ice pack;
Shutting my eyes, holding back my breathe,
Was waiting for a baffling climax to whack-

As he pushed his thing into my warm body
I bawled clutching his hand in an odd agony;
Oops I sighed at last with sweat sunk body-
I tell you, getting injected wasn't that funny.

-littleWriter

Deliverance

2008-02-04T12:07:00.000+05:30

Salty love over passionate beach-
Sexy sunrise with colours so rich...

I walk over the sandy sheet
With two eyes those never sleep,
Thirsty for a washed out trail
Of your footsteps on fickle sand,
Drifted from heaven to hell;
I hate those impassive waves
Who expunged your only mark,
Despite repenting, brashly rave!

The scorching vertical sun
Baking and blistering my bald head-
Streams of gluey sweat
Winding down my folded forehead-
The roasted dust below
Infiltrating the cracks of my feet-
Hot vacuum around me,
No oxygen left anymore to breathe…

Speeding through tunnel of shadows,
I’ve developed nocturnal vision
To defend unjustified authenticity
Of my directionless navigation-
Even single breather is prohibited,
Invigorating my recklessness
By mesmerizing fumes finely knitted
And claustrophobia embraces-

The crude night falls once again-
A gigantic canvas drops onto the sea,
Thousand fireflies soaring by the waves
Witnessing the brine dissolving thee.
Oh Suzan you’re fading away honey!
My world’s shrinking to an oyster shell
Dark sea tinged by your watercolour-
Alive me trying to find a romantic hell…

My heart, you’re set free from crave in vain!
Open up your washed wings of eternity;
Forward strokes will bring renaissance-
Dark magical horizon lying behind you,
With few songs sung and rest unsung
Muse far away from my poetic view…
The sand dune distorted by gust of wind
Forlorn oasis lives with cacti very few…

-littleWriter

A Winter Dream

2008-01-28T10:50:00.000+05:30

A salty droplet trickles down his brow-
This urchin lives in some tropical land
Where effect of winter is ever low;
His weird frame lacks a tongue-
Hauling a soiled sack on his back,
Brown jaws volunteering an irksome song;
This tune wings in air travelling to some far away land
To land of fairies, land of emperors-
Will princess come to catch his dark dirty hand?
A familiar noise blew away my comatose self
Instilling consciousness by its recurring call
I never showed gratitude for its punctual help!
Reluctantly I rise up in the late morning-

Having consumed another chilly night of my life
I creep out of my warm quilt with a heart full of disgust;
I’ve to start acting like a photocopier,
Have to loop the same circuit again and again-
No notion of which turn is going to be the last.
In my land snowflakes don’t fall like shower
Even in mid January, ice-cold time of the year;
A monsoon land it is, we are inborn afraid of cold;
We take beer out of fear from early December-
A deep incarnation of western hold!
Oh this is my problem with this season
My eyes have got stuck with one another-
A real hazard for a late riser
I need the eye drop now for quick medication;
Problem is intensified; me a blind for the moment,
I can’t recall where I kept that last morning-
Is it in the bedside drawer or the study shelf?
I need it badly, but to whom should I ask for help?
Meanwhile I keep rubbing my eyes
With the restless right hand, wet even in winter-
My focus changes all of a sudden by someone’s
Unruly pressing of my doorbell like a stringless guitar-

I step out of my door with an authoritative walk
I wonder by gazing at the falling yellow leaves,
Bored monotony of cuckoo quavers my feet and
The ominous autumn in mid winter steals my talk-
Defoliating leaves spoils my furry gown,
Dusty breeze furrows my soft shaved cheeks,
I sweat under sun emitting fowl body odour
And my fair skin gets tanned brown-
I panic in sudden transmutation-
A heavy load bows me down to the soil,
My space seems to have changed-
A mirror showed me my vulgar orientation.
I keep crawling down 17, dream street
With a hungry heart to reach the Reality unleashed…

-littleWriter

Bastard Speaks

2008-01-03T12:44:00.000+05:30

You people call me a tainted soul
Just for being a drunken bloke,
Flying with soaring cocaine dose
And mingling with low-cost whores-
What else I do, would you tell me please…
I never peeped at your house,
Never thought to torture your brood
Nor spent a night with your spouse-
Hey, you’re talking of Jen!
Do you know her man?
She deserved that one night stand,
Jen was of that midnight brand-
And you call me the father
Of what she had hatched!
My throat was alcoholic then, so
Didn’t give her the mother’s badge-
She was a headless bitch to bear
The silly pregnancy headache
As I did never make a vow
To be a committed cock of her chick-
Another bastard born from blue
And I curse Jen for the mishap;
And now you’re pleading for Julie?
Of all I met, she was the most silly-
She left her job at the roadside pub
And dived in the lunacy of settling
With a hooked sex-freak like me;
The later tragedy is known to thee-

Living the life of a stray dog,
Hiding my face in dark section
Of society untouched by civilian-
For this enigmatic position, I curse
My mother for she denied an abortion.
I get desperate to spit at her dead soul
And piss at her shabby coffined womb-
That disloyal bitch sucked all pleasure
Along with that bastard in their youth
Turning all happiness stored in my fate
Into this obnoxious thorny explicit truth.
Since I got my consciousness, my ears
Have been tampered a million times
With the sarcastically presented scandal
Revealing how this fucker came into life-
Yea birth’s my blunder, it’s my first crime.
Since then crime has been my passion;
My legendary versatility is continuing-
Dagger and drugs are my professional aid,
Only faithful dealer of my daily bread;
Rape and molestation are my compulsion
Like cutting of woods to a carpenter,
But a long way to go, who’ll accompany-
Oh this Jamaican whiskey has the flavour,
It’s a transsexual illusion, I’m alcoholic forever.

-littleWriter

Our X-mas

2007-12-24T14:29:00.000+05:30

Christmas jingle-
Fumes of chill-
Scent of wines-
And a lot more thrill…
The flavour of cake
Rooted berries inside,
When my tongue is wet
My manners subside-
Glowing church with
Candles of wish,
Chorusing of carol
Can’t miss that bliss-
Lighting the holy tree
Bundle of joys,
Camouflaged as Santa
I parcel the toys-
New cards and gifts
A sheer delight,
Yummy roast turkey
That ends the night…

I sleep under my warm quilt-
Lucky socks hang in neighbourhood doors-
Another good morning waiting for tonight’s merry makers-
The footpath momma fails to nurse her child in biting cold-
Poor mother reluctantly tearing a broken lump of pie-
Unblessed kid calm in hunger and X-mas wind,
Perhaps, in his dream he’s waiting
For the colours our Santa will gift…

-littleWriter

(I've penned this one after being deeply inspired by Indrajit Ghosal's poem O Santa! Yes, Indra is a damn good poet. My poem is no match with his "O Santa!" still couldn't refrain myself from posting it)

A Christmas Invitation

2007-12-23T12:28:00.000+05:30

Snowfall summoned by Santa’s bell,
White flakes with the hidden trail;
The passive dark curtain at the back-
Honey has the hour come,
Now can we have some talk?

Chill sketched by the frozen breeze,
Look through your window pane
How my burning sin will freeze;
A naked hearth in the arctic land,
A sore getting nursed by frosty sand.

Manly oath under whitewashed oaks-
Rusted by green eyed season,
Fleshless skeleton’s malice jokes;
Fault was that I authorized my head,
Gift I got was the empty bed.

Hush listen to the silent blizzard-
Count those iced up bits of tear
Hiding in the luxury of December air;
Once loved never earns abhorrence,
Today sense of union lost her resilience.

I can’t live sans my vow,
I still feel the lost inferno-
The empty grandeur of Christmas chill
When careless whisper my heart carols;
Honey, say me once the same you feel.
Say me once the same you feel.
Say me once the same you feel.

-littleWriter

My Reminiscence in a Midnight Platform

2007-12-14T08:54:00.000+05:30

Clock strikes twelve, smoky anguish prevails;
Impatience grows higher, tranquillity unravels-
Pin drop stillness rules the midnight platform,
Sounds of shoes have faded fulfilling their term.

The dim light of station master’s cabin falls low
To keep me awake waiting for my carriage;
Like other two three heavy-eyed passengers,
Wrapping myself well, I repose by my luggage.

I don’t know where I am now,
Music and melody all around…
Thoughts and pains are strangers,
Euphoria flooding unbound!
Is it the Eden I read in Bible,
Is there the lake of eternal bliss-
Is that tree carrying fruits of wisdom,
Does here blow the healing breeze...
Who stands there by the orchard hub,
In snow white gown like a divine dove-
Yea I know this wingless angel
She’s Suzan, the lady I madly love!
The space smells so passionate,
Infuriated by the enchanting harmony
My throbbing heart wants to be free-
Blizzard of love has sipped my serenity.
Two azure eyes like frolicking ponies
Whose obsession I could never override-
Her ruby lips with charismatic plea…
My longing for a kiss is absurd to hide.
I walk to her to sense the warmth,
To unite our soul in the mystic horizon;
She surrenders her to my comfy dream-
Love stands statue over rolling seasons…
Time fails to tinge her white robe,
Her golden tresses sustain their chaste,
Summer falls short to parch our wet lips,
In wildest tempest we remain embraced.
Eros turns green at our undying love,
Dionysus gets aggravated by its sanctity-
Curse of Menoetius chinks our union and
Loki abducts her revealing Gods’ insanity.
Oh she’s roving away from my reach…
My limbs are immobile under Veles’ hex;
Poor eyes witnessing our separation,
Rolling down teardrops is my only reflex.
The jovial ambience has lost her glow and
Fading with my drifting away lady love-
Lonely I sitting by the pit of darkness,
Alas, Suzan’s ring slipping down its nub!
How can I let our token of love to ebb…
Thousand commitments unfulfilled,
Want back that heavenly season of love-
I dive into the well of time to rebuild.

A shrill noise splashes water to my alcoholic self-
My venture against vindictive time halts abruptly;
Wintry chill is stinging my skin like furious bees,
Train is whistling, I’m a traveller, I’ve to hurry…

The train is speedily cutting through dark subway,
Putting my life in motion, grabbed my effervescence-
No opportunity to revert, to rethink, to volte-face;
Time has won once more snatching my reminiscence.

-littleWriter

Just a Sin

2007-12-14T08:46:00.000+05:30

An ominous night betrays-
Silent pitfall at sleeping back-
Whack…
Whimper vanishes in darkness…

A blood sodden bed sheet,
Watch with a beating heart,
No substitute though for the fleshy dead;
Swinging cradle,
The only witness;
There remains his wallet
Containing plastic money
Now plastic in bona fide logic;
A grey scaled blonde pie in it,
Now will be of some business
To the truth hunters.

Here come the officers,
Escorted by beastly barkers-
Trained eyes scanning for traces
On clueless white marble;
Sound of deep breathe echoing;
Every mark and dust has immense value,
Why aren’t they interrogating the cradle?
Am turning dull or insane,
For I know it’s lifeless-
None keen to look for the fled howl of pain,
Free photography was in his luck.

Group smile in professionals’ jaws
Discovery of a fetid condom is the cause;
When none cries over spilt milk
Life is good.

-littleWriter

Cry of an Injected Mind

2007-11-07T11:45:00.001+05:30

The torrent of blood is once more oozing out;
I don’t know am I stabbed or a diseased soul;
I don’t know why I don’t want it to clot;
Can you tell me dear, why my lips don’t shout?
Don’t they feel the pain of pain I feel?
Why do they look thunderstruck within-
I don’t know this strange language of dumb
And I don’t know its willingly mute thrill!

Oh look at those nails hammered in my flesh-
I’m no Jesus and so you won’t get my grace;
I want to curse you dear from my deepest core
But I don’t know why my soul and I still bless.
I shout at my silly-polite forgiving self;
My disloyal lips revolt against me once again
And my shout dries out before it’s born;
So I can’t help the rebel in me, I fail to help.

Blue toxin is spreading in me like a bonfire;
Is it stronger than the most lethal venom?
I’m burning in the fire of self annihilation
And my affliction is getting higher and higher.
There lies a frozen lake of time in my reach-
Why don’t I pick a cube to rub on my burns?
I don’t know why, willingly I suffer by and
My unbuttoned cut juicy skin cries for a stitch!

It’s like dying every second, time and again;
Hey take up this deadly axe and hit my skull,
I’m ready to feel the pleasure of extreme pain;
Don’t fear of my response or muscle to regain.
Stab me, slice me and leave my wounds to rot-
Smells of decay won’t kiss your thirsty throat,
Cry of my injected mind won’t steal your rest;
I’m in anaesthesia, consciousness tied in a knot.

-littleWriter

When

2007-10-31T12:15:00.002+05:30

When my specs turn smoggy
With the mist of sweltering tears,
When the mantle of lonesomeness
Grows to be too heavy to bear-
When my tedious compulsions
Flavour like a festering sausage,
When the thought of bondage
Panics even my mirror image-
When the blunt shaving razor
Slides deep into rough cheek,
When my last water bottle
Deceives leaking in a desert trip-
When my boorish supervisor
Threatens for my resignation,
When I satisfy boss’ other half
To safeguard my designation-
When the long dead ancestors
Visit on my mournful recall,
When my interminable voracity
Silently invites my downfall-
When I set for a far away voyage
And lose compass in mid ocean,
When I howl in burning twinge
Having lost the soothing lotion-
When I find my favourite novel
Half munched by creepy-crawlies,
When I miss a golden prospect
By any of my ill-timed follies-
When I fail to trace a cathedral
For confessing overflowing sin,
When I lose a must win contest
Put up with winner rival’s grin-
When I rush to station but miss
The fleeting train by a second’s luck,
When I hear of my friend’s demise
And drop down like a dead duck-

Then…………………………………………?

I sail the boat of discontent in my mind’s sea,
The vessel floats aimlessly in search of thee-
Thy music from deep coral beds heals my ears,
Wet breeze encasing your kiss drinks my tears-
Your aroma intoxicates me like illusive morphine
Making me oblivious of all agonizing happenings-
The same fragrance wakes me up when I’m drunk,
While you are my anchor, I won’t ever get sunk-
I glimpse at a green dot like island from my craft,
There waits my pensive Suzan with a red tulip tuft.

-littleWriter

Illusive Temptation

2007-10-01T19:51:00.001+05:30

The nymph of moon is dancing with the sun;
She is tempting the sapphire ocean,
Luring the high snow-white peak
To commit the sin of neurotic devastation;

She’s tapping her delicate feet and waist
With the eerie melody which
Wind makes while kissing oaks;
The chill of winter breeze is doing the rest.

The poor sea waves are suffering low tide,
Sheer observer of her enigmatic salsa;
They are in touch with warm sand
Exposing their body in mannish pride.

The lunar nymph winks even to the cloud;
The free winter cloud ceases and
Exotic enticement forces it to drop
Those drops it was holding to redistribute.

The sprite gambles her intoxicating eyes
To the planets, comets and stars;
What a sumptuous delusive charm!
She captivates with her feminine disguise.

The hallucinated snow peak obsessively
Touch her seductive navel;
Fancy his glossy cheeks to
Slides down her perfect curves fervently.

The possessive sun gags out his tolerance,
Spites off his radiance to
The unruly longing peak
And the sheet of ice loses its residence.

The nymph vanishes, arousing eroticism
In all masculine power of nature;
Alas, the impeccable amorous earth
Famine and flood dented her clear prism.

-littleWriter

Now I Feel…

2007-09-14T11:21:00.001+05:30

Oh I were a rockstar then, of Bryan Adam’s sort-
Didn’t bother much whether I had a guitar or not
Nor ever cared for background melody-
Why should have I cared when my virtual stage was ready-
My voice had no job as my mind was performer,
It was the guitarist itself managing bass, saxophone
What more could I expect from this versatile singer!
This mind was my hero then, my warden too
Steering the boy in me through all red and blue –
Air was so full of essence then like never before
Stars kissing my head, moon luring for fantasy tour-
Was I achieving freedom from boyhood bondage
Or utilizing those golden pieces of time to my advantage?
Today its no more a world of ‘twinkle twinkle little star’
My stage has vanished throwing me to world so blur!
More I try to simplify the space around me, it gets smoky
Obstructing those rhythms which had moved me so far-
Many says it’s a bigger stage, so do perform at your best
How can they sense-the player in me has opted for rest;

I walk over stony streets like a guy with crutches
The green land in me has tuned into beaches,
So close to sea- it has no reason to be parched
Waves hug the shore million times, still full of earth.
I’ve lost my balance, my limbs are throbbing
The ground so frail, as if rocks below me are breaking.
Is this a virtual occurrence giving me a false intuition-
Or I’m undergoing a transitory figment of imagination;
I keep thinking about my suspicion all day and dark
Who is my teacher now who can give me a feedback;
My mind is dynamic perhaps like an obedient child –
Taking up a number of responsibilities & turning a blind-
What’s the use of its curious, sensitive azure eyes
Where it toils like a slave in the world of filthy lies;
No beauty to gaze just about, no color to praise
I’m an odd man here, deserved to be out of this grease.;
Am I a marine life rolling over sunny warm sand-
Or I’m a cub isolated from its mother in its first month?
I suffer an era of shilly-shallying-

I’m a prudent chap now, now here I’m not dying.
Not crying over the melodies which tempted me flying-
I look the world now through a different pair of specs
Bind my mind tight with thousand steel braces;
Those rainbow whims don’t rock my wits anymore,
I’m getting matured now, may be core turning impure-
I accept what comes to me irrespective of its spectrum
What else can I do, to my yellow days I can never return.
I know life is thorny, life is rigid, life is yank
Life is the name of motion, navigation of unseen dark-
My wheels are set, my fuel is full & have the map as well
I can dive into ocean, cross the roads and pass along rail.
My boundary has widened, my horizon has broadened
Still shiny pleasing reminiscence swivel like a pendant;
I sit with an ocean of memories perched in my eyes
Mist of tear fills my sight-I miss those schooldays!

-littleWriter

Lunatic's Song

2007-09-07T11:23:00.001+05:30

The hanging metal bell over your head
The wail you hear, sketches my death;
Swing the bell baby, swing it hard,
Shake the brass body with your fart;
Swing the bell baby, swing it hard-

You’re ashamed to fart before them all,
Hey listen, none bothers for your fall;
Licking dogs smell the bloody thieves,
Never do they hunt for their wives;
Don’t be shy baby, shed your leaves-

Dong-Dong-Dong-Dong- rattles the bell
Your witchcraft suits the stinking hell-
The sore on your lips drives them mad,
The blood inside it has turned a clot;
Prang the bell baby, prang it hard-

Don’t slow down, you cankered bitch
Suck my blood like ever-longing leech;
Suck my vigour till my eyes are shut,
Else you’ll burn in my lustrous thirst;
To shake the bell, baby you’ve to fart-

Moving to cloud nine is such a fun
Only you and I, there’ll be none;
Then you expose your distorted curves
And you can test my masculine nerve;
Hear the wail baby; do catch its verve-

Let me lie once on you unguarded lap,
Fantasies will haunt me in my last nap;
I’ll kick the devil and fuck the witch,
I’ll turn incestuous; sins would get rich-
Alas, my soul is fancying out of this ditch!

- littleWriter

The Tragedy of Errors

2007-09-01T08:54:00.001+05:30

Give me a puff of air- I’m badly yearning for it
I need the air of my share you’ve gulped in;
Lungs are half roasted fishes of your tender hand,
Till now desperately alive for your final close in-
Long forsaken in the mist of ghostly souls
What human sense hell do you expect from me?
Sipping my own blood from the vessel below-
This caged piranha is damn glad; do come and see.

No rising sun in my prison to steal my daydreams-
I’m at liberty to have my head in the clouds of captivity
The consequence of ruthless whipping on my bare skin
Will slump you over a frozen earth of zero gravity.
Howl for an Adam there, like a desert cries for rain;
Fortunately there’ll be none to melt at your false tear
And none to drink the peg of your poisonous appeal-
My soul will cherish at witnessing you naked in fear.

My eyes bathe with the memory of an unpublished play:

(Sitting on an archaic wooden chair
In a warm evocative afternoon,
When she was resting on a couch
Only few yards away from me,
In the same veranda facing the
Bougainvillaea shrubs of south-
Sun wasn’t till then so lethargic,
Radiating the crimson golden rays
Those fondling her hanging locks
And igniting my envious self…)

That script was unworthy of staging for a real show…
I burned my fingers for scribing such a manuscript,
Submitted my mind and bulk to your beastly assaults;
No wish I’ve to amend my play, I’m not a soul to drift.
A flock of birds hurrying by in the brown sky above,
A wounded sun dropping down the burgundy horizon
Marking the reign of nocturnal lives and their shadows;
Trickling drops from my vein whispers, “The end, the end”.

- littleWriter

Real Pollution

2007-08-29T10:39:00.001+05:30

Coming from the world of fortune we Welcome You All
Welcome you to our ‘Get what you Want Magic hall’
Come here you people, this jackpot is for you all-
Don’t pass it over, because it is not your soccer ball.
We will be singing our song here with each of you & all,
Men if you don’t join us don’t blame for your future fall.
We’ll also be dancing here taking you guys & girls all,
Ladies don’t miss this chance or you’ll be ever still doll.
We’ll neither leave a chance of playing, calling you all-
Under8teens opting out this choice will make you to bawl.
We will be worshipping our idols here, stick to us you all-
Veterans avoiding us will die before Lord mails their Call.
We are tearing out our throat for calling each & all,
Staying deaf to our call will earn you nothing but big null!

Well Countdown begins, hurry! Grab your ticket from us-
We are giving you it away only at a dollar at last!
That’s not the all, we are giving you a free demo book,
Read there how our golden offers will change your look.
If you wear a slipper, slipper will turn to a leather boot;
If you have a cheap shirt now, get ready for a new suit;
Why wearing hanky around- learn wearing neck ties;
We’ll be gifting you the best attraction for million eyes.
Riding your grandfather’s bicycle doesn’t suit your style,
For you we’ll bring the Mercedes, most cozy and agile.
If your roof is leaking don’t get wet in toppling rain;
We’re allotting you own flats, no monthly paying pain.
We are not businessmen but social servers (most vile),
We want nothing in profit but to see all of you in smile.

But at the end of the day:
(Partners, I’m so happy, it has been a great day for us!
I’ve sketched the balance sheet of today’s eye-wash-
Look, only few hundred dollars more than we expected,
All credit goes to me as this scheme I’d pre negotiated.
And lastly we’ve to thank those thousand fools trapped,
They’ll never get back their money we skillfully grasped!
Tonight we have to leave this island of brainless bugs;
Already I’ve chalked out next plan, file it in yours jug.
This time we would fence in some place of Far East,
Where we’ll be human beast again disguised as socialists.
Friends get ready for the next enterprise I’ve made,
No mistake there must be and we’ll remain untraced.
Let’s cheer tonight for our recent mastermind game
We are all drunk now; don’t have any sense of shame)

Thus a group of muddy sheep paints a bright day into black!
Wake up people, open your eyes-
Let your wits to play;
When mass and mind combines,
Filtering this polluted society won’t be any Herculean task.

- littleWriter

Nightlife

2007-08-26T10:32:00.001+05:30

Gray dirty bat peeping at the steamy glass pane,
The red glow of interior can be seen-
Dogs barking beneath the dark streetlamp,
Bitches tempting the alcoholic owls while
Puppies dream over soft beds so damp-
A drunken man kicks a metal can
Breaking the stillness with a tinkling noise,
Overrides trill horn of the patrolling police van-
The dogs disperse away to some corners
And the bitches drop from owls’ shell so small,
Cunning bat feeling warmth of red
Cleans its skin and returns back to its stall.

The lonely road feels lonely as
Her partner footsteps are escapist,
Giving her false hopes at daylight and
Forsaken in the right period like opportunist;
The forlorn owl hoots in dissatisfaction
Relaxing over a willow branch;
Responsibility of tomorrow knocks him,
Ever-open eyes revert from the trance-
Bitch has cleared her worry for the next day,
Happy seeing her children at rest,
Purifies her fur in warm shower of midnight dew,
She needs a snooze; it has been a day of haste.

The porous moon winks at that window pane
With drowsy eyes a face full of vice,
Red glow of interior is bright as before,
The aliens inside playing with hottest ice-
Alien has no fear of catching cold
As it’s not a man of this soil;
It lives in a dungeon so high and
Walks over wheels without toil;
The dark moon knows the alien and
Likes its dishes,
Curiously stares at the steamy window and
Enjoys the dance of witches-

The wholesome chunk of ice melts in flame;
Meanwhile the bored moon
Has indulged in an earthly game.
Frustrated dog howls before closed saloon-
Barking dogs irritates the holy moon;
A lesson needs to be taught soon
To fill up coming morning’s tabloid book
And get some glory for his nocturnal look.
After all, the moon is a sincere cop;
Has good vision to act as the alien’s prop;
A small number of poor, skinless dogs are trapped;

The dawn is knocking; moon will go for a nap.

- littleWriter

Hateful Peace

2007-08-23T11:32:00.001+05:30

The creaky feeble noise of the old windmill,
Immiscible with the darkness of the site-
Black baleful sky above dissolving its blades
Enticing it for an indisposed survival fight.
The odour of decayed departed souls
Blended in the core of this sluggish breeze-
Only the evil spirited serpent creepers
Deceitfully embracing the fatherly trees.
A sudden gust of bizarre poignant wind
Passes kissing the numb burial place-
Acts of wantonness inside get amplified,
Tombstone frowning at coffins’ disgrace.
Soft Moon subdued by a sinister cloud,
Murky leaves running out of shadow-
Subterranean cracks on coarse sterile soil
Veiled in vain by nagging roots below.
An infinite space filled by mysterious air
How passionate the room seems to be-
Chocolate scope of immoral love making,
And pain of separation none can foresee.
Is it the ethereal empire of evil spirits,
Sketching scarlet plot for a death match-
Embryonic human race is at high stake,
Gladiators are however to be hatched.
Blazing smell from some far away land
Bothers the sleeping flora in the black-
A hooting queen feathers away the whiff,
None ready to lose the ongoing blackjack.
Witchcraft soaked in malodorous blood,
Preaching communalism in bare breast-
Poisoning the tonic like drinking liquor
Magnifying the deaf leopard’s unrest.
Sulphurous essence of the prevailing peace
Murmuring the truth of an odd serenity-
Motionlessness must not be conked out,
Or it’ll tarnish Emperor Saturn’s vanity.
But monsoon time coincides with winter,
Frost of blood raining down the night-
Muggy darkness sinking down the hell,
Eternal sand-clock desperate for daylight.
Lord of Justice descends down from heaven,
Be aware that the Judgement Day has come-
Hey cast your gothic spell of stillness now,
Tussle hard to save your tottering kingdom.
The wheel of time has completed a rotation,
Rejoice at the sight of our blood bathed sun-
Repent for your slavish schizophrenia and
Vow for accomplishing the priorities undone.

- littleWriter

His Sleeping Lady

2007-08-18T19:50:00.001+05:30

The old man living down the valley
Lives in a timber hut-
He lives with his old spouse;
Love linking them has faded really.

He goes out in the early sunshine
With his flock of sheep
And the woman expects
To gather fruits from nearest vine.

The man rest his body on a boulder,
Loosening his bind over
His sheep to let them graze;
Solitude cloaks his frail shoulder.

He sings in his Soul:

“Let my mind flow
Let my mind fly
Let it unbind the irons
Let it soar high,
Let it soar high.

Look, the butterfly
It’s hurrying by
Look the colours
Its wings holding thy
Look, it’s flying by!”

The time passes by ending the day;
The sky has lost its glow,
The shepherd is old once again
Losing his euphoric halo.

Old man stepping down groove
With his home-sick battalion,
Tiny light from his distant hut
Perhaps, his only existence proof-

The door of his cottage is wide open!
Old Sam curses his careless lady,
But no slang does he get in return!
Is she sleeping? There lies her body…

- littleWriter

After 15th August, 1947

2007-08-15T00:27:00.001+05:30

Centuries of captivity in the dungeon of Dracula-
No messiah interferes in my daily slaughter of
Semi extinguished skeleton of perception;
Rich blood of hopefulness drains out in vain;
Flabbergasted at own vastness of resources,
I chuckle at my self tolerance in exasperation.

Starving tongue praises the taste of own blood-
Mine is no “odd stomach out” as I follow;
Weaving a fictitious autocratic state in mind,
Learning the art of being content at the cost of
Self respect and pride which seems minor…
Surrendering brazenly for a gory ethnic grind.

Sack carrying mule has been my idol till now-
While I’ve mastered: dumbness in acute pain,
Plundering of my own and neighbours’ treasures,
Dusting down replicas of our ancestors’ dreams,
Brushing the crops till corn turns blue from green.
But obedience prizes my skin with sharpest razors!

Temptation of autonomy sets fire to my frozen eyes-
Feeling humiliated of own nakedness looks proper;
Cat snoozing under chair is profiting my hatreds,
Imitation of donkey is no more my commitment,
The hot air enveloping me is healing my paralysis,
Modesty sucked a lot, let me see what mettle begets.

Here starts the clashing of swords built of my bone-
I’m a comprehensive fighter with ocean of passion,
Splattering of blood here is my religious conviction;
Infatuated with the newly developed extremism
My boisterous steel blade slices this and that,
Till the vanishing of evil Dracula calms my notion.

Only hovering vultures and remnants I’ve achieved-
White veins and barren lands dumped as my award!
Shrewd vampires peeping through martyrs’ cemeteries;
I can’t hold back my tears of shame and futility…
Celestial voice mocks from far away distant cosmos:
“Wingless Eagle, sense your Freedom, it’s time to fly!”

- littleWriter

I’ve the Sword of Non-Violence

2007-08-13T11:36:00.001+05:30

My bent heavy head is terribly aching- do I need a painkiller?
The blood inside has turned into a sphere of rotten meat-
I can’t find a scavenger to be indebted after I die-
What is it- a habitual nightmare or the mood of a sufferer
Who has dwelled in the darkest dungeon ever known to man,
Encircled himself with a flock of thousand groaning hyenas!
Arms being coupled together with the strongest iron-
No hope does he possess to witness the rising sun again!
I’m that tormented living matter on the verge of death-
Still scorching air coming out my nose- it’s a trouble for me;
I don’t wish my heart to beat now, and wits must not act-
I’ve to start dodging to heaven, this time I can’t be late.
My limbs are no more my servant; they are not my slave,
I’m a kind old master freed them from theirs years bondage-
Light of my life will fly to God’s home to turn into His angel.
But no scavengers around me, where to dispose off my flesh?
I’m unable to die within this black cage, once show me the sky,
Take me out of this abstract hell once, let me feel the air,
Let me breathe to fill up my lungs for the last time-
Else, I’m a tough lover of open earth and I would never die.
I know this is my last gamble and so I can’t lose the game,
Let my carcass rot here; I’m ready to take up that pain-
Can’t compromise with the tyrant who enslaved me so long,
I won’t accept my crush and mess up my final dream.
Iron shackle seems thinnest glass wall now; it never was so fragile!
But I was longing for a sedative, now don’t know why-
I want the strongest venom now for inflicting me more pain;
I’m changing to a skinless fighter determined to die in the earth’s isle.
My enlightened free soul will be punishing that cruel oppressor
Who have raped my golden ages and made my treasures decay
And pushing me down to the unfathomable layer of black soil,
Not taking his route, without turning to be a bigger tormentor,
I’ll take all the means of non hostility and highlight before him:
Teach my co-sufferers what freedom of mind really means-
His whip can’t stop me preaching, nor can his framed laws do,
He’ll be a shocked new man then appearing to have lost his limb.
He will turn a man from his present beastly form in my light,
He’ll kneel down for compassion before all of our radiant stature
Will be ready to give us something, which then we wouldn’t take-
What freedom will he give us? We are at a much greater height!
Now the fight will not be with he and me but with thousands
Of my fellow victims raging for revenge having lost their epoch-
But my guidance they would never deaf-ear, I’m their torch.
We’ll forgive our sinner; we’ll lend him our rusty chained hand.
Tears of regret will purify his soul, make him work for humanity-
I’ll put my hand over his wet shoulder, talk few words of console
His sore will be much deeper than what I had; I’ll drop my last sigh.
The triumph is mine, harmony prevails, Gandhian spirit won’t ever die…

- littleWriter

My Reminiscence on a February Night

2007-08-11T18:40:00.001+05:30

Thousands of inspiration to choose out from but, I don’t know why my mind is so vacant
When I’m sitting with my pen tonight, under the starry sky of 13th of second month!
I keep turning back the filled pages of my diary, must be expecting a creamed theme;
Filling old wine in new bottle though I barely favor, presently is the only gleam-
I strive hard to press my lyrical mind on the blackness or solitude of the setting,
But my eyes get set to an older page, I wrote a rhyme on black night approaching;
No solace there in repeating that same subject scripted by hundreds even before me-
Sitting stationary with my pen is a pain, I feel like a thirsty aged man living by the sea!
Now it seems, I have to get back to a very outdated idea of composing verse of ‘Love’
Those same fantasies of valiant prince and gorgeous maidens, for me not thing so tough-
I pinch myself with some obnoxious memoirs, sacrificing my present mental comfort-
Transposition of mind had never been so bitter; I stepped into a frame of lost rapport-

Some warm dim light have filled up the mind
I express my soul like a child with no bind!
I enjoy the arrow shot by that stupid cupid at me-
Desperately looking around for my own “she”;
Prior to it I’ve to recognize the timeline I’m at-
Else my passion wouldn’t be strong enough
To suit this present context of my love story;
Though not sure if it’s my recap or poetic hurry;
Did I craft an atmosphere of soothing moonlight
And a garden beside with scented flowers so bright?
Are those stars more glittering, moon more shimmering
Are they spoiling the backdrop I’m craving?

My self –created lover boy waits by a red rose shrub
Weaving those seven colored dreams for his lady love;
Black clouds above in the meantime keep passing by
What an apt stage for a fanatic like me, I won’t lie!
Everything is going fine, yes, the boy has picked up a rose
Having hurt his tender finger letting few red drops to ooze-
This’ the best way he could show his emotions for her
“A glimpse of my Suzan; wow she’s looking like a star!
Suzan is one in a billion, sharpest of diamonds ever seen,
She lives in a far isle, where, in my dream I’ve never been;
I perceive her by that hallucinating aroma she consumes
Against those blue eyed obsession, I’d never been so firm-”

Till now the poet in me has been isolated at some…so called ‘a world of practical’
To shield his rational heart from an erotic virus called ‘love’, cause of million ordeal;
I wasn’t aware of those cozy visions, warm hugs, stony promises and sensuous kisses
Until my shackled heart, thirsty lips has got the sense of that lost voluptuous opulence!
No boundary remains now between the soul of that love-sick boy and its playwright,
I’m turning crazy for Suzan at this moment, I want her in this pre-Valentine night-
An old movie starts playing involuntarily behind my eyes reeling those faded romance:
Suzan is walking down the Oleander Street embraced delicately in my possessive arms
Halts at a sudden before a florist’s stall; amidst hundreds petals, picks out a ruby rose
Silence followed us for seconds till Suzan came closer and her cheeks touched my nose;
Union of two flaring hearts; I whispered “Oh Suzan, my Love, Happy Valentine’s Day”!
Then? …Twilight dew spoiled my delusion before those same words Suzan could say...

- littleWriter

Don’t Waste Your Youth in Chasing ColorS of Life

2007-08-11T16:13:00.001+05:30

In my life of daily dilemma
I wonder with a hazy mind,
About how color can come back to life,
To infiltrate the gray scale melodrama-
Without overdramatic effect
As if edited by a looser mathematician
Having lost his rainbow shade
Of youth, in vein wit,
Now crawling for snatching from us
What he didn’t get……
His green creeper died, then water
Was necessary to be added-
But could manage as well,
Not to be a strawberry one over green land,
Instead, a cactus on sandy soil-
Now it doesn’t
Open its mouth for tropical rain-
Why should it?
It has forgotten the longing for rain
Which was its shadow at gangetic plain-
It’s a life now but devoid of life
Its standing now ….but,
Not under self whim,
Under the fancy of this mathematician
Veiled in dictatorial theme,
Made nazi of his own youth-
How could he save his gray cacti
From future drought-
Drought of vigor,
Drought of green-
Turning yesterdays berry
Into spine of steel.
But like this dupe I wont
Let my hue to fly to so far a galaxy,
Anchoring to some vague excuses
Of daily business porcupines,
Slaughtering tiniest scope of ecstasy
Which were not created by creator
But I, thinking myself
Higher to mediator,
Possessing lethal mind,
Suppressing His gifted youth and
Willingly craving to be terminator,
Like a virus
Passing this pessimistic psyche
Among my race and upcoming generation,
Negating their development,
Guiding to a spiral bypass-
When destination is the centre
Why to orbit…………?
Why wont they…? they need
In their life color a bit.
Meantime I consume their energy
Misguiding them, and taking pleasure of
What should not have been unknowingly-
And me keep composing verse in elation
Until they reach the centre and sob-
Now they have also drowned to the
Same black spot where color is a dream-
No way to revert…all path have collapsed
Having lost their youth regret is at brim.
Now I can be astrologer and predict
What route would they follow and
What will be their verdict.
They would resolve to guide others
To save them, and teach them
Forbidding them to turn color hunter-
But alas, what they will speak
Will seem thesis of old,
A wall to repaint……
Rather a roof with a million leak-
How can they cohabit,
They need a rainbow to ride,
After all they are new color hunters,
They have billion fantasies to rear-
In the course, which black body
They are stepping to
I wont be there to care.
Feeling guilty for having thought
That mathematician a dull,
An agent against life-
Today I know the truth,
I know it all.
No scope to articulate it to
These present day dreamers-
No chance to apologies
To my guided all spiral spinners.
No hope left for me but only
To look back for what good I’ve done.
Meanwhile little aspirations condensing
Of what color after life I’ll get in turn.
This time I’ll keep a record of
What I expected and what I’ve got-
And make a survey of my fore walkers
To make my end of the day a little less tough.
Me still not aware of what is
Color of life and where has it been lost…..
No more would I think of this color-
Surely it’s a new illusive dust.
Oh !I’m in ecstasy once again
I’ve got this realization at last !

- littleWriter

Spoiled Fantasy

2007-08-11T13:45:00.001+05:30

The silky purple fairy of his childhood day,
With her he has flown in all red and gray;
With her, Robin climbed a snowy peak so high,
She had trained him like a trainer- how to fly;
She had been a caring shadow behind Robin
In his infancy, boyhood & till he stepped teen-
The first dream he indulged in his deepest sleep
Couldn’t be possible without her crimson lips;
The earliest romance that made his heart thrill
Was the effect of her two azure eyes’ spell!

No acquaintance with the world she lived in,
Not aware of the reality of his leprechaun,
Robin painted the pages of his malleable heart;
He was a boy then, till not at an age to flirt-
Jabbed his imaginations with all imagery of
His purple fairy; hard to guess-was it his first Love?
Those early colored days slipped away too fast
Before his kiddy fancies could shape into lust.
Teenage demanded Robin a fairy sparkling in red
Purple elf had vanished, from whom could he beg?

Gazing at a distant rainbow gloomy Robin snuffles,
Obsession of this red elf- his life has been ruffled.
It’s painful to be lured when you crave for a break
This ruby red nymph spoils his sleep by a tweak.
Her emerald eyes speak nothing but of seduction-
Mature Robin is jaded of this physical satisfaction.
To get rid of this corporeal fantasy, he cries like a kid,
But Time was the dramatist- teen Robin was deceived!
His twenty-fifth birthday today, a glow in his face…
Youngster Robin will join him in his midnight rest!

- littleWriter

The Frustrated Poet

2007-08-11T13:34:00.001+05:30

The same chirping morning birds,
The same morning sickness,
The unchanged inauguration everyday-
It bores my soul, repels me whole;
I live in a rusty cage; I sleep on its edge
I don’t know why I dwell in it
When its bars are broken;
Willing captivity is my survival token
I pound my head on its hedge
And nothing new I feel in it-
The same pain and same sprouting blood,
Same cry from my tongue and
I get bored of it… I get bored of it-
I sit at leisure with my pen,
I’ve smaller value than a hatching hen
As I don’t feed your famished belly
I keep scripting my lyrics in vain.

My pen keeps scratching the pages
I make them victim of my crazy usage
White paper turns dirty with my words
Still nothing change my world,
Same rising sun- same singing birds
And I get bored of it, it bores my core,
I roll my frustration on some distant shore-
The same plastic smiles I bear daily,
The same smoky air I inhale and
The same chattering of a group of apes;
I can’t put up with this world so silly,
I feel the madness of a barred rebel
I cry, I weep, I howl, I moan, I groan
As none appreciates my poems
I wish I could reproduce delicious novel;
A novel to feed thousands of folks
Gorged with my lunacy but all dreamy talks!

My blunt teeth tears a brown fibrous bread,
A sense of vomiting fills up my head,
I keep chewing it like a chewing gum
A series of starving faces floats by my eyes
The same boring tear rolls by my cheek and
I get a fruitless yield, it salts my sweet bread
This was emotional case- but realism unread!
Impulsive self provokes me to incise my vein
And conclude this somnolent awake state-
But how can I bear that shameless bare pain;
I was never a gutless in the ocean of sorrow,
I’m waiting for the fire in me to ignite
In this hopeless frozen furrow, so narrow
Yet, I get bored of my impatient mood
I lose my stream of optimist thought
All these seems so vague to me, meanwhile
My pen and paper rolls on some hazy riot...

- littleWriter