Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

… And Darkness, my old friend, himself
opened the door to his house on my second knock.
He greeted me with a wry smile on his lips
and a glass of whiskey, in his hand, on the rocks.


With my eyes, bloodshot and swollen,
with dried out trails of tear on both my cheeks,
I tried hard to forge a smile as best as I could,
but my friend put his other hand on my shoulder,
ushering me inside, he closed the door behind
and said, “Do not fake a smile when you cannot laugh!”


The ensuing silence hovered in the air,
as we walked through the hallway to his living room.
There we sat across a wooden table, dark and round,
he gave me a knowing look and I heaved a sigh!


A soothing smile slowly spread on his face,
like moonlight spreads over a passing cloud,
his voice grew as deep and calm as the Pacific
as he said, “Why have you sought me out, my dear friend?
I see you are troubled by some thoughts,
tell me, what can I do to put your mind at ease!”


“It is a vision” I said with another sigh,
more audible this time and he squinted his eyes a little,
as if his world gets darker when a sigh is heaved.
Nevertheless I carried on, “that keeps recurring
every time I close my eyes to sleep.
In that vision I see, topless towers
burning hot and fiery red, falling down,
dragging me down with them into the pit below.
I keep falling until jolted out of my slumber,
bare moments before I’m engulfed in that flame too.”


“So you wake up with your throat parched and dry,
wishing somehow you had never closed your eyes.”
Said my friend, as if he was present there,
when I was trembling in my bed, in shock and fear
like the wreckage left by a vicious storm
after the haunting vision had raged through my brain.


“Yes, you are right,” I said, “but tell me please,
if you know of a remedy for my disease…”
“Of course,” He cut me short and said, “I do!
You need time; it is only time that can heal you.
I do not how much time you have remaining in your hand
but this I know, if you have enough you’d be healed, my friend!”




Owning land has always confounded me; nay,
not owning but the concept, I should say,
for all my entitlements are contested, not owned!
Still, I hope it does not disqualify
me from having a petty word or two,
for I have seen the desire for more cows and land
making a Titan out of almost everyone –
brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers too.


Wherever one stands it would seem as if
the ground below their proud feet and the sky above
are theirs, from mother Gaea and father Uranus,
respectively. Each as ruthless as Ares and
more adept than Loki at cunning and deceit!


All for what, I have no idea, not that we live
past a hundred years at best and even then
around one third of the time we are either
growing up or decaying to be on a par with Death!


History as ancient as the first words
and the trail of burnt clay and human bones
from the preceding time are full of violent tales
of our desire that grows like a cancer,
in the name of greatness, both great and small.


Even when we invented laws and then guards,
the influence and its projection too were reformed
to suit the need of those who held the sway,
with power or wealth or sometime with both;
the sway holds a charm to make its holders alike.


In the west, the wealthy are said to be the powerful
but the powerful are the wealthy in the east,
though all for what, I cannot tell, not that we need
any land for good unless we want to be buried
and even then three and a half of arm’s length would suffice!


A Blank Page

A Blank Page

And here we are, back at scribbling on a blank page,
me and some broken dreams, long dead;
more than one, decomposed down to their skeletons.


The heap of crumpled pages grow like algaes
around the banks of a moribund pool;
the blackish water nourishing that growth is me!


Bathing in the moonlit breeze of sweet March,
the astray dogs grow silent for a while,
relieved of their worries of staying alive,
until their memories, with a vengeance, return.


And here we are, trying to scribble out the blankness of a page –
some broken feathers and an inkwell, almost dry.
Perhaps some pages are meant to remain that way
as this empty soul without a purpose to its wretched life!


Buying Liberty With Life

Buying Liberty With Life

I bought liberty at the cost of life.
For the freedom to close my heart and eyes
on the glittering brightness of the world,
I said adieu to my remaining days.


Not necessarily though, I have died;
if one could proclaim, to breathe is living
and breaths stacked on laborious breath is life!
Do we only die with our final breath?


The desire to live is a common thing,
found in all life, static or on the run
and the desire to grow and replicate
but if that is so than from the moment
of my birth I have been barely alive,
for the ever gnawing emptiness, lodged inside!


A Godly Descent

A Godly Descent

Guess, I wanted to be a god in my previous life!
I, a mere mortal fool, with the audacity
to desire an abode and everlasting peace
atop Mount Olympus, Kailash, Fuji, Sinai
or any other name one calls it in their mother’s tongue!


In the beginning, like a proper fool, I thought,
I was destined to become the winged god of Love,
until I saw, two things were missing from the scene –
the bow and those little, sweetly poisoned darts, dipped in
the wild passion that proudly runs through his fair mother’s veins!


If I must have a bow, I thought, why not the best,
so I set my eyes for Apollo’s golden one;
for the next while or two, it seemed to work – the pen
despite its sheer lack of potency came alive
until the very dream woke me up and muttered, good night!


Now I rule the fiery pits of hell, though not as Hades
but a mere mortal one, setting his future bed of nails,
still dreaming of a Prometheus unbound, to bring some light
unto the dark world and succeed where this mortal fool has failed!