It’s a mad mad world

People are people
they can’t be anyone
anyone can be people
and then i see no meaning
for what each of us is,
it’s their in the heads
and what if, it isn’t the truth?

They taught us things
now things aren’t even those things,
they move, they change,
they die,
their masks fall off
and how rapidly,
not even one could I catch.

I would have tried
to be what they say
you can’t ever be,
but life ate me
and I gulped it too fast.

It’s a mad mad world
their voices
they think are sacred chants,
never realized
their temple bells are noises,
they stink of bloodied hands.

Blood of a murderer is fine
but a womb’s blood, a shame.
Blood that cycles
with pain and cramps
gives life to monsters
and men alike,
all they die
the same death,
it’s the blood
that bears the name
of spots, strains and wreath.

It’s a mad mad world
they said God made it
and hence, it better be holy.
Wrote books on God’s behalf,
called them ‘the books of truth’,
named him ‘He’
for ‘She’ was the truth
they die to hide.

If I am to tell you
a secret
I call her She
and sometimes
I forget the word God
I am to say God
and almost it sounds Gdo
or Dgo
like I fell from sacredness
to callousness,
because I love her idea
I love her without the skin
people made her wear.

Every night
in every ‘ness’
I visit the same God
without name
sans thought.

It’s a mad mad world
pinches to live in
they have made homes
say they’re shelters
all false
all false
they’re never ending walls
but all false
If I am to say
for once be at a madhouse
raw and real
in the end,
they build their own dooms
and I wander and run.

and it’s never
going to make sense
born in a fence
they kill you
in the fence,
they always love to
kill you in the fence.


Empty a little much more

Have you ever sat with books all around?
Words of her,
The airborne bird
Or the enveloped whirl,
All that she would whisper
And all that she spoke out so loud.
Things that she said to the world
And things that this world had told her
All her life
All her years.
In words that touch lives today
Product of many other lives,
Speaks to them straight on the face
The sunshine
And the moonlight
She questions it all.
Fires back at those who had once fired her.
Sent myriads of picturesque love
To those who made her the hurricane.
She didn’t apologize for any thing
Only for, she never felt it,
After all, hurricanes never are sorry.
There is no way she could find
Plain and sane.
In the realms of that which constrained her
She was drowned,
Because the way to carefree falls
Was in those conceited walls.
The story of her escaping
Is not for the meager souls
Its for the risers and saviors,
Who on the brim
Still search for the line so thin
That divides love from sin.
I belong to this story because
In her struggles and walks
Agonies and wraths
Talks and mocks
Thundering and throbs
I smile and cry,
And I sew the narrator
In my eyes, with my own heart.
I feel engraved in the words
Like a huge ocean
Blue waves all around
And I float and float and float
And float some more,
For a while or longer
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Have you ever sat around books?
He says he loved and broke.
Before the breeze of love
Had tangled him in her arms
He says he was like a diamond.
Rigid and glistening.
But then, oh then,
Who in the turf of love
Has remained how they had begun?
And he from diamond
Was found bruised to scraps.
And now he plays and plays
Like a toy with his self.
Oh yes, they still shine.
The little pieces,
But in each of that bit
Is a foul smell,
In each of it he finds
A dark and white rainbow.
The pieces still shine
And he still plays.
But he says to his readers
He says to me,
With voice choked with coal
Like a big lump,
Making him heavy.
Like he is not standing
But tumbling down to the ground
More and more.
Like the ground is now
Swallowing him.
Before he reaches the grave
Before he weeps and he says,
I have died not of life
But love.
Tender arms of my beloved
Easily could slay
The life of a man
Who thought every day
To make her happier
Than every yesterday.
He ends it at his grave.
And my thoughts have begin from there
To smile at how he could love
Or to mourn the death of love.
In his tears is their any salvation?
Did he succeed to still say in the end,
Oh you my reader!
Love more and more
Love better each day.
Or did he say to me
Love no more,
For the pieces will shine
But no one will ever again
Look at you the same.
No one will feel your charm
And say,
Oh wow! You are diamond!
In the glitter of the diamond
I lose myself tonight.
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Have you ever sat with books all around?
An old lady courted everything possible,
Her face wears all the lines
She wrote in her diary.
Her hands has a smell
Smell of the food she made.
Her legs still look like
They will begin again
Any journey she would ever want.
Her husband sitting beside her
On a small stool
Holding her hand.
After a century of the living
They made
They stand on the gate
Of their one life.
They didn’t call it two separate lives ever
Wept and swept all together
He whispers something in her ears
“Remember, the first kiss?”
“Remind me once more,
Make it also the last one.”
She said.
In each others arms
They slept together.
Together they went.
Together they were taken.
In the flight of love as this
Can I not just dance.
My footsteps won’t move,
They will sway
Because in will dance on the music
That only they could play
Oh in the light and in the dark
I after reading them
Still find a ray
I walk along this light
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more,
Have you ever gone through this?
This feeling of being taken away
Away in worlds too many
All together
So much
Feeling so breezy
Have you ever talked to dead people?
Oh, I have!
They tell me tales.
They tell me things
They tell me things like
Reader, I married him.
When she said to me this.
I had felt she declared to me
The decision of her life.
The only treasure
The only blessing.
She shared with me her tears and heartbeats
That moment
She gave to me.
Has anyone from a world unknown told you
That you are beautiful?
And I?
I believed only when they had said.
They said to me
To live like no ordinary
They told me to fight
And never get reduced
To stay and yet flow
They had said.
You are strong
And that is enough.
Don’t go for pretty.
She won’t die in hearts.
She would die like everyone
In a grave of cement.

Have you ever felt those humans
They talk only if you feel.
Only if every time you lift them up
You give them birth
And you breathe with them.
This magic will then belong to you.
You will fly away
From all that you hate
Any second, like in those fairy tales.
Make it yours
And try it once,
And you will die never.
Because lives like these
Even after death are saviors.
With them I swirl, curl, whirl
Like a river
These oceans I seek
In the end I belong to these.
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Come to the mirror


In the midst of a swarming bus
You will meet across hundreds of men.
They might stink,
Oh no! Not from outside
They will stink in their eyes,
In their minds
In their ways
And in themselves.
But, oh miracle!
You still won’t know the secret of their reeking.
They are too pompous of this stinking animal in them.
And please,
Please dare not think that this stinking miracle
If proves to be your bane,
Anyone is going to break for you
The window pane.
Oh no no!
Girl, dare not think of any perfume
That will take away this stinking miracle.
Because those who have it want it,
Those who don’t
Have never told.
Do you see their hands on your chest?
Oh don’t tremble.
Please don’t.
Nothing but affection they say,
Affection to let you know
How beautiful you are!
The stinking miracle is so affectionate my dear,
So, now you need no perfume for it
Do you?
What did you just see?
Another hand on someone else’s butts?
Do you have to speak?
I have taught you, don’t quarrel on road.
Oh my dear, stay obedient
I know you will not speak.
Quiet for yourself
And vocal for others,
You talk funny, my love!
Such a saint was never born
You keep smiling and never frown.
Go to sleep and think of nothing,
Life is so striking and you will just pass.
Like your people did
Who belonged to you.
You can’t ponder how many untold stories have they died with.
Because, you are taught
To not brood over.
Oh now in the dreams, you slap the stinking animal.
First who touched you
And then the others.
But why slap affection, you fool!
You know this world needs too much of this.
Oh Jesus! Look how your mind shouts back at that animal
At all the stinking animals.
But thank god you only howl in dreams!
God made you lucky woman, my child!
My brave child again goes in the same bus.
Now she does not yowl even in dreams.
So well, she has settled with the stink
Exactly like a bird with broken wings.
Oh no! Please don’t applaud for me
I know how well I have brought her up.
Look at her strength you folks!
She knows to settle down in a gutter
Full of various stinks.
Come here! Come here!
I will give you some gossip,
I just heard the girl next door
Oh my lord!
Mercy my lord mercy!
Mercy on fools.
The girl next door was raped by the watchman.
Oh no no, the watchman was a stinking animal
Allowed to be pervert.
The girl had no strength
To settle like my lovely daughter.

And here I declare the wisest of all mothers,
Tell your daughters to compromise
Or else the watchmen are free to move
They are bound to groove.
After all, with whom otherwise,
Will they share their stinking miracle with?
Why shout like the girl in the English songs?
Teach the girls,
To change this bad omen into melodious form.
To paradise or to hell
The way is in our hands.
These rebels are born
Exactly like sands,
Keep them always
Beneath the shoe soles
Sew with needle all the holes.
This is how I teach you
To remain in this gutter.
Let’s not forget today
The years we have spent to discern the stinking miracle.
Teach all the same
Inspire with your own lives
The minds of the young ones.
They should not find anyway
Out of the junk.

And you my lovely daughter,
Come let me take you somewhere!
Sit, look at this in front of you,
The beautiful mirror.
See, how it enhances the glow of your fair hands,
Oh your charming smile
Your curly hair.
With millions of gems and dollars and pounds,
A tall gentleman, I will send.
Mesmerized by your beauty,
He will take all rounds
He will faint and get up,
To hold your hand and say,
Oh lovely woman!
How many hearts did you break
Waiting for me all these days.
What say my dear daughter?
Have I not written the best fairy tale?

Oh yes! Mom.
You taught the best and you wrote even beyond.
But there is an unknown folly in the tale
Listen to this, what I am to say.
I am not virgin, my dear mother.
Chastity which you told to make my pride,
Oh! I feel apologetic my big lady
I think I have lost it in all those rides.
Those rides you said to go on each day.
You had said settle down with the stinking animals.
Oh mom! How could I have told you.
They settled at the cost of my chastity.
I was raped, mother.
No mom, they were miraculous, right?
So, their eyes could rape.
Hundreds of eyes have my chastity,
Not even together
In one thread, lady.
All eaten apart,
Like flesh from my body.
Mother, you taught so well
And you wrote beyond.
Come, sit and look at this mirror.
In your face I see so much,
I fail to say in words.
Look mother,
Talk to the mirror.
The mirror now orates your legend.

Absent Presence

“It all began three years back from today when he saw love everywhere and she in him only. The first time when they had talked it was all so mesmerizing to her that she a lot of times did not understand what meaning his words held, she was just drowning in the decibels of his enthralling voice. She was completely drunk on the picture of her being a muse to him. Her illusions took seat from the words he used to sew promises with. His promises became a world and this world her home. Now there was no looking back for her because she had now traveled the most ardent road. They talked for hours and she would send bubbles of care and love to him every second. She once asked him, “What am I to you?” He had said not a single word. She knew he did not say because he wanted her to know through his heart. She never asked him why he did never answer her questions and why he had never told her that he loved him. Why he never gave this love a name, she had never questioned. Because her faith spoke to her that every moment in this love was pious and beautiful. The story of petals turned into thorns when she began listening to what she said about him and not what he said. The faith she could speak to spoke only on her behalf and not him. When she had asked what she was to him and he had uttered not even a single word, maybe he had meant nothing. And what took her life were not these illusions, but that she could never walk out of them. She could not leave her home she thought he lived in. She was left alone not by him but by the virtue of her love that made her unexpectedly insane.”

Because my mom once said..

Because my mom once said,
Life is a journey
And it won’t be that sturdy.
Crawl like a creeper
Or dance like a tapper,
It would let you decide
But still will push you over the tide.

There will be a day
It will hold you back,
Fight the tears
Dread the day
There is a light in you
Don’t see others fly away,
You are there to fight the grey.
Those who’ll go out of your sight
Could not make your home bright,

Don’t count on people
They are not for you,
Look up to those stars
That’s where you can hide your scars.
There will be days
When all you’ll sense would be darkness,
Don’t forget to look through it
Colors will be waiting
To fill your emptiness.
Feel the breeze
Open your arms,
Drink the rain,
Love the wind,
Let the smell of the flowers
Cover you,
Let the music of the birds
Be your language,
All you will learn is to smile
Because all days won’t be alike.
Because my mom once said,

Promises are like rivers
They don’t have any shape,
They begin from an end
And those ends seldom meet.
Don’t wait for any soul
Winds are born to be blown,
What they take
And what they leave
Is another story
Little told and so untold.

There will be days
When you’ll get tired
You’ll crave for love
You’ll wait for someone to hold you,
Breathe and begin again
Because some cries go in vain.
It won’t warn you before the fire
Not even when you will be half burnt.
It won’t collect the ashes
But that end
It will go in your name.

Because my mom once said,
Life is like a game.
You’ll never win
But you won’t mind losing in the end,
This loss would bear what you are
Like a mirror to your sabotage.
It won’t flow with happiness
You’ll be the struggler
And you’ll have to be the believer.
Because those who don’t believe
Throughout they bleed.

Even when you don’t find the reasons
Remember, autumn is also a season.
Beauty is not in fulfillment
It’s in half said quotes
Musical notes
Unsung melodies
Quite soliloquies.
Happiness is not in the balloon that flies high
It’s in the wings of those nestlings
Who so adamantly try,
It is not in victories
But joyful histories
Curious mysteries
Unexplained madness
Self created sadness.

Because my mom once said
This life is your creation
A battle without destination.
Catch all the butterflies
Live all your cries
Rise like someone will catch you,
Fall like someone will push you.
Because one day you’ll start this journey
All over again
Not because this won’t be enough
Enough is never the word
It’s always more and even more
But because you’ll once again become my sword
And I’ll not hold you ever
I’ll let you sway.

Because my mom once said,
I am born the brightest sunray
Life is just a child’s play.


Some silences you are born with, some you learn, some are forced, some you get habitual of. But the worst silence is the one, which you give birth to; with a thought that it would hide you from this world, might protect you. But then, bit by bit, blood by blood, flesh by flesh it begins to tear you, question you and consume you. This silence then grows in search of your voice but all it gets is silence. It multiplies to fill you with empty holes punched hard through you. Gradually, your child becomes your ruler and then your destroyer. There will be moments when you would try to kill it but all it would take is great courage to kill what your soul now bears. This silence has now become a weapon of self consumption.

"….all artists, regardless of degree of talent, are a painful, paradoxical combination of certainty and humility, constantly in need of reassurance, and yet with a stubborn streak of faith in their own validity no matter what."