Farewell

Dimmer and dimmer and dimmer
The stars, fading from view.
The moon glittered with scrambling light
Shimmery hands failing to recall.
The stars did wish to hold on tight
In the end, they had to fall.
They shook along, with talons bright
The moon to their abyss.
Visions of hope, deceiving, blinding
Gave acceptance a goodbye kiss.
The future, hid in shadows of meaning
As empty as the brimming past,
For which the moon kept rambling
Its hugs returned by distant darkness.
So sang the moon to empty space
Retaining the little light it had,
A faded memory of the stars
Invisible, in mourning clad.

Grudging Acceptance

Life flowed on like the chattering river I was used to
Images of past moments, pale, and the mind pale and light.
Heavy breaths and beating hearts seldom came into play
Being free with ordinariness, quiet petals flowing along.
Then the messenger brought me the change I could never swallow
Of time, of personality, of thought altogether.
Standing still as before I was, yet my universe somehow altered.
Tears defied the strangling steel talons of disapproval
Yet the future kept darkening, forgetting its old self.
Yet now, lying in this inevitable future, no tears blotching my face,
Its the past which lies forgotten, hidden in dark, invisible chambers.
Laughing and crying as the good times evade temptation,
My hands run across the demolished walls of happy memories
And find nothing but the present, as unbelievable as the truth.

Search for a Non-Existent God

When you behold the suffering, that unreasonable punishment brought upon a person for a sin they didn't have a part in, your hands join with hope, praying for a better time for the person you love, yet the dilemma that never fails to scratch your hands is the path your prayers take. Each time my instinct commands me to pray for some particular moment to end, for I can't bear it, the dilemma showers upon me like cold snow - is there anyone hearing my prayers?

Rather than a disbeliever in a higher power or God, rather than being an atheist, I count myself as one who deems the current definition of 'God' to be senseless. The one preaching an 'omnipotent being who looks upon us all' is one I could never stop wondering about and imagining, for the Universe never seemed to point out that such a being exists.

Yet, in a worrying situation, where the anxiety makes your stomach heavy, I hope against hope that such a being exists. That there is a God somewhere who'll hear my prayers and cure everything by a click of their finger. One blink of the eye and everything reverted back to normal. I want God to exist, however much I reason against his/her existence.

And so I wonder, does wanting God to exist indicate weakness? Does it indicate my lack of ability to handle the situation, to cope with it? Or, better still, does this thought actually help me to cope with that situation?

It's something our mind always fights over -  rationality and hope, hope that is based on baseless imagination. Yet hope is what helps us get through those few seconds, however irrational it might be. Masking reality with an illusion works as well as escaping reality.

God might be an illusion, a being who proves how weak we all are in the face of hurt, in the face of a loved one dying. But it is God, regardless of his/her existence, who lets most of us to get through hard times.

And this is the reason I don't deem devotees (who don't indulge in harmful practices) as people whose mind doesn't wander, whose heart doesn't question. Whether they know it or not, they are doing a great favour to themselves, of a relatively unburdened mind. And as for me, a wanderer, someone in constant search for meaning or reason or anything that could explain everything, things would never be so simple. Exciting, sure, but not necessarily happy.

Peace.

End.

Silence breathes through like a scream ear-splitting,
Yields like the air ere a heart-wrenching storm.
Sand flies like freedom all over the hill
Breaking, wrenching, in anticipation, torn.

Yet Time disagrees, slowing its pace
The two-faced monster, is that a service it does?
The stars but betray, with a pitiful gaze
Those angels in disguise, silent for their love.

The water more recedes, singing for the wave
Keeping the heart captive, who fails to accept
The reason for the still, why Time, too, will cave
Why none would remain, the sky too bereft.

And in a flash too fast, the eyes, they close
And thought disappears, all turning to naught.
The silence which rose in my eyes as a foe
Was a friend all along, but to be forgot.

Dark is the Light

Tears of doubt fall like pearls into an infinite abyss,

An abyss I can't fathom, nor behold in my shaky hands.

A welter of dark emotions add shadow to the void,

A fleeting search for light runs my mind's errands.

The stars for so long I kept in my craving sight,

It's those I can't find in the emptiness of reality.

For ages who consoled me, brightened my teary eyes,

Have hidden beyond myself, their questioned morality.

Of fire and flame, I find an unfathomable thought,

Dance among the fumes, search for the wonderful smell

Of order and clear, and all things unimaginably far, yet dear,

Brought by the white heat of the scented, sweet hell.

The search for meaning goes on through many wanderings far,

Yet fire, it deceives, burns me in its tranquil heat,

And stars, who knows, one day might take the black

And leave me helpless, fettered in the chains of defeat.

The heavenly light, whose rays, they pass through my hands

Transparent with woeful regret, stained by the curse.

For darkness does prevail, yes darkness does prevail

When somber emotions in their shell, bind the entire Universe.

Independence Day, Truly.

Thousands of tirangas being unfurled at this moment add a tinge of saffron, green and white patriotism to the busy, blowing wind. The air is saturated with memories of the past, remembrances of our freedom fighters, and poetry of the lost souls.

At gatherings across the country, most of the addresses concern our freedom fighters, who gave their immortal blood for this country. A random marg in some far-off remote area is being named after Chandrasekhar Azad or Sarojini Naidu. Plans for a huge statue of Sardar Patel are in the making. History is flowing through our nerves with waves as strong as the Ganga.

India, a country where people revere their long-lost history more than they think of the future. Where past achievements which need to return to the country are transformed into pride for the Indians. Where the fading shadows of the past are obscuring the needs for the future.

Here we are, living in a country which boasts of rich royal history and orderly masterminds like Chanakya, and yet our Parliament can't gather its voices in unity. Where we wake up early to listen to the Prime Minister's speech in the morning speaking yet again of the Swachh Bharat Abhiyan, and still think of excuses to litter our roads. Where we speak of India's diversity and culture and yet disrespect those who can't speak English properly.

Where we attempt to gain sympathy for our unnoticed past and forget to improve the present into a majestic reincarnation of the future.

Let's ask ourselves first, what defines us as being Indian? Is it speaking poetry from the past in the morning assembly without feeling a tinge of wonder? Is it talking about freedom fighters, about whom we have been talking since 69 years? Is it boasting how Mahatma Gandhi is known around the world, yet not following his ideals?

The common Indians of today are constantly apprehensive about their future, about their families, about their health, freedom fighters are people they recall only one day each year. Do you ever talk about Bhagat Singh on 26 May? Or the 17th of November? Independence Day is seen as an incentive to show your 'hidden' love for your country.

For some of the more relatively well-off people like us, being Indian might be eating ice cream at India Gate, assimilating with people from different states despite our differences, talking passionately about topics like reservations and secularism, clearing taboos about India all over the world. In short, thinking about what we need for the future.

Independence Day isn't naming a road after a freedom fighter.
Independence Day isn't memorizing the birth dates of prominent leaders.
Independence Day isn't renaming the Agriculture Ministry to Farmers' Welfare Ministry.
Independence Day isn't recalling complex poetry which touches the heart of only those educated enough to understand it.
Independence Day isn't about speeches and assemblies.

Independence Day is defining our future.
Independence Day is thinking seriously, and doing.
Independence Day is introspecting, and finding what we need to do.
Independence Day is gaining independence from close-mindedness and taboos, and talking of subjects of national importance without hesitation, with good intentions.
Independence Day is everyone listening to everyone's views, not everyone listening to just the Prime Minister's views.
Independence Day is befriending our enemies, not defeating our enemies.
Independence Day is living in the present and looking to the future, not dwelling on the past.

Independence Day is true independence.

i already made my shoes

Hmm.

Right now the road seems grassy... muddy and grassy more like. Well, there I slip, and splash mud all over my crazy toes. And then I feel the sweet old grass under my feet. Oh, how it wipes all that mud away... Let's just hope this road feels my feet only where there is grass. See, there I slip, and then far out somewhere I mend it all. Nice opportunity, if you ask me. But oh, the mud, that's all I can see, splattered over the dewy grass. My crazy feet, they dirtied the sweet, wet grass.

Hope... I do hope that there's no sharp gravel all over the next path I take, far in the distance. Shoes would be good. Maybe I should knit socks out of the grass! Then the road coming next would be much the easier, won't it?

Hmm.

Well, all these roads and all. Why do they hurt my feet so much? Why are there sharp stones scattered all over there in the vicinity and sweet, scented grass growing on the road visible far behind in the distance?

Why do the paths ahead always have to be so grim and deceitful and hungry for blood and bone alike? Why does the path I'm standing on have it's share of cloudiness, too? The mud, it hurts. But the grass is tasty, that's for sure.

It's an excuse, folks. The mud is a damn excuse.
Failure's just hiding behind the curtain.

The sun has to set, they said.
The future always seems brighter than the present, they said.
But, the future, it's always grimmer, they said.
Well, guess what, I can see that road right in front of me. And guess what, no sooner would that be my present.

It will be bad, they said.
Obstacles everywhere, they said.
The grim ones said.

Obstacles, ha. Nature's obstacles, ha-ha. Now comes the revelation, the twisting turn. The future's morose no more, I rule it, I grabbed it in my dirty, black, muddy hands.

I already made my shoes.