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.

The Void of Thought

Is the road ever empty, I wonder?
The road I walk, with nothing in sight
Except walls and walls of tunneling darkness
And a sky made of infinity,
Where weight is lost, all is lost
Is it empty still?

Out of the wild emptiness, take birth
Colourful clouds brimming with imagination
Out of whose wombs, are castles born
And reveries of adventure, beyond raging mounts
Flowing seas do dreams adorn.

A forceful aura, a giant aura
Of forceful thought, mighty will
Sprinkles light on my dilemma...
With thought as vast as boundlessness,
Nothing is empty
Empty is nothing.

Comfortably Numb

I walk the winding road of loss, going back and forth, back and forth, in circles. Round and round and round, until I'm confused between myself and the ghost of my past. I have nothing more to lose, except myself. Nothing more to give, except myself. 

Until finally, suddenly, the path gives way, and I fall into the ditch of indifference, remembering my past self distinctly - who I was just a second ago, before I fell into this abyss - me, whose brain was riddled with mourning and sad, the offspring of loss.

Oh, and then, this heavenly abyss - indifference. Finally, comfort envelops me and my brain can't feel a thing, devoid of all discouraging emotions... that thin line between heavy loss and indifference, crossed, until I'm numb.

Comfortably numb.

That heavenly flight in the heavenly skies of love shining with stars of imagination... the gleam of those dreams taunting me wherever I fly. I slowly grow the wings, wings of the hopes for a better future. Waving them about in delight weaving tales unheard, I hear a sudden ring.

I try to move my wings to my ears, to shield them from the deafening, frightening roar, only to find bloody shreds in place of those wings. All the hopes, all that love, dripping to the ground I can't fathom. Expectations only lead to a sad disappointment... let me forget this, let me think this never happened...

Slowly, reluctantly, I fall to the ground, into a deep pool of forgetfulness, where I sink to the bottom and memories flow to the surface like bubbles. That roar, it showed me reason, making me cross the threshold of that lovely water of forgetfulness. The water holds me up like a hero, comforting me, washing away all emotions, numbing me. My mind, my fingers, all are numb.

Comfortably numb.

I am a star... that star burning with the embers of life. The heat, the adventure, I'm finally as large as life. Outside, I might be raging with storms and flares, but inside, I'm still young, and want to remain young. Until...

The most fascinating thing about life is that even though it can drag on for years and years, it takes just a second to end. The boundary between life and death, that thin line between reality and dream, scaled in just a second.

All I know is darkness. Or is it nothingness? After all, I'm a hole. A black hole, destroying all light that is life, crushing all my surroundings, sucking them into the mourning... the mourning of death. Relaxed, I am. Yet I feel no life, no charm of unpredictability. Without life, it's numb.

Comfortably numb.

As Fair as a Star

There rides the knight in shining armour
With beaming fervour, endless valour,
Scars and scratches compliment whose visage
Black by the dust of acts of courage,
Raising his head, eyes beaming with pride
The sun blesses him with the magic of its light.
And all those legends, who look from afar
Sing of a face as fair as a star.

There sails the maiden with undeterred will
perched on the mast, the quintessential fille,
Who rose above all mockery and scorn
Stunned the world, for the flair she adorns.
Though her face blotched with tears of Fate
The silvery moonlight does wonder create.
And all those legends, who look from afar
Sing of a face as fair as a star.

The laughing child, who laughs no more
Shielded her mother, amidst wild furore,
Parted from life, united with love
Infinite, immortal, in the heavens above.
Though her face deathly still in the casket of wood
Lights up, alive, from the gaze of motherhood.
And all those legends, who look from afar
Sing of a face as fair as a star.