Reforming INDIA

A while back I came across an article in “The Times of India”. It was pretty incredible and yet very sad. It did somehow make me think as to where our country stands, whether we are progressing, standing still or regressing. Whether the platform for better technological advancement, guided future development is ready or not, whether the society is able enough to find peace with the growing global recognition and surge, and whether blaming the government is all we got.

The article was about a resident of Switzerland who liked India as a nation for the spicy food, spicy ladies, incredible beauty, culture, history, monuments, and historical marvels like the Gateway of India, Taj Mahal and many more things. He even praised Bollywood movies and stated ‘Fanna & Veer Zara’, as fantastic movies. Well, may be now you Continue reading

Sins #1

Lust Lechery

Sociality pelted along,
as civilizations throve, rugged,
with customs, portfolios,
establishing beliefs,
spurring right-wrong,
and
world though beauteous
shunned to colossal lechery,
reasons must I tell?

Though lust not lechery,
to think not act,
indulges not a potent opposite,
but must I tell,
neither attraction, nor love,
craving bodily amazement,
like addicted to the living
like a mere object,
to ideate thoughtful orgasms,
isn’t ill and stupendous?

Though might stand confusion,
amidst horrid dubieties,
if lust were love, attraction,
were marriage,
but must I tell
though not bound to church,
is sanctity of free will,
decorum of consciousness,
and
to heed too much
to something,
as if world is blank,
never is righteous.

… his brilliance, his song

A kid, his brilliance, his song.

In this gullible world,
his own song,
like no other.
No chorus,
like alone pushing clues.
Perpetual and seamless,
like ventures unexampled.
Adamant and naive,
unlike ripples in waters
that cease at lands amazement.

And a kid, his brilliance, his song.

In this restrained world,
his own song,
like no other.
Clubbed to a domain,
like his world it is.
Shunned to closet,
like exploration ain’t worth.
Floors won and seated upon
by bosses of sections,
must he crawl stairs to convince all.

And again,
a kid, his brilliance, his song.

Need be,
neither gullible nor restrained,
but receptive.
Need be,
not uncomfortable standing ovation,
to chain of commands,
but allowance to speak.
Need be,
not rejection conducing adamant,
but ear to hear.

And shall rejoice
kid and the world,
and staged bosses,
with his brilliance, his song.

Continue reading

From RANDOM to RHYME

It’s decremental, it is, you will see.
I wish to explicate an observable beauty.

In a house, began my life, contemporary,
clustered with people, eating brownie,
non-complicated, and I was taught
lessons of life. I invariably bought,
curiosity was, questioning I did, most times,
they answered too, and so the frequent climbs.
I believed, for trust was larger-than-life,
not that I understood “what was life?”
but those first steps in school, sometime
I feel I had moved from random to rhyme.

It’s decremental, it is, you will see.
I wish to explicate, an observable beauty.

In school, associations grew, and new
knowledge cluttered over existing value.
A walk in NEW unfolded variables,
I resonated with yes, for I trusted all angles,
But life as we know it, was not up for hide,
color it revealed, I denied, but it kept aside
morality, truth it showered, “yes, I was lied”,
trust, my innocence, that day “died”.
Conscious stammered, I reviewed my crime,
realizing life had moved from random to rhyme.

It’s decremental, it is, didn’t you see?
I wish to explicate, an untold agony.

In life, started happening, contemplating,
caution grew paramount. It’s truth or acting?
Layered knowledge tampered, who to blame,
questioning all, life never remained the same.
Who knew, random was just scattered ties,
of placed, known and untested allies.
Who knew, rhyme wasn’t just a poetic tool,
but to sing along this manipulative solicit pool.
So, was changed, learned to not trust a dime,
with adjustment moved, from random to rhyme.

It’s decremental, placing trust, you see,
losing as aging. So, cerebrating, to seek some for me.

Note
The poem is on trust, how we lose it as we grow, remember childhood, how we believed everything and everyone, and now, when we meet people, it takes time, a lot of time, and sometimes even after the endless time we are left guessing.

A simple LIFE is about thinking TWICE

Have you ever wondered, how our life closely resembles to our surrounding, how our choices are reflection of a pursuit called the ‘Rat Race‘ which shadows our very own interests and takes over our life.It’s fascinating how we purchase stuff we don’t really need, which does not really interest us, it’s just bought and kept there because it resides with every one, a symbol of “I have it too“.

A simple LIFE is not going into a forest and living like a sage, it’s about not being manipulated by ongoing revelations, it’s about owning, possessing an entity that you require, that inspires, not the one that sits there just collecting dust. I know everyone finds their way into such stuff without reasoning. I say, you “think twice” i.e., challenge your self on accounts of requirement, benefits etc., and if one of the reasons of you wanting that thing is “he/she has it too“, then “think TWICE“.

A-simple-life.jpg

I live
lies in comforting shoes, assuring
intrigued by surrounding.

I buy
many attractions, not required though
deceived by reasoning.

I think
regardless of necessities
driven by neighbors.

I doubt
choices, to substantiate status
enticed by complex flings.

I need
to break free from closures, siege truth
judged by just interests.

I shall
argue myself, to resolve life
held by prudent contempt.

James Rosenquist’s art always seemed complicated, various aspects clustered as one, this one to me shows human complications, driven endless

The SOCIAL shuTDown

“Tommy lives a life of solitude”,
said a voice from the magnanimous crowd,
the cheers went loud,
the crowd up on their feet, avowed,
Tommy may not be alone, but his cover is blown,
from now on, he is a lone.

Decision of crowd was a fair call,
judged by many, called by all,
said a voice,  praising the brawly social club,
as he drank his home-made shrub,
but does Tommy think the same,
is he devoid of friends, or is the crowd crazy to have made the claim.

The surmise of the crowd,
under the fellowship of a few, cried out loud,
dragging Tommy’s feet to the pit,
but was it “just” to have made that notion sit,
why should a Tommy face the judgment,
crawl in this viscous social stigma like a mutant.

Living in the society, you bare with it,
follow the rules whether right or wrong, finally submit,
follow the few even though it does not matter,
to protect yourself, make someone else-es life bitter,
but why do we do that, not in a flock are we,
why remain spectators, cowards we are not, Are we?

Prompt 171: Endure
One Shot Wednesday