The Court of Love.

Everything is fair in war and love
So why do we need the white dove?
Here the Satan played the Jury,
And the Lover was hanged by the order of the Lord.
A criminal he was in the court of love.
And since then the lover remained a fiction
With a cosmic contradiction,
That not everything is fair in the court of love.

Existence. (Then a boy would think..)

Traffic Signal: Red 

On a day when the city weeps monotonously, if you ever look out of the window of your car, you will find a thousand and one reasons to smile. You will see a bright-eyed, half clothed, emaciated boy in a chop stall- the common picture of impoverished India and a black pregnant starved dog- scared of the human existence around him. They will make a story. You will find that half starved boy who has no guarantee for his next dough feeding the dog from his own chop stall, that failed to attract even the photographers of ‘not-so- Incredible India’, for free. The dog and the boy have learned to coexist in a city where their existence is only recognized before ‘elections’. You will find once again that your city has a heart. And there is hope for the fallen few. There is hope for you. There is hope for me. And there is hope for us.

Traffic Signal: Green

Everything is in motion. The image of the boy and the dog fades away. They made you happy for a while and then? It’s all the same again. Red or Green, it’s all the same over and over again. Nothing changes, if you don’t change. If the dog and the boy can coexist in their world with almost nothing, why can’t you and I with everything?

The Midnight Hue.

The midnight hue

Stuck me like a glue,

In its forbidden-forsaken beauty

Like a smiling cutie.

And that’s when I knew,

The midnight hue

Was all

You.

Life (When the child felt its weight on his shoulders..)

It started long long time ago, long before today, long before 9/11, long before my birth. It was before Chernobyl, before Lennon’s death, before Abbey Road, before Catcher in the Rye, before Hiroshima, before the first submarine or the airplane, before Freud, before electricity, before the last dodo, the last Mughal Emperor, before the Plague, the crusades, the Mahabharata or the Ramayana, before Rome, before Egypt, before the dawn of mankind. It was long before the Cro-Magnon, before the dinosaurs.
It was before the earth had trees and forests as we see it.

Life as we see it began a long time ago on a hallowed day in the Pre-Cambrian. A rainy day, and there life began from a single lightening spark in the open Ocean. A mere chance one can say and here we are the product of something that could easily have not happened.

No one remembers that day. No one values life anymore.
Look around you and you will see how depressing life is. Take life away mother earth, just take it away. Someday you will. The sooner the better.

It is raining today.

It began with the rain, the lightening. So why not end it here?

When a kid wrote a poem called Palestine.

The Promised Land, where promises weren't kept;

The Promised Land, where mothers and wives wept.

And that's how it has been since the dawn of The Bible

The story of Palestine - A god-forsaken fable.

And what was The Crusades of the Mighty warriors?

That led them to break the worldly barriers.

In the name of a God they fought,

Without a second thought,

For a land that has shed more blood

Than a slaughter house in Modern Baghdad.

And do you remember Emperor Constantine?

He once ruled Palestine!

And was it a happy time?

About Today.

There are certain days in our lives that are insignificant. Today is one such day. The lull in the weather is evident and the emotional disquiet is perpetual. Things happen on such days that are insignificant. Memories strike your brain. Bitter-sweet ones? 
Certain uncalled memories flash right in your head while the birds twitter in the lemon tree across your balcony. The memory of the girl who never loved you, the pet dog who died in a freak accident, the best friend that left the city or the brother that went abroad, all in one go. The things that could have been different. But then you think of the present- about the people who care, the best friend who is here or the people who miss you and love you, the stray dog that accompanies you from your place to the bus stop no matter what. You ignore them. You keep your cell phone off and pretend you don’t need anyone. You know you do. On such day all you care to do is nothing. Today is a day you wish to remain silent. Today is a day, you should be sad. Today is a day for the past. Today is a day for the girl who never loved you, for the pet who passed away, for the best friend who went away and for the brother in a faraway land. Today is insignificantly important. Today is one such day. 

She died in my arms. (For Brownie.)

She fell from the sky like a shooting star 
In the meadow of a concrete and neon-lit bar 
In death she gained freedom 
From being a loyal four legged. 

Yet i begged; 
I begged for her life 
But still went the knife 
Into the heart, 
Perhaps a tragic death is life's most inevitable art.

Little Amsterdam.

It’s a little world of joy. No misery but only thrill. And the End result is nil. It's death they say.

Money flows in with every breath. Drug deals. They can kill you with a bitter-sweet death trap. The little stock exchange in the little city flourished. A little world of cannabis and wannabes. Few wise artists, actors they are. Pretense is their weapon. The unmistaken red-light. The little geishas, using lust, for life. Survival. Ah, a little heaven with a huge price to pay. There is no tension as cannabis dilutes the fourth dimension. Bliss. Bliss. And only Bliss, or it seemed so. A little world for The ‘Blessed Children’. A little Amsterdam. 


Its captivating how easily humans make their own illusionary world. They build their own walls to stay away from bad influences forgetting the basic fact that the concept of the world lies in facing and fighting the ugly clichés.
They try to escape into the little Amsterdam fearing to face the truth. Just for the sake of staying ignorant and happy, they get forever locked into this vicious make belief world. They get used to it. They become sad. They don’t seek for reason. Greedy people. Stupid people. They must die. 

Emotional people. Good people. They are the vulnerable. In their little Amsterdam they are lost. They too don’t want the truth. It hurts them. They don’t fight. They submit to the Bad and The Greedy. They get their Cannabis. They are happy now. They don’t seek for reason too. They will die. 

Bad people. Shrewd people. (political people??) They are the architects of this little Amsterdam. They lure the other people into this vicious world. They control the little Amsterdam. They rule now. But someday they will fall. They will be the prisoners of their own device. Too much prisoners. Too less space. It’s a little world. Hence they have to die. 

Death is the solution. Viva la revolution. 

Practical people. They don’t live in this little world. They are boring and useless.
They are mere spectators to the little world’s misery yet envies it.

This is because that little world of big-misery will always have a story to tell.

Through the translucent glass of yore.

A Platoon of Red
Very well fed.
A battle for scope
With a little dope
And victory for Reds’
Salute Marx and other Comrades!
And there was you,
The halo of radiant hue;
Dancing for the vicious victor.

It's all in the colors

It’s funny how the world could have changed only if our eyes had been more sensitive to electromagnetic radiation. Scientifically speaking the world that we see around is limited to the imperceptibility of our eye. Imagine a world with our eyes set in the ultraviolet range. Our whole perspective could have changed.

No color. No Red. No Blue. No Green.
No ballot fun. 

No colorful arts.
If Leonardo would forgive me-Black and White Monalisa?
And the color for Revolution? Darker shade of black? What is that? I don’t know.
Sorry Che.

The thought of a Black and White World freaks me out.
There is no beauty in it.
The colorful World has its problems. But every beauty comes with a heavy price. It’s fragile. Let’s not risk losing it.
Let’s solve the problems.
Let’s love all the colors.
Let our eyes do the talking.
And let’s win over petty visual disabilities. 



PS: I am a science student. I study rocks and fossils, million years old. My life sucks. So I want Revolution. They say it’s Red in color. Is it?