Category Archives: Poetry

what people want? , peace and love.

a bentley
a bag of weed
a bag of weed in a bentley
a blonde and a bag of weed in a bentley
peace and love.

clash of clan gems
counter strike cheat codes
candy crush lives
iphone and ps4 to monitor heart rate
a blonde and a bag of weed in a bentley to top it all
peace and love.

ronaldo’s ballon d’or.  messi’s ballon d’or.
women ruling the earth.
women ruling the earth but still not playing football.
still messi’s ballon d’or.  ronaldo’s ballon d’or?
a balance between the yin and yang hanging delicately on chi (wtf)
a blonde and bag of weed in a bentley to drive ’em all to nearest sports bar
peace and love.

azaadi, freedom, liberty (not necessarily in that order)
eradication of poverty
socialism? everyone looking equally shitty
the bride should be tall fair and pretty, employed in an mnc.
tv, fridge, ac, male child, sanskar, vegeterian, dollar, canada(:P), lalbatti, class, swag, aqeedat, pink floyd,gurugram
a tolerant freedom of speech to express what pleases everyone even the dead
a blonde and bag of weed in a bentley in pursuit of happiness
peace and love.

good muslims, bad muslims(for presidential campaign)
no muslims (ummrikka is great again)
nobel peace prize, oscar award for white male in an arabic role
liberty, equality and fraternity; three small town girls dancing on a pole
Mark Zuckerberg’s one billion dollars ( sorry, free basics!)
non bankrupt europe, this time once again for Africa, all the cocaine from South America, democratic republic of china
we already have our opinions(prjudices)
so just give us a fucking blonde and a bag of weed in a bentley
and some peace and love.

Limb for a limb.

I am naked in your courtyard
naked, but for my stump
everything shivers, but for the stump
it is bulilt of carbon
i am built of carbon, but i am impure
water has seeped into the cracks

i am opaque
the cold sunlight slips right through the stumps
and, illuminates everything inside
blood, marrow,varicose veins
blue, mineral, protein,carbohydrate,hormones
ligament, wood, steel velvet
but not a heart
instead there is an elaborate cut glass
reflecting its own light.

you do not buy it
you who have dealt in spices all your life
and, your neighbor’s a butcher
you say i am too far fetched
you think i am too stooped
it is just my hunchback, i carry it around
cut it in half and look inside
All my limbs are yours, Kahira
and your supple reluctance is mine.

living on maybes

so the end is already written
and the beginning already dreamed of
i can’t quite decide
whether to be a thousand page masterpiece
or a two hundred one
stuck in the middle, i am living on maybes
maybe the pain will do it, or laughter will
maybe if i disappear, like the dust storms do
and leave you flummoxed and parched and angry
maybe that will do it
maybe you will kill me
or maybe, you will accept your defeat and move on
ha! back to chapter two
plot
counter plot.
 
in the pictures
forced laughters
a call for attention
a clamor for religion
in reverence to the mundane.
 
all alone on the floor
watched by grimacing photographs
and closed closets.
maybe the ceiling will fall, or the fan will come unstuck
maybe there will be an earthquake
i will live, and all who laugh will die
maybe, one day
i will be unknown, unrecognized, unrelated
everyone i know and love will be dead
and i would rewrite the opening riffs.
or else
i can go out with a bang, right now
spread my spread on the carpet bread
about six foot long, swansong.
or maybe,
i can wait
and keep filling up the notes in between
sharpening the blunt, boring tune
and i will write a solo, one day.
 
on the radio
half baked songs
a call for attention
a clamor for religion
in reverence to the idiot
living on maybes.

Freedom

why do you call yourself free men
when you are a consequence of actions of others.

freedom,
is not an ideology to be preserved
through a set of instructions on how to behave
there is no manifesto.

the opposite of religion
utter lack of belief, yet trust is to be seeked

you hate everyone
and, everyone hates you
God hates us all
but, you would rather punch an insolent nose, than start a revolution

you decide the limits of conscience
Truth is a choice, to be or not to be made

You are petty, puerile, addictive
bad behaviour catching on
a fucking incurable disease, growing unfettered
laugh, you are free
today onwards, all the children shall be heard and seen.

Red, Black and White

In the autumn twilight

Whence mighty greybeard fog is the smell of moisture in wind

The day kisses the night

 

And the fog; cold, clinical, conservative

grabs his wanton daughter by hair, to drag her home in shame

Fiercely she holds on, digging deep, and blood spills

 

Blood; red, hot, sparkling, smeared over the horizon

The dusk flickers, one last brush of lips, a dying flame

The world is giddy; red, black and white

 

Condensed sobs; tipper, tapper on leaves and meadows

As night slithers, imprisoned in wintry cloaks, leaving trails for morrow

And, few bloody droplets adorn her lips still, she calls them her stars