Rhyming is dying

No crushes to crush, no destinations to rush,
No paints to brush, no memories to flush,
No unsuccessful infatuations, no twisted situations,
No ugly conversations, no heated discussions,
No job interviews left, no plan of bank theft,
No skills to adapt, no mistakes to correct,
No affairs to end, no fragile castles of sand,
No topics to trend, no broken relationships to mend,
No trains to stop, no height to atop,
No hurdles to hop, no dirt or blood to mop,
No bed to sleep, no hedge to creep,
No ocean so deep, no shoulder to weep,
No song to dance, no scenery to glance,
No looking through lens, no burning romance…

One day it will be back, sense it may lack,
Rhyming is dying but I’ll keep on trying.

Nocturnal Talks

What’s the time? Late night? Good. Stop everything you are doing. Go to your terrace. Pity you don’t have one. If you have, forget whatever you were doing. Go to your terrace. Take one bed sheet, one pillow with you. Also, the most important thing: one transistor. Also, don’t take your mobile with you. So go with only one electronic instrument. The Radio.

Clean the roof with a broom. Sprinkle some water so that the heat of the day is soaked up and vaporises into the sky. The sky which has stars. Dark night but shining stars. The word romantic is for gays. The night with stars is just breathtaking. Look at the sky. Give a sigh. Smile. Lay out the bed sheet. Now lie down. Adjust the pillow so that you can see direct up. Settled? Good. Now turn on the transistor. It will be #win if the transistor is old and held up using rubber bands. Now start searching for Vividh Bharti. Don’t rush. Enjoy the noise in between the stations. What a lovely sound it is! The dials doing something electronically, the turning spring inside, searching for the right frequency, with sudden loudness trying to say something to you.

Tuned? Nice. Now listen to old Hindi songs. And imagine. From Devanand and Nootan coming down from the once open Qutub Minar, to older Talat Mahmood songs. From Hemant Kumar’s ‘Tum Pukaar Lo’ via Lata Mangeshkar’s ‘Lag Ja Gale K fir yeh haseen raat ho na ho’ or ‘Rasik balma’ to Kishore Kumar’s ‘Woh sham kuchh ajeeb thi, yeh shaam bhi ajeeb hai…’ Keep staring the beauty of the stars of the coldish silent night. Try to hear some sine-wave horn sound in the distance away. Smile. Relive old memories with the brilliant lyrics. Keep looking at the stars. They move. They say a lot to you. Those starry nights. Amazing.

Now savour these moments. I’ll be silent for some time.

Now while its getting further late, close your eyes. Keep the music on though. Smile more. Try to remember her. Smile again. Don’t regret what you didn’t do. Don’t think what you will do. Just stay silent, keeping your eyes closed. And sleep.

Now if you are in a saner city, around 5 AM in the morning, you will hear some Aarti (not RT) going on nearby. Smile. Ruffle your hair and get up. Try to hear from where this sound is coming. Smile. Stay there for some time, yawning.

Enough. Smile. New Day has arrived. Back to life.

The slippers, the clothes you left away

Picture Courtesy: Photoblog MSNBC

A dog, “Leao”, sits for a second consecutive day, next to the grave of her owner, Cristina Maria Cesario Santana, who died in the week’s catastrophic landslides in Brazil, at the cemetery in Teresopolis, near Rio de Janiero, on Jan. 15. Brazilians braced for more rain Saturday, fearing further landslides after walls of muddy water tore through towns and claimed some 550 lives in the country’s worst flood disaster on record.

It is not that I am under some sedation or this blog has turned into a sad dead blog but this picture above was seriously touching. So I couldn’t help but thinking about the loved ones who go away. But it goes like this:

The slippers, the clothes you left away, who is going to use them? Will you come back to regain back your props someday?
Your spectacles are still lying there on the table, your writings, that stationary there is unmoved, will you come back to tell me some fable?
Your wit, that toothless smile was yet so clever, we discussed politics, and well of course Cricket, when will those day come back, I wish forever,
You advice which I tried to always listen, as a mission, I tried to complete your banking transactions, will you come back the next summer season?
Your diary which still holds addresses of people you met, I am amazed by the memory you had, will I ever be able to reach the standards you set?
By the way did you meet other people who left us unexpectedly? If you meet, tell them I loved them as much I love you, I wish them to live that part of after-life very happily,
I am sorry if I ever did something wrong, Sir it was unintentional, I cannot even promise to take care of people you left alive, I am here no, you know it, but I will try,
There is something stuck in my throat, I don’t know what, but I am coughing as I am writing, what effect is this? With your wishes, I did reach somewhere in life. Should I cry or gloat?
Ahh, I am unable to complete this post, so stopping it now, I try but I cannot be ever again your host, out of everyone in this world I miss you the most…

In my closet

When you come home bloody tired and totally worn out,
You expect some hot tea to chew or sip that green sprout,
When you enter your kitchen to grab some sane food,
They watch you coming, tch, you can’t do nothing dude,

For them you are nothing but just another distraction,
For them you are nothing but an unwanted living fraction,
They are not in a count which you count like one or two or three,
They’ve their colonies laid out there, and that you cannot even see,

You enter the dark kitchen and turn on the light,
They hear your footsteps before you ever come in their sight,
They wrap up any meeting and go invisible before your next stride,
They forget their differences, you are the prey, and they stop the fights,

You bend a little to open the closet to take some bhujia to eat,
They watch your every move from hiding, and notice you sweet,
You change your mind and turn your attentions to biscuits,
The aroma travels fast, they smell it even from behind the circuits,

They don’t give a damn about your day in office,
All they care is that where you keep your buns and muffins,
They are dependent on you, on your mess, on your ill deeds,
They love when you spill a little, i.e. their source of multiple feeds,

So when you open your closet, you just… just you freak out,
They are red aliens, they make you red, you see and then you shout,
They are plenty in number and you can’t keep them from reproducing,
You cannot outnumber them, try if you can, I’ll see you cussing me refusing,

Your BP goes higher, your nerves go stern,
You forget every manner, the education you learn,
Bring me the 6 weeks challenge, I need to buy the Laal-Wala hit,
Oh crap, what’s this dust around here, is this cockroach shit?

I will kill the mother’s mother of this tiny red roach,
Being the most violent person alive, close your eyes insect lover, don’t watch,
I’ll crush you beneath my feet, spray your generations away, you red black clown,
You will forget screeching in night, you will cripple if I keep you upside down,

But wait oh, oh god, what are you doing, climbing up my body, I am shivering,
Oh damn, you had it enough, you brought all your clan, ouch, you prick, was it your sting?
Oh bloody, you brought your whole army, let me call 911, 100, 108,
I feel light, oh you picked me up, I am feeling light, no weight,

I see you covering me from head to toe,
It was right, you reap, what you sow,
Ahh, so you implanted me with your venom, I see light through the tunnel,
The stings were deadly it seems, it was forcing my whole body through a funnel…

Sorry roaches, sorry flies, it was my mistake, not you, I came into your home, I am sad,
Now when I have died, here are my last words, I got killed just for saying, all humans werent’ that bad…