Burning Zeppelin

Last step on the stairway.
And the strings break away.

Heaven within grabs.
Skin undeterred by stabs.
Flesh harder than metal.
Impulse willing to settle.

But a bend too much to take.
And an unforeseen mishap.
If not the whole stairway,
I wish I could buy the last step.

The Secret In Her Eyes

Laughter of a child?
Some thoughts running wild?
A deep long sigh?
Or some tears gone dry?
Some ideas insane?
Or a heart drenched in pain?
Those feelings she wants to lock inside
disclose themselves in her eyes.

Make a guess, take the hint.
The truth that lies in that glint.

यादों का सैलाब

छुपाये नहीं छुपता था तेरा नूर हिजाब से.

जैसे छीन लाया हो लाली तेरा चेहरा किसी गुलाब से.

भूलना तो बोहत चाहा तुझको ऐ बेवफा.

मगर उमड़ आते थे हर लम्हा तेरे ख्याल बेहिसाब से.

बन गए शायर हम भी कुछ इस गुमान में

कि फाड़ देंगे तेरे नाम के पन्ने ज़िन्दगी की किताब से.

अब दिन के पहर  गुज़रते हैं तेरी यादों के बगैर,

पर क्या करें, तेरी स्याही न मिटा सके रातो के ख्वाब से.

My Playlist

A song about war, and about political sins,

A song that cries against a war within,

A song that speaks of shifting tides,

A song of a man who contemplates suicide,

A song portraying craving for a woman's love,

A song about a fall from high above,

A song about a life, always ensnared in a bubble,

A song that talks of a relationship in trouble,

A song of the timeless journey through the sands,

A song to break up a failed romance,

A song to boast of his proud possessions,

A song about yore, how he yearns for regression,

A song for a friend who can save him from himself,

A song of trust, of words of heart, and nothing else,

And a song of all his senses that cease to exist,

Is what you'll find in my head and on my playlist.

Butterfly Ear-rings

A long black skirt and she’s wrapped inside it.
The white shirt looks on her to be a perfect fit.
A pair of glasses and two eyes hide behind.
Two lips having dullness of a palish color undefined.
Each strand of hair kempt in a knot too tight.
Grim look on her face - a usual sight.
Unnoticed go among such mundane things -
Her colorful butterfly ear-rings.

Those orchid blooms, and her wide open arms.
Her leap of faith sans the worldly qualms.
A pair of eyes, in them a playful glint.
Her lips haute-coutured in a bright red tint.
A blow of wind and her hair that swirl.
The laughter that breaks away a gloomy lull.
And you’ll notice the expanse of her hidden wings
In the colors of her butterfly ear-rings.

Iambic Pentameter

I had recently posted what I call my first attempt at Italian sonnet, on one of the groups on Facebook. The poem was titled "A lonely road" (you can check it out here on my blog). And based on the comments and discussion that followed, I realized that it was not exactly a sonnet.

An Italian sonnet is characterized by the following 3 attributes:

1. Form - A sonnet is fundamentally a dialectical construct which allows the poet to examine the nature and ramifications of two usually contrastive ideas, emotions, states of mind, beliefs, actions, events, images, etc., by juxtaposing the two against each other, and possibly resolving or just revealing the tensions created and operative between the two.

2. Rhyming scheme - The Italian sonnet is divided into two sections by two different groups of rhyming sounds. The first 8 lines is called the octave and rhymes as follows:
a b b a a b b a
The remaining 6 lines is called the sestet and can have either two or three rhyming sounds, arranged in a variety of ways:
c d c d c d
c d d c d c
c d e c d e
c d e c e d
c d c e d c

3. Iambic Pentameter - This is another important characteristic of an Italian sonnet. Iambic pentameter is one of many meters used in poetry and drama. It describes a particular rhythm that the words establish in each line. That rhythm is measured in small groups of syllables; these small groups of syllables are called "feet". The word "iambic" describes the type of foot that is used. The word "pentameter" indicates that a line has five of these "feet".
An iambic foot is an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. And a line of iambic pentameter is five iambic feet in a row:
da/DUM/da/DUM/da/DUM/da/DUM/da/DUM

While my original poem did have the first two attributes of an Italian sonnet as mentioned above, the third one was missing i.e. it lacked in an iambic pentameter. The poem had a proper rhyming scheme i.e. abbaabba cdecde. It also had a style wherein the first 8 lines posed a problem while the next 6 bore the solution. However, if you observe the rhythm of this poem, it would not be what you expect from an Italian sonnet. And thats because the number of syllables in each of the lines is different, which ideally should have been 10 per line.

I would like to thank Jaime Birch, Andy Morley and Alan Nettleton for letting me know where I was wrong and helping me out on the usage of iambic pentameter. And based on their suggestion, I have made some quick modifications to my original poem so as to make it sound like a real Italian sonnet in rhythm as well. Though I have made use of a pentameter in the new version, it still isn't iambic.

Here it goes:


Heavenly abode is what they all seek,
Through the blazing hells of fire, pass I must.
The road I walk is laid in thorns and dust.
Though the destination appears so bleak,
In tormenting pain I must neither creak,
Nor waver in desire or carnal lust.
In tempest and rains of doom, those who rust,
Are the ones whose lives, as ever end meek.

His name to my lips seems forever glued
Until to the end of desert I reach,
And where awaiting me stands my reward.
My contented eyes see what they pursued,
Since eterne, what they always did beseech.
Its the beautiful sunset boulevard.


As can be observed from the rhythm of this poem, just one of the lines contains an iambic pentameter, although all contain 10 syllables each. The line is: "The road I walk is laid in thorns and dust"

I guess I still have miles to go before I write a true Italian sonnet.

Sepia-toned Photographs

As I open an album of yesteryear,
I come across some faces that look familiar.
Faces smiling in some random pics,
Precious memories caught in those ordinary clicks,
Of those days when we vowed together
That tides of time won’t separate us ever.
Yet walls start growing between us now,
We’ve learned to blame new times somehow.

There’s a photograph of a cozy living room.
Ah, he must also be there one can presume.
He was the one who taught me new ways to live.
With him each ordinary day turned festive.
Together, we used to drink and laugh
To celebrate a raise in salary or a perk,
Or to forget a bad day spent at work.
And now though we live just miles away,
We drift one light year apart each day.

There’s a girl in that pic of shingle beach,
Adorn in a shirt that is color of peach.
A salsa together was our way to get high.
I faithlessly walked to church with her, just to be by her side.
Her lap was where my head always found comfort.
She could recognize each tear in my eyes
even though they stayed as dry as a desert.
And now as her life takes on a new quest,
The best I can do is to wish her all the best.

I make my way to the next photograph,
And I see a face too busy in a hearty laugh.
He’d crack that old joke, and I would smile each time.
If my life is a poem, he has brought all the rhyme.
For all delicious flavors of world he has served,
Or for those feelings of my heart that he so easily observed
That my heart often found understanding too tough,
In this life, I can never be thankful enough.

Faces come and faces go.
But there are those that shall forever glow
In some pictures that were captured by me,
On some photo films, and in my memory.
Some pictures would start ageing with times,
While some would fade away with changing climes.
The ones that shall, however, always stay the same
Are of those, on my heart who have etched their names.

The New World Order

Darkness is distinctly visible in blazing sun.
Whole world seems to be caught in this marathon.
Falsely sanctified Gods being worshipped by millions.
Path of self destruction being chosen by gazillions.
Globe is entirely enclosed in a gloomy mist,
No one minds if existence ceases to exist.
Screams of conscience would keep falling on deaf ears
Until humanity meets its end in not too many years.

Life is eternal, that's what all believed,
But it looks like eternity is short-lived.
A not too distant storm heads straight this way.
The time is ripe when the hunter becomes prey.
Earth trembles when it’s battered; that’s no surprise.
Vengeance is what I see in ocean’s eyes,
And mountains and rivers think alike.
Seasons seem all geared up for a counter strike.

All laws of nature are about to be annulled.
For too long, man has ruled this world.
Its nature's turn to blow his kingdom to shards.
A new world order is on the cards.

In My Sweet Pains I Rot

You tell me love is magical,
And ask me to keep faith,
While my heart takes a leap, and falls again
And I see its burning wraith.
So I dream you in a dream this last time
To let you know of my denial,
That I’ve discovered it all over again,
Love is the reason for all vile.

All life is being pulled out from me
And I’m unsure if I’ll see tomorrow’s sun.
All I’ve got from my unconditional love
Are some scars that shall forever burn,
Like a seven days’ promise
That has turned into a sentence for life,
A love bug’s venom that now flows in me
Or your gentle touch that cuts like knife.

It’s hell that I traverse each day,
Yet somehow it feels like heaven,
It’s bliss to know you’re doing fine;
And in your smile dissolves my pain.
When I see you laugh in joy,
Against my heart ache I strongly rebel.
And born again is my faith.
I tell you love is magical.

'17

A searing pain each second that ticks,
And a new death each moment -
For all my uncommitted sins
Isn’t this too big a punishment?
While my brain goes numb
And suffers jolts of delirium,
Sand keeps trickling down the glass walls
But only atom by atom.

Ever since you and I had
That cute little conversation,
I am high on you,
And on this freaking emancipation.
The hangover would last long
But it’s the sweetest one alright.
It’s the seven days’ wait though
That kills me day and night.

I wish time could fly away,
Or at least keep its regular pace.
Or a magic wand existed
That could wipe out these agonizing days.
Feels like I'm entirely lost in time.
And each day is a year, it seems.
And I don't know when I'll see you again.
Would that be 17th or '17?

The Unbroken Promise

Belligerent are the emotions that confront her today.
Thousand feelings beg her to hear what they have to say.
Whispers in her head scream as she walks the busy street.
Her head spins wild, while numb go her feet.
A perplexed thought crosses her mind each passing moment.
Was it too reckless on her part to be too prudent?
Her mind is too engaged in the ghosts of her insanity,
When she left him all alone in that moment of vanity.

She walks past the street where she last saw him,
When she bid him adieu to pursue her fanciful whims.
He had begged, “My sweet Patricia, don’t leave me in strife.
We’ll get all that you want even after we’re man and wife.”
“Victor, my love”, she’d say, “Make a promise to me
That thou shalt never see me, and I shall never see thee.”
His heart’s strong will was what he had to defy.
It was the wish of his heart throb which he could not deny.

Years had flown by, yet time was standing still,
She mourns each day for the love she killed.
And now, she can’t wait any longer to see him again.
Her heart swept in guilt, her eyes shedding rain,
As she finds him sleeping in peace in that old suburb,
And inscribed on stone the last words from her only love.
“My sweet Patricia, I shall forever keep my word,
I shall someday see you again, but not in this world.”

Pretentious Conversations

All these words you and I speak to each other now
Are filled with total emptiness of space somehow.
They never made much sense while we were we.
They don’t mean a thing now that we are just you and me.
Words of love were often spoken by our eyes.
Would it be justified to call them “the unspoken lies”?
As those were the moments when truth prevailed,
Those were the opportunities that we never availed.

The long eternal silence when your hand rested on mine,
When the last thing we ever cared about was flying time,
Used to speak what a thousand words could never say.
It narrated a story of our very own foolish ways.
And now another silence screams out aloud its existence.
It’s the one that hides in our conversations of pretence.
This silence crawls its way into the banalities I say to you,
Like the proven facts of life we never believed to be true.

There were ten thousand promises that stayed unfulfilled,
And those innocent dreams we shared, that we together killed,
The sweet memories hiding somewhere dormant in our minds,
And two hearts we have stripped out and left far behind.
Would they show to us the mercy that we do not deserve,
And return to us the moments we never cared to preserve?
But then time flies back with no apology or penance.
I guess we’ll learn to live in this inevitable silence.

Born Again

A silence is broken, a life is reborn.
Some lines scribbled, few pages torn.
“Could this break last forever”, I would wonder.
It probably could have. I am well-known to surrender
And compromise on all my dreams, my goal.
Have sold to devil even my worthless soul.
But arose from ashes today, an old ambition,
When you showed me the candle, my sweet inspiration.

From a poet one day, to a nobody the next,
Vision had been there, but halted was the quest.
Love, hatred, jealousy, joy, ache,
Being on cloud nine or a sad heart-break,
All feelings within me evaporated into thin air,
Words got monotonous, rhymes became rare.
Until you provided my poetry a new rendition,
Through the words from your heart, my sweet inspiration.

Years of life were wasted searching for fame.
I mocked whichever fool said, “What’s in the name?”
Never knew the more you try grabbing the sands,
The faster they run off from your bare hands.
But now fame would never give me a thrill,
Nor I would be aroused by a green dollar bill.
What I do beseech now is just the recognition
From your beautiful eyes, my sweet inspiration.

And there’s a promise I long to make to you,
That on this endless quest, I’d always continue.
Would my hands stop again? I’ve got reasons to doubt.
No, they won’t if you’re the one I write about.
They would carve on paper your life’s ode,
Or your soliloquy when you are lonely abode.
And if I could please have your kind permission,
I’d write for you ‘til forever, my sweet inspiration.


PS: Many thanks to the "Sweet Inspiration" who inadvertently helped me write this poem, and was kind enough to give her approval to publish it on my blog, and share with one and all. God bless you my sweet inspiration.

A lonely Road

Heaven it is that all seek,

Through the hells, pass I must.

The road I walk is thorns and dust.

Though the destination seems bleak,

In pain I must neither creak,

Nor waver in carnal lust.

In tempest, those who rust,

Are the ones whose lives end meek.

His name to my lips seems glued

'til the end of road I reach,

Where awaiting me stands my reward.

My eyes see what they pursued,

Since eterne, what they did beseech

The beautiful sunset boulevard.

PS: This is my first attempt at writing an Italian sonnet.

Could it be Love?

He would wonder all along if love exists.

Does it make a man out of the wildest of beasts?

Can a stolen glance make someone's heart race?

Could one soul dance to music from another's silence?

If seven seas separate the so called lovers,

Would they die each moment? Or would they even bother?

And he thinks "World's full of wishful thinking,

But this ain't love, 'coz love ain't nothing."

So he saw her that day in his neighborhood.

A grace so pure, a beauty so crude.

"Oh! What an angel face?”, his eyes sighed.

Life tried to keep its pace, but his heart defied.

And two feet couldn't move, they stood their ground.

Was it beeper in his shirt or his heart's pound?

He thought, "It's the charm most mesmerizing,

But this ain't love, 'coz love ain't nothing."

Is there anything else that his eyes could do,

Than see her each night in a dream or two?

Could they ever return to sanity again?

In the book of poetry, they searched her name.

Oh yes! In every single word he would ever read.

Infatuation it was, or so he believed,

That turned his fall into most beautiful spring,

But this ain't love, 'coz love ain't nothing.

It took a li'l while before her eyes met his,

In him, she did find her eternal peace.

She longed all the time to hold his hands,

And dance a salsa until the world ends.

A fire scorched her heart, and he could feel the same.

He kissed her and let them burn in that raging flame,

Thinking it would die out like just another fling.

As this ain't love, 'coz love ain't nothing.

Today, he walks all alone on the lane he chose,

With shadows from his past, how she spoke her vows

To a man who ain't the one she loved.

It was love, while he thought his senses bluffed.

Why didn't he say to her all the right words?

And listened to what his heart always whispered -

"Mate! It may not be to the best of your liking,

But if this ain't love, then love ain't nothing."

Can you tie down a flame?

You may tie me down in an iron chain,

And pull its ends with all your strength.

You may use your brutal force again,

And hope that I would die in pain.

You may grind your knife's edge, if you'd like

To behead me, take away my life.

Or even put my neck in a noose.

Try killing me sir, the way you choose.

But haven't you heard of what they say.

This burning flame ain't a giveaway.

You tear me apart, I spread out.

You pierce my heart and I burn aloud.

More you poison me, nearer I reach my glory.

Your hands will burn trying to end my story.

And more and more you'll cry in anguish.

But you see, this old flame won't extinguish.

All fire and blaze, that’s not me.

Sir, you don’t know me in entirety.

Have you seen the lamp in that watchman’s shed?

How it guides him, while he earns his bread.

Or those candles, that stand before God in church?

If the virtues in me is what you search,

In the darkest of darks, you’ll see through my light.

I’ll burn myself to turn your dusks bright.

Worst Days Ever

Reasons and explanations, all seem to have ceased.
Each day brought a new life once, all it brings now is disease.
Is it just me who suffers, or is it the whole world?
Have I gone mad, or is universe really in a whirl?
Are these problems that spawned still in their teens?
Or Could these be the worst days I have ever seen?

Each night I sleep, I pray for better tomorrow.
But morning only brings fresh stink of sorrow.
Workplace seems to be nothing more than a joke.
They call me names, and then blame me for being provoked.
Am I an employee to them, or am I a living machine?
Could these be the worst days I have ever seen?

Broken are those strings that we yesterday loomed.
Consumed by these times of havoc and doom.
We walk two different paths that would never meet,
One leads to peace and salvation, the other to greed.
The rare times we talk over phone, we end up in screams.
Could these be the worst days I have ever seen?

A bunch of best friends, thats what we were.
How it all fell apart, now none can gather.
Our hearts were filled with love for each other so true
Then how could we end up as Group one and Group two?
She blames him for his rudeness, he blames her for being mean.
Could these be the worst days I have ever seen?

Is there an end to these days, or are they here to stay?
Would I die in my cube believing I would be rewarded one day?
Can we tie the broken threads we have into another knot?
Would we friends write one story again from our randomly connected plots?
All I am left with now is hope that these days would end soon.
Or a wish to sleep and never wake up to see the burning gloom.

Death Should Wait

Fly like a bird in open skies,
See the world from highest of highs,
Lighting up some blind man's eyes,
Being the truth in a million lies,
Answer to all whats, hows and whys,
Sound of Eureka after thousand tries,
Each one of these is a special prize,
I want to receive, before this heart dies.

A cringing hungry beggar's bread,
A priceless tear from her eye she shed,
A little bud planted on flower bed,
Blooming into a rose so red,
Timeless knot in a broken thread,
Silence in the air after all has been said,
All of these things, I would be glad,
To know that I have been before I am dead.

A rising wave in deep blue sea,
Prince Charming of a girl's fantasy,
A butterfly, a spirit too free,
Endless shade under a banyan tree,
In midst of riot, a harmony,
A metaphor in the book of poetry,
All of these, I want to be,
Before they dig a grave and bury me.

A Dagger Stabbed Heart

She brought me to this world to leave me alone,
With no roof on my head, no place called home.
None to call me his or her, no distant kin.
They named me ‘The Unwanted’, ‘The son of a sin’.
Life could not have asked for a better start.
Born was the child with a dagger stabbed heart.

They stoned me as I moved from street to street,
To find some pride and hope, and bread to eat.
Countryside, towns, valleys, mountains I scaled,
Searching for a new life, but to no avail.
With a shared room and petty job at a mart,
I lived my life with a dagger stabbed heart.

She was an angel, an angel named Marie.
The only one who ever cared for me.
A touch of those hands, a look in those eyes,
Brought me new hope, a sense of pride.
I thought all my pains were now to depart,
When she fell in love with a dagger stabbed heart.

But how could God have been on my side.
She never came back after one fateful night.
This dead heart sank in the flood from these eyes.
“He murdered that angel” were people’s cries.
I was left with no hope, a soul too jarred,
And nothing more save a dagger stabbed heart.

Lying alone in a ten by ten cell,
With no regrets in life, and nothing to tell,
I wait for the sands of time to fall.
Five o’clock morning, I hear hangman’s call.
“It’s time for your body and soul to part.”
Dead Man Walking with a dagger stabbed heart.

PS: The theme of this poem is inspired from the song “Hazard” by Richard Marx.

Lady In Green

Another day in a life so mundane.
The same old streets leading to same old lanes.
Plastic people wrapped in fancy attire.
Falling to depths as they grow higher.
But something’s fresh today in air it seems.
There she turns up – The Lady in Green.

I watch her from a distance, as she walks along,
Swaying to the tune of some imaginary song.
Each step she takes is a new festive season.
She makes me a poet for more than one reason.
She’s charming no less than a princess or a queen.
Here she comes – The Lady in Green.

I think it’s the sun, I am very wrong though.
The shine I see is from her pink skin’s glow.
And the rays I see are her brown velvet hair.
She was born as an answer to a million prayers.
I think I met her earlier in a beautiful dream.
As she comes to me – The Lady in Green.

And as she reaches me, our eyes glue.
Her ocean eyes, I take a plunge in deep blue.
I take her hand, pray to the Divine,
And ask her the question, “Would you be mine?”
She nods, I thank God for this memorable scene.
Here I am with My Lady in Green.