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.

Who am I?

I open my eyes
And rise from the bed.
I look in the mirror
And see a man half-dead.
I soak myself in bath
Yet come out dry,
As I try to recall
Who am I?

The suit in the closet
With a very fine crease.
I wear it on,
But with a lot of unease.
The shoes are shining,
And it’s a matching tie.
I look so perfect, but
Who am I?

I go to the church
To say my prayer.
I look for Jesus
Desperately in despair.
Oh Lord, cant You see
That this son of Thy,
Asks You a question
Who am I?

Some people say that
I am an angel of Christ.
While others fear me
Call me devil in disguise.
They pour their love on me
They avoid my eye.
But no one tells me
Who am I?

But when you come along,
A look in your eyes,
Clears the clouds
And opens the skies.
Those beautiful eyes
Tell me who I am
You are my love
And I am your man.

A lesser known Poet

It has almost been ten years now, since I last put pen on paper. Now don’t take it too literally. I agree that I haven’t touched either a pen or a sheet of paper in past 2 years I have spent in Software Industry. And thanks to MS-Word, xls and several other tools emerging from the gates of Gates-Factory in the recent past. These tools are helping our environment by replacing paper, ink, pencils and pens by floppies, CDs and microchips which are less harmful and self destructible in 5 seconds (the self-destructible part, I had seen in some movie, whose name MI memory is not able to recall right now). Another thing that MS-Word and its kin have been able to do is, save valuable amount of money spent by writers like me, who waste 1 notebook and 1 ballpoint pen, just to scribble a single page of ideas. Writers of my kind can now save valuable Rs 5 and valuable Rs 3, otherwise spent on a notepad and a pen respectively. Rather, they can use a PC, which is now a household commodity, costing as less as Rs 15000 only.


Without wavering from the point anymore, I would like you to understand the figurative meaning of what I said earlier regarding putting pen on paper. It was in Standard 8th, that I last composed a poem. I can call it as my masterpiece, as it received a standing ovation from each and every classmate of mine present in the room. It was composed as a part of home-assignment given to me by Sister Agatha, my English teacher. The poem that I had penned was titled “My favorite movie”, and was an ode to DDLJ, that was released previous year. The first lines of the poem went something like this:

“Raj was a boy who lived in London,
He fell in love with a girl named Simran.”


That was in 1997. I usually am not very good in remembering dates (you can find the proof in my history grades, or you can ask my ex-girlfriend who broke off with me on the her birthday.). However, I can remember the year 1997, because that year, I had marginally escaped failing in English. When reprimanded by my parents, I put the blame on Sister Agatha for her lack of knowledge of literature, poetry and art (cinema included).


So that was the end of the beginning of a new era of poetry. A poet was killed as soon as he was born. And soon in his thoughts, literature and art was replaced by science and mathematics. Probability replaced poetry, electronics replaced essays and arithmetic replaced art. The likes of Picasso, Shakespeare and Milton had to make way for Newton, Pythagoras and Rutherford. And like every other kid in the block, my second ambition in life also changed to becoming a rocket scientist rather than a poet. (No need to mention that the first ambition in life of each kid in each block of India is to become Tendulkar.)


Now you must be wondering, what inspired me to put pen on paper again after 10 long years. Well, most recently, I happened to see the Leisure section of my company’s bulletin board. Under normal circumstances, I am among those who avoid reading BB, as it is normally full of avoidable topics like “I hate Canteen Food” or “I put an injured bird on staircase, but when I came back it had disappeared”. However, that day the circumstances were, by no means, normal, as I had seen a stray dog in the company premises. I had to post the incident on BB by any means, in order to start a meaningful discussion. And as I opened the Leisure section of the BB, the first thing I saw was a beautiful poem, written by a person whose name I would not mention in this article, because I am too busy for such trivia, with project going live next week and still 5 programs to be tested. So I went down the memory lane to those days of yore, when a poet in the making was lost in the trivia of science, maths and Tendulkar worship.


So, my dear friends!!! I promise you all that very soon, you will see a beautiful poem from me. And the poem is going to be much much better than the one I wrote in standard 8th, not because my style of writing has changed, but because my taste in cinema has moved towards more sophisticated and meaningful movies like RGV ki Aag.

God wasn't there

Almighty God, what brings You here
After a long twenty years gap?
What is it that You want from me now,
That You stand on my doorstep?

You were there when I was rich with plenty,
When life was sans a blemish.
One fine day, when riches were gone,
With them You also vanished.

Where were You that fateful day
when You left me alone in strife?
Where were You on the doomsday
When he shot a bullet in my wife?

Where were You those dark mornings
When there wasn’t a sunshine for me?
Where were You those gloomy nights
When stars and moon I couldn’t see?

You were gone when I wanted You the most,
When none was by my side.
And now You come back when tables are turned,
When its my turn to throw the dice.

Now that I seek vengeance for the sins
The vendetta for that slaughter.
Now that I’ve got a chance to even up
With the blood of his daughter.
Now that he’s crying for forgiveness,
he is down on his knees.
I live that doomsday each moment of my life
And You ask me to forgive him please!!

I sharpen my knife to pierce her chest
And with that single stroke, his heart.
But something pulls me back instead.
I cut those knots apart.

He thanks me for my kindness.
You wonder why such a thing I do.
Its neither Your wrath, nor You I fear Almighty
Its because I am more God-fearing than You.

(Heavily inspired from a poem of same name found in my trash bin)