Something is different today

The music is louder. The train is gliding, instead of running. And, the people around you are more sleepy than usual. You get out of the train and you climb the stairs. It’s really dull outside. Something is different today. Today, it’s raining. But, there is something more.

The road is all muddy. And, there is a strange bokeh in the air, which can be felt and not seen. There are fewer cars than most days and you can almost imagine a train arrive in the middle of the road. Something is different today. Today, you’re in a dream. But, there’s something more.

Everything is falling apart: everything is melting. Everything is melting into darkness and whatever light there was is slowly fading into oblivion. And, someone is walking towards you, through the darkness and through the melting buildings and cars to save you. But, today there is something more. Today, you know that she is walking too slow. Today, you’ve embraced it, you’ve imagined yourself as the hero of a story and you know that heroes fall. Today, you’ve escaped.

By My Side

​If you are a wise old man
Who can tell right from wrong
Someone who knows about life
And, everything else beyond.
If you are someone who can cherish
The beauty of nature and its sounds
And, can love endlessly,
Without being love bound.
Then, know that I look for you
To come and give me hope
For, my friend, I am troubled
And am unable to cope.

But, if you are young, naive
Like me, as is fated
You are tired of life and death
And, all things related
You’ve left many things behind
And, some things have left you
You spent your life collecting memories
And, now that’s all that’s left of you.
Then, know that you’re not alone
And, we can still get through life
Be my friend, I am troubled
For even that will suffice.

NaPoWriMo Day 8: I Look at the Sky Again

I look at the sky again
And, no, the scene hasn’t changed
I look at the sky again
I still see darkness
I look up and I still see only a little star.
A little white shining star in the dark bleak sky,
Like the last time.
Only this time
I wasn’t running
I wasn’t attempting to escape
I was standing still
Staring at the star
The same star
That I had seen the other night
The one I had belittled as
An object which could never enlighten the entire sky
A hope which could never materialise into reality
 A lie which could never become the truth.
And, yet
All the shattered hopes
All the lies
All the failed attempts
The star was still there
Despite all
It was still there
Spreading its light
Taking me home
It had
Enlightened me

This poem is a palinode. The original poem I wrote a few days ago is:  I look at the Sky.

NaPoWriMo Day 5: Hope

“Hope” is a thing
That perches in the soul
It sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all

It utters a sweet symphony
That lets you brave the storm
That protects that little innocent bird
Which keeps your soul so warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea
Hope, it was not a crumb
It was a symphony.

This poem is with reference to the prompt given at The Emily Dickinson poem chosen by me was: ‘Hope is a Thing with Feathers’.

NaPoWriMo Day 3: The Oak Tree

“Tie a yellow ribbon around the old oak tree,
And write your dreams there, Jim
Work a little hard and thou shall have it”

Remembering his fathers’ words,
He rushed out to his backyard,
In the garden of eternal blooms,
Carrying a ribbon in his hand

He rushed across the lush grass
Passing by the grape vines
Ignoring the white daffodils
And refusing the faith of science

He taped an end of the yellow ribbon
On the old tree to begin the task
Then went around it numerous times
For each wish of his past.

“Become an architect”, he wrote
Or maybe eat a thousand pies
In fact on second thought, he wrote
A poet would too suffice.

Word by word and wish by wish,
He filled the yellow, with wishes
Like a bucket list made of hope
The beauty of universe’s dishes.

” I will fulfill all of them”
“Yes, dream by dream”
His innocent eyes shined silver
And, began his mediocre realm.


The daffodils have withered now
And, the vine cries for water
The grass has grown yellow
And the dreams have come to shatter

The yellow ribbon is now torn
Torn with the ruins of time
No one there to look at it now
For Jim is not alive.

It’s been more than 60 years
And nothing survived the rut
60 years gone by super fast
Like a door that was shut.

Nothing was left except the tree
Withstanding the ruins of time
Narrating the story of a boy called Jim
And of his wishes a rhyme.

And it continues to wait now
In irritable tranquility for him
For another yellow ribbon and
For another little Jim.

NaPoWriMo Day 2: I look at the sky

Often, on dreary ploddings
And monotonous saunterings,
I look at the sky.
I actually do that.
I pick myself up,
Put in a little more effort to raise my head
And do it.

I look at the sky,
At its beautiful shades of blue blending together,
Like fog on sill,
All ending up in a picturesque scene.
And, then, I tell myself
“All this, all that I am doing,
All that I am facing
Is too little to stand in front of the sky,
And to even bring to compare itself
With the beauty that the sky is, that life is”

I look at the sky,
At the flock of birds flying together
in a chaotic, calm queue;
At a little bird who just took a flight
And is brave enough to get to the top.
And, then, I tell myself
“All this, all that I am doing,
All that I am facing is but collateral damage.
The sky holds my destiny.
My soul wishes to fly.
It was born to fly
And one day it will get to that top”

I look at the sky.
And, it makes me smile.
It just does.

Today, after another frazzling day,
I take a dreary plodding home.
Only the day was too frazzling,
like the last few ones
And the plodding was to dreary
like the last few ones.
To remind myself of hope and of life,
I look at the sky
But, I see no blue, I see no bird
I see darkness.
It was no longer the same sky.
It was no longer the same time.
It was no longer the same world.
I was late in my daily escapes,
Like the last few ones.
And, now the darkness had struck me
Surrounded me
I look up and I only see a little star.
A little white shining star in the dark bleak sky,
An object which would never enlighten the entire sky
A hope which would never materialise into reality
A lie which would never become the truth.
I look at the sky.
And, I see nothing, but a lie.
And, I do not dare look at it again.

Thus, I write this. I shout this.
I wish to look at the sky.
At the sky, which promised love.
At the sky, which promised life.
I shout it out
I say it out,
For that soul which once wished to touch the sky,
For that soul which is struggling to say it out,
For that soul which is struggling to breathe out the monotonous slavery.
It wishes to shout and shout this out.
It wishes to say it out. I
It wishes to beg for a silver lining.
Because, if it wouldn’t, it would die.
And, I…
I just cannot let it die.

Viva La Vida: DP Challenge

For his whole life , Mr.  Gorakh Lal Mehta never believed in one very particular thing – life.  His unacceptability to the concept of life could be traced back to his childhood .
When he was just 11 years old, his parents were brutally murdered at the hands of a millionaire industrialist. With no one to care,  he, along with all his 7 siblings, was abandoned on a footpath.  Although all the seven siblings were admitted in an orphanage, he was lost In the streets on Mumbai.
He, soon realised, at this very young age, how callous and unsympathetic people were. It appeared as if life ceased to exist on Earth . People were but lifeless – with no emotions, and certainly no love.
Finally, after years of sauntering, plodding, mind-numbing toil, beggary, and brutal exploitation at the hands of  factory worker, he concluded that the life did not exist at all . People were just non living things and had to be dealt the same way .
All that existed and was of value was money, a lot of money –  his passion, his love and his only dream .
Making a lot of  money legally was too difficult. Making the same amount illegally too risky. Somehow , Gorakh Lal managed to fulfill both the tasks, though for him the latter was former.
Now After 60 years and a lifelong history of cheats , frauds and swindles , today, Gorakh Lal’s net worth was
$ 990,000 . His only dream was to reach $1,000,000 .
That day , he received a phone call .
“Hello ? ”
” Good morning , Mr. Gorakh Lal . This is your assistant Dev here . ”
” What is it ? ”
” Sir , I would like to inform you that our deal with M/S Arun and Sons has been finalised . I have fixed a meeting with them for you to once review  the deal . . ”
” Ok , I’ll be there ” Mr. Gorakh Lal never spoke more than necessary . He had never been able to understand the need for polite demeanor, or strait-laced propriety and now, it was too late to learn .
So, he hung up the phone and grabbed his computer. He smiled. After this last swindle, his net worth would be One Million . His dream was about to come true.
Next day,  he got himself ready for his deal with M/S Arun and Sons. He wore his best clothes, and of course, his lucky tie.
” Driver, get the car”
” The Jaguar, sir”
” Yes”
As he set out to begin his day, a long, lanky boy came up to stand in front of him. He grunted.
“Good Morning , Mr. Mehta ” the boy said smiling, in the hope that this time perhaps Mr. Mehta will wish him this time, but he didn’t .
” How many times have I told you not to show me your face  in the morning .”
He always treated him like this. It wasn’t that he,Wasim, had done something: no, only he was too ‘kind’ . Mr. Mehta believed that since, there was no life, no kindness on Earth, Wasim was most hypocritical and diplomatic. In fact, according to him, he was most callous and unsympathetic inside. In most senses, Gorakh Lal thought of Wasim as the millionaire industrialist who killed his parents, for the industrialist, too, in the beginning, acted humble and confabulate with ‘sugar coated words’. Over the years, Wasim had grown kinder and Mr. Mehta angrier. His loathefulness for Wasim was now beyond all bounds .
“Mr. Mehta? your car is ready”
“Finally” He said as he passed Wasim.He reached the office at 10:54 and found his assistant waiting for him with the Arjun & Co. papers ready. He signed on them without looking and went on to his office.

After an 8 hour day, he went home to celebrate $1,000,000.
“Just one more day and I’ll be a millionaire” he muttered as he walked down the stairs.
*Creek* *Crack*
He fell all the way down the stairs.
“Aaah” He cried but no one heard. Of course, there was no one in the room, or the house, in fact. Mr. Mehta had hit his head. It was bleeding heavily.
“Mr. Mehta?” said a familiar voice.
” Wasim? ”
” Sir , you are bleeding! ”
Wasim ran down to him and tried to cover his injury, only to fail.
Mr. Mehta tried to say something but balanced against it.
Wasim carried his body, outside in his own car.

“” Mr. Mehta said panting heavily.

“Go” Wasim shouted to the driver.
Mr. Mehta was not afraid to die, no. According to his concept there was no life in him, or anyone. He was only thinking about two things – one, how to escape from the person he had loathed all his life and two, how to live long enough to make his dream come true .
He glanced at Wasim, who was sitting there anxiously, gently holding his head in his arms. Wasim looked at Mr. Mehta, staring at him .
“Don’t worry Mr. Mehta , you’ll be fine . I will not let anything happen to you”
“I will not let anything happen to you” The words echoed in Mr. Mehta’s mind several times. It is said one’s whole life flashes in front of them at the time of their death and such was the case with Mr. Mehta. He saw his childhood, his mother, his parents, his siblings, the cruel industrialist, all the callous people of the Mumbai streets and in the end, Wasim. Despite all the times he scorned him, and all the times he loathed him, despite all the abuses, the poised words and despite the moments of altercation, there he was, struggling to save him.
He glanced at him, held his hand, and subtly smiled at him hoping to wish him thank you for reviving his faith in life and love. He opened his mouth in gratitude but, was too weak to speak. All he said: Viva La Vida.
And, with this, ended the life of great Mr.Gorakh Lal Mehta,  in the arms of one person he had hated all his life, and with the words that no one had ever expected to hear from him: Viva La Vida, or Long Live Life .

This is my first short story, that I wrote for WordPress Weekly Challenge. Hope you liked it. Leave feedback:)

Momentary: NaPoWriMo Day 24

Through the hills and lands of green,
Was a small town called “Doco Treen”
And there lived a small boy,
Not so small, just eighteen.
Though teen, happy-go-lucky he was,
One day something left him aghast,
His mother was his only family,
And, now away she had passed.

Crying, weeping somehow the kid,
Got himself out of the pit,
A few years got by and then,
Grew up, yes, finally he did.
He married a very beautiful lass,
But, happiness still could not last,
Just married, and just divorced,
Happiness had just come and passed.

The kid was thirty two now,
A rich, proud boy and how,
He’d earned billions, millions today,
All that the world allowed.
But, this too did not last,
Threw him away, his own past,
A forgery two years ago,
His wealth too was soon to pass.

Forty, and what could he do?
Politics, yes that was his suit,
He joined the party that he knew,
And bit by bit, strengthened his root.
One day, using all his craft,
He became the PM of the caste,
But, destiny hospitalized his kid,
His life, indeed, was soon to pass.

On his funeral, he cried a lot,
His only son, his only hope,
Only reminder of his mother, his wife,
Dead was what he loved the most.
He called the finest men of the past,
“Make me happy” The PM asked,
But, none could despite numerous tries,
Except one who said “This too shall pass”.

The poem is based on the famous age-old Persian quote “This too shall pass”.

Eternal: NaPoWriMo Day 16

Other than being a NaPoWriMo poem, this post is also for this week’s DP Challenge.


You may pull out my seeds of integrity,
Buried inside my each and every piece,
You may throw them away out of your cruelty,
You may if you please.

You may blemish them with mud and dirt,
And even torture them with callous sun-rays,
If not satisfied, you may even make me hurt,
Kill me and throw me there, where you threw my integrity away.

But bear it in your heart like an imprint as I say,
That so easily integrity does not die,
I may be dead in my human form but one day,
As a plant I will rise.


If you wish, you may take me and my will,
And then, turn it into dust with heartless pity,
You may throw away on barren lands across the hill,
So, I do not rise like my integrity

You may even freeze the mighty sun,
And let the winds rule the land,
You may even throw away all the water on Earth,
And bind the planet with a poisonous band.

But, bear it in your heart as an imprint as I say,
That my will is made of rock, does not rust,
I may be dead in my human form, but one day,
I will fly as the dust.


Now, you may burn my beliefs and my very existence,
Your minions may bury my ashes through the abyss,
Into the core of the Earth on your insistence,
And out of your cruel habits.

You may destroy the very face of Earth,
Destructing every piece of water, dust and seed,
You may kill every creature, every plant that took birth,
Even seize the winds, the air that we breathe.

But, bear it in your heart as an imprint as I say,
That beliefs do not die, no matter if hurt,
I may be dead in my human form, but one day,
As a volcano, I will burst.

Mostly this poem is misinterpreted. The poem is not a mere emphasis on hope and optimism but also tends to underline the presence of a reason behind everything. The poems shows how the very things that crush you may be later become the reason for your success. For instance, if you look at the first stanza again you will notice how all those things that blemished integrity ( water, sun, mud etc) were in face the very things needed to turn it into a plant and grow.

Original photograph: Simply Blue by Paleontour