Of stories and endings

The world remembers tales

Of blessed starts and tragic ends.

But ask them who lived those stories,

If they want to keep up with the trends.

The protagonists would want to rewrite,

The story that is sold as theirs.

A story that goes on and on,

The end? Who cares?

They would write pages and pages,

The tale shall not have an end, only a start.

The story must live on,

Till death does them apart.

Wouldn't that be a tale to remember?

What would it feel like to witness such a scene?

Alas, all tales have to end,

The story trapped somewhere in between.

Like perhaps chapters,

Maybe even the commas and semicolons,

The final full stop is what matters,

Where the characters bid adieu, their hearts forever forlorn.

Does it make sense? Maybe it does.

Or may be not, I am not sure.

What kind of an end a story deserves,

If at all, it should meet an end premature.

Time shall teach the poet,

How to write prose and contemplate ends.

Happy or sad, he would have to ponder,

The kind of end of his preference.

( P.S: 

I think I have said this earlier,

I will say it again, since, critics I have none.

An end is an end,

There never was a happy one.)

Being humble

When the chips are down,

Life teaches you humility.

Be the best student you have ever been.

You are not always in control,
Of your actions and your breath.
Sometimes you just have to fold hands and wait,
Embrace hope and faith.

Being humble, heals broken faith,
A recent experience has taught me this.

When life is not what you want it to be,
And testing times lay tricky baits,

Just remember what this noble man sayeth,

Be humble, Have faith.

Winter

I am a man high on stuff usually,
Temperature fluctuations, I am oblivious of.
My body is always hot, insulated otherwise,
I am a man hot by nature, though I often cough.

Whether in presence of other warm bodies,
Or in solitude, without any human touch;
I live on like a roach, unperturbed,
Nothing really matters to me much.

But tonight, and I know why,
As chapters of my life, before me, unfold.
Even though a bottle of wine has already been downed,
For the first time in my life, I feel cold.

Refuge

Days before he died, he exclaimed,
"Why does it always take grief to bring us together!"

He's gone; his legacy, I hope , remains,
His words will stay with me always.
But I have been through phases,
Where even grief could not mend ways.

Sometimes it suffices,
To soak in some heroism,
Reality is not worth remembering,
Take refuge in benevolence and altruism.

A little less wise, a little more brave.

Weakness is death,
Inaction is a disability.
Worldly wise men, around them,
See nothing but frailty.

The power to read minds,
And know the desires within,
A tiny bit at a time, fills them with grief,
That from others,they automatically suck in.

Another vow unto his own,
This guy now takes,
If they ever try to break his speed,
He will do away with the brakes.

Nothing shall determine his life,
Not the state of others, not his age.
Shuns his fears and their griefs tonight,
Tomorrow begins the rampage.

Not a man of his words, this time.

Tonight he breaks,
The promises he clinged on to.
He has made a new one,
Come what may, he will see it through.

Intoxicated this God is,
But that makes this moment no less divine.
The world takes whatever it deserves,
I take what is mine.

An old man in the rain

Nothing feels more liberating,

Than a walk in the rain.

For beings like me,

It’s a detour from the living pain.

The experience is more beautiful,

In nights like these,

When the pour down is heavy,

And light flickers in the breeze.

Such nights make me feel young,

And create memories of a time that never was.

I roam the roads like a hero,

Acknowledging the patter as applause.

I come back to reality,

As I see a woman rushing under a shed.

I have grown old,

Reminds me, this umbrella I hold over my head.

An epiphany about an epitaph

To all the smart people of this world,
An epitaph is what I wish I could write for you,
Only If you wished so,
I respect feelings, I do.

Interested ones should know,
How to reach me,
Strangers need not take the pain,
And just let things, be.

You! Yes you, my friend,
Your wish I shall oblige,
Your epitaph I wish the world reads,
In a book that I someday might write.

At thirty, I move on afresh,
The baggages be yours,
I feel for you, bound by limits,
But I have charted a new course.

I wish you the luck,
Whether you accept it or not,
But if you are not a part of the plan,
Your "god" is all you've got.

Blasphemy- by the promised one

What they sell is fear,
What they preach are stories practiced well.
Those dressed in coloured robes are thugs,
And lies are all they tell.

Hopes they sell,
To sedate tumultuous minds,
Tamed, the followers follow,
Ignorant souls draped in opaque blinds.

My conscience,
Will never outshine their talent of deceit.
So, I won't tell you right from wrong,
In your denial, lies my defeat.

I wish you luck in life,
And in your misguided journey of bliss.
If at all I should,
I will tell you this-

No man ever met God,
No man was or will ever be his son.
Writes this disclaimer, ironically,
He who came closest to becoming the one.

A Half Hearted Tribute- To The Old Monk

People live and then they die.

Fools keep their names alive.

Legacies are what they call them!

Fucked up shitheads and their lies.

Convenience is all it is,

To justify cheap over something fine,

Pretending they are a class apart,

As I drink the stuff that’s mine.

Your pretention is your own parasite,

You can keep ranting for hours,

If you really care to pay your tribute,

Don’t play it out for the world, just drink what’s yours.