Winter

The night is cold, wintery almost,
This guy sits alone by the bedpost.

In the silence that has engulfed the night,
He embraces the loneliness, letting go of foresight.

The loneliness engulfs his heart,
The cold tempts him to accept the dark.

But he is the son of the Sun,
He doesn't know another promised one.

He realises the naturality of lust over love,
Holds true for the imaginary gods seated above.

What does he seek? The only one of his kind?
Maybe humans, for what's right, should take a stand.

On this wronged planet, he has given up hope,
The ladies and the gentlemen, all seem doped.

He can not act like you lesser mortals,
He wasn't raised to.
But this world wants to throw him into,
The isolated well you frogs are used to.

Will somebody tell me,
What was his crime?
That he was a man of his words?
That he was way ahead of his time?

Aadat

Where are my fucking words?

Wasted on humans not worth?

That which I heard in my teens, that one fucking song ,

Cannot be where I shall always belong.

I should make myself a new melody,

Maybe, a melancholic rhapsody.

And I must incinerate the future,

So that my past doesn’t matter.

Happiness is not what I pursue,

I long for peace every single night,

Peace long due.

Destructive habits I do have,

That I could possibly never leave.

But discarding them should now begin.

Beginning with the ones,

My words who would not believe.

Goodbye Miss

Hundreds of words I have killed,
Over the last couple of minutes.
Words of substance should be scarce,
My Words are in dire need of cuts.

And so I make this detour,
From my principle of no goodbyes,
I am a simple, righteous, Godly man,
I can not live your dreams, your lies.

Unless I announce now,
I might be tempted to look back.
And what better place than here,
This is solely my territory,
And only these words talk back.

I have been exposed as mortal,
Over the last three years or so.
A conscious decision I wish I forget,
And may so the people who know.

I have been a man of uncompromising ideals,
And been with women of all kinds claiming so.
Tonight I bid adieu, to all of you.
No hard feelings, hope you know.

And no, I am no misogynist,
I am a misanthrope,
Denouement is not my expertise,
I have always been mindful of my scope.

Now I know

Why do the poets of the fall lament,
Sacrificing of our beautiful souls?

The impossibility of letting some people go,
They who love you and that you know.
The pain that lives forever, but we never show,
Now I know. Yes, I know.

I am a cold old man now,
Who am I kidding? I was never fun.
But my heart has run out of love,
I have none left, to give to anyone.

I hope they who have had it,
Preserve it well,
As for me, I have always lived in the past,
That story I need not tell.

People lose their senses to their ego,
Think a lot about a better tomorrow.
But the emptiness that follows?
That never ending sorrow?
Do you now know?
'Cause now I know. Yes, I know.

Alexander Pope

It is a tedious task,
Shelving memories.

Becoming
What you are not meant to be.
But the world wants to see.

We sit here, clueless!
Do we even need this done?

I have been told,
They have done it already.
I can do it too,
But the motive is missing.

Alarming, is the level,
of this Fucked-up-ness.

My wishes to the humankind,
May you never face,
A situation where ,
You need to claim you have loved again.

Love is a one time affair.
About other lies,  you needn't care.

Some play Gods,
Some act cool,
In the journey called life,
Blessed indeed are the forgetful.

Optimism

I sit and introspect. 

The things I have let go. 

Innocence is what I miss the most,

I couldn't notice it leaving though. 

I don't regret what life did to me. 

Cause life happens to us all, let it be.

I can just sympathize with it,

For having had to deal with me.

I shall forgive and will try to forget,

But would stay physically detached.

You would not be thrown into oblivion,

A once in a while cup of tea, is not that bad.

Cassandra

The point of no-return is in vicinity.

Maybe I should run and try,

To stop living a lie.

Or should I slow down,

Let the feeling linger, a little longer?

I've heard that time heals; makes you stronger.

My fickle mind flickers like a flame,

This moment I am this, the next that.

Atychiphobic  was the boy, as is the man.

What I really need is to stab my p_n_s,

Into the black hole at the centre of the universe.

Having fucked the world, I wish it just disappears.

Peace be upon us!

Frailty- Thy name

The puddles of water, lead to a random thought,

About the filth this city has introduced me to.
My conscience keeps wiping my mind clean,
My soul is tired, always seeking avenues new.

What have I wanted from life, really?
A plain, simple and stainless existence.
I am a well learned man,
Do not expose me to pretence.

The short story of my short life,
I will someday share.
With people who don't give a damn,
But read them as if they care.

The story would be real but not new,
The world has since ages known the same.
A man is perhaps born immoral,

But frailty never had another name.

The seventh phase of life

This is a world beyond repair,
Rectification is impossible.
Ignorant people, full of pride,
At the drop of a hat- helpless, gullible.

No moral order, I can seek here.
Always right was Shakespeare.
But such awe of the stage?
Everyone breathing is a player?

Writing a story is not worthwhile,
Each person is at max a chapter.
But words are still the best place,
To bury a character.
In the real world,
Death is the ultimate master.

With heavy steps and heavier hearts,
Fresher perspectives need to be sought.
The Game? To each one his own.
Yours truly must chase a novel thought.

Genesis 1:3

The world in turmoil,

Chaos everywhere around.

The poet in a crisis of his own,

No light, No sounds.

Dark have been the days,

But no fucks given tonight.

God instructs himself-

Let things be “ Lite” .

Happiness!

Is’nt that a welcome sight?

Happy faces, happy lives?

Sunshine and flowing locks of hair,

Some clean mountainous air.

What does this world need?

If not happy lives, at least, happy stories.

This one needs to be left untouched,

It is one fine ending, no worries.

In his quest for suffering,

The poet must move on.

Stuck neck deep in the past,

He needs a muse to come along.

Too busy scribbling amateurish poems,

Or trying to write that perfect song,

He must concentrate on tragic prose now,

It is perhaps, sometimes, not too late to right a wrong.

He has known hope,

Slightly distorted lips, really big eyes.

Now that he wishes to no longer cling on,

She just refuses to die.

But isn't it always right,

To let stories meet a natural end?

Natural is subjective, open to possibilities,

Exploring that, is my intent.

Ashutosh is dying,

He has little time left.

It is time to dedicate him a story deft,

Before he has permanently slept.

Ashutosh

As his blood thins by the day,

His words desert him,

Tired of the long thirty odd years,

His chances are slim.

A man lonelier, I have never seen,

He is like fungi, on shit he has grown.

Fuck lovers and friends,

Even a family he has never known.

How do I comfort him?

I am a tough dog now, I don’t cry.

I wish I could showcase his life for him.

But let it be. Let the poor man die.

Fantasies, a poet can’t live by,

I wouldn’t bother asking why.

Can’t help free people acting shy,

Some people don’t get to say goodbye.

She

The canvas I wished to paint,

Eternal love, Lived by a mortal.

The world says will be forever incomplete,

Doubts have bugged me too, sans the bottle.

I hate why stories last so long,

Let one of them die, write them a song.

The protagonists however manage to live,

 And bring irrelevant characters along.

But I really hope that you live,

And I too manage to beat time.

And if not now, if not in this world,

Someday, somewhere, you shall be mine.

Till then, we breathe.

Mediocrity

For a major part of my life,

I have cursed my luck.

I let her be the bitch she was,

And never gave a fuck.

Now, in the hindsight, I see,

She was always with me.

No matter how I screwed up in life,

She would get me to where I needed to be.

All I had to do, was to go with the flow,

But the skeptical me, would just wait.

Have I not done things I was supposed to do? Of course.

But always, below expectation and too late.

Epics

Romanticism, is what this poet lives by.
Not read a single love epic- Have often asked myself why.

Would not have let myself get influenced,
By a story lived or imagined by someone else.

Is it not for the soul, to find and live its own love?
To each, its own- Unique is the experience.

Have I not loved the way one is supposed to love ?
Have I not lived my own epic?

If there is a God up there,
I will let him testify; he can take his time.

A home- Dilapidated

The house that was supposed to be,

Lies in cobwebs, I could never see.

A man of plenty experience wonders,

How could life become what it has come to be?

Pushed in here with love,

And expectations for a more mature me,

Naive people, unaware of the worldly ways,

Expected me to grow, as I learn to be.

Somebody should make sure,

A mausoleum is built here for me.

My well wishers thought it would be a cradle,

My grave here is what they will see.

And to anyone willing to consider my offer,

Reach out to me, I will pay a handsome fee.

  

Shadows

All that remains of people,

Over time, are shadows.

And shadows are welcome company,

In lives that choose solitude.

The journey that is life,

Goes on with shadows.

Shadows don't disappoint,

And they lack intelligence.

Their experiences are real, 

If you learn to acknowledge them.

Everyone's art of living is unique,

It's living that actually matters.

Somewhere inside

Blessed, almost omniscient,
This mind refuses to sleep.

Insomniac, since ages,
This body bears the brunt.
But this soul divine,
Wanders, as does conscience,
Seeking truths,
Truths that don't matter today.

Though wander we all shall,
Intelligence doomed us into this.
But isn't truth paramount?
Isn't it worth the chase?

When castles fall,
You choose to fight or you flight,
Mortal tendencies, you can't resist,
But immortality has might.

Ephemeral feelings of the innocent minds,
Your lives guided by the misguided kinds.

Misled once, never again,
People, straighten up your lives,
Takes years to realise the truth,
It's only love that survives.


In hope that this sermon makes sense,
Yours truly may close his eyes,
I hope sleep comes to me tonight,
Now that we have risen over notionsn of truths and lies.

Almost through I just realised,
Somewhere in between, words rhymed.
Though Aryan gets his moments now and then,
He keeps it buried all inside.

Valentine's

Drowning at the deepest depths,
Hope can be found, even in a twig.
When the mind is shrouded by dark thoughts,
Life sneaks in, gives a reason to live.

You reap what you sow,
You repent truths you know.
But the only thing that matters in life,
Is that no love should ever die.

Its only love that together binds,
Our fragile hearts and fickle minds.

On this pious night,
This Godless man says a prayer.
May love take over our hearts,
And we never again hurt, those for whom we care.

Amen!

Adios, Amigo.

Peace is what we all deserve,

Love, not hope, is what we preserve.

Hatred, we must learn to forget,

Like promises that couldn’t be kept.

The human side of us,

We must both accept.

It was nobody’s fault,

Our destinies sealed our fate.

Life lives on, we must too.

It’s time now to let go, for both me and you.

Fare well.