Melancholy- My Comrade

Deeper, deeper, deeper, down she goes,

Comes, nearer and nearer and consoles.

She is my friend, she is eternity,

I love her and call her Melancholy.

When sleepless at night in solitude,

When looking at the stars with no fortitude,

When haplessly, staring at the lonesome sidewalks,

And listening to the night’s silent talks.

She comes and silently stands by my side,

Takes me deep, down on her fantasy ride,

Silently wipes away the dew-drops,

Softly with her angelic hands, she mops,

The corners of the eye-lashes,

Where the pain reflects and flashes.

When shattered, ruptured and tormented heart,

Is further tortured, pained and broken apart,

Like a heavenly bird, she sings a threnody,

And her mellifluous voice glorifies the melody.

Wake Up Woman, Wake Up...

Wake up woman.

Why are you asleep?

See, what they have

Made out of you.

They imposed on you

Hundred promises to keep.

And gave you

Gentle, soft slumbers to sleep.

Wake up woman

How much more will you sleep?

Will you silently believe

What they make you believe?

Oh, what a greed

They constantly feed

Your soul with!

Oh, how unkind

they make your mind

In the name of family!

Your life starts

At the threshold

Of a building called Home.

But beyond it,

Your heart and soul, together roam.

There you are

With malnourished children

In a local aanganbari.

And here you crave

For a Banarsi saari!

Your heart says-

"Go and save

The child that howls

On the streets whole night."

But your Husband says-

"Your child's safe,

That's enough for you."

Wake up woman.

How much more will you sleep?

Will you silently believe

What they make you believe?

They make you Goddess,

They make you princess.

Here you are

With a 'Monalisa-smile'

Here you are

a perfect Merlyn Monroe!

But, how can you forget?

Saint Teresa too,

Resides in you.

" I was The Beggar at Your Door "

    

  You said that You'd stand by me forever,

You said that You'd forget me never,

           Then Why You gave not alms to the beggar,

Who stood knocking at Your door?

You said that You care not for Beauty,

You said that nothing on earth is Ugly,

Then Why by You was refused She,

Who came begging at Your door?

How soon You started praising Beauty,

How soon You found me Ugly,

And thus, You refused Me.

When I came begging at Your door...

" Low - Class - Tramps "

I’m one of

Those,

Whom you call,

Low – class- tramps.

I’m found

Everywhere,

Doing almost

Every work.

Sometimes

I’m seen

At the bus-stands,

And sometimes

At the railway station.

Filthily clad in

Noisome clobber.

Sometimes

I’m found

Carrying loads.

And sometimes

Picking up rags.

Sometimes

I’m found

Washing utensils

And sometimes

Seeking for

Leftovers

Among them.

I feed on, what

You throw away.

And wear, what

You find useless.

And yet sometimes

My clothes

Look gorgeous

For often

I pick- pockets

As

Heavy wallets

Tempt me!

And I buy

Clothes from

Second-hand marts!

The men

Of my lots

Are found

Drunk on roadsides

Sometimes

Teasing the women

Of your lots!

And sometimes

Whistling Bollywood songs.

But

Do not the men

Of your lots

Do the same?

…Well…

Perhaps…

In a

Sophisticated way!

And the women…

Of my lots

Are found

Holding a weeping child,

Begging all the while.

They,

Shy not to beg,

But you

May to give.

But still…

Some of you

Show pity

And thus

Grows their business!

I’m one of

These,

Whom you call

‘Low – class – tramps’.

Found in

Slums and ghettos

And often

Encroaching

Your lands

And the

Public pavements!

The most detestable

Yet

The most wanted

For doing

The detestable tasks!

I’m one of

Those,

Whom you call

‘Low – class – tramps’.

And

The so called‘Uncouth – rouge

' Ravished Dream - Land '

I had my own world of dreams,

Of golden birds and silver streams,

Of mountains blue and forests green.

Where the season was an eternal spring,

Where bees did swarm and birds did sing,

And happiness did joyous colours bring.

But now it’s dark like a gloomy tomb,

And not a single flower does bloom.

And there’s a silence all around,

Like a lonely cremation ground.

It’s all dark but there’s one fire,

Of my burning dreams and desire,

As if they are all put on a pyre.

Here all pains, now regiments make,

As if soon a war would break,

And from me, all my happiness take.

And here would be armies of pain,

Capturing my dream-world lane by lane.

And like a prisoner of war, I would stand,

On my own ravished and looted land.

Hunger

Hunger does have

a mystery,

As the fathomless

Sea-waves,

On dark and dreary

Shores have...

Forward they dash,

And violently splash,

As on a battle field,

But soon retreat silently.

So does the hunger,

It roars and thunders,

But faints, when faints,

The hungry being...

For A Fifty-Rupee Note

There are kids who get plenty of pocket-money to spend on fast-food, cold-drinks, comics and other goodies... yet their greed never ends...and pocket-money never stays...and they are ever complaining...but yet there are other kids ...who are not even treated as kids...and they work very hard the whole day...but can never save a penny on their name...they work as daily-wagers...and get a sum of mere Rs. 50 /- every day....and if they miss a single day....what they get is...starvation,misery,rancour...
This poem is dedicated to all such kids....who work ...but ...

                                   

"For A Fifty-Rupee Note"

Water that washes

Your dirty vestibules

And slimy verandas

Always bear

Tiny drops of my sweat

That I have sold

For a fifty-rupee note.

Food that I cook

For you and your

Starving customers,

Tells the story

Of my Starvation

Which I bear

For a fifty-rupee note.

I sleep all night,

Dreamlessly reposing,

Wrapped in my

Tattered blanket,

On a dirty little cot.

As my dreams're sold

For a fifty-rupee note.

You hit me hard,

I cry not a bit.

You call me names,

I smile shamelessly.

I have no shame,

As I have sold it ,

For a fifty-rupee note.

People fear me,

For I may be

A dangerous criminal.

I have no manners,

And no etiquettes

As I've not learnt any

For a fifty-rupee note.

.......

God is asleep asleep asleep....

God is fast asleep

Do not wake him up

Although he won't wake up

Yet you don't try

How long has he been sleeping?

That's a pretty good question

Yet I know not the answer.

May be a hundred year

Or may be more than that

But I have always

Found Him asleep

Asleep! asleep! asleep....

Things go wrong

people suffer and cry

Weep hard and die

He never comes to 'em

Does He..? No, never..

I've never heard,

Never, never, never...

You pray all the time

And think He'll come

And try to feel relaxed

No, don't just don't

Never, ever do that

Relax not a moment

Relax not a second

For He won't hear

For He won't come

Your, hope is but fake

for He's asleep

Yes, He's asleep

Forever asleep

Asleep,asleep,asleep..

He has his blissful heaven

Where dreams sing forever

Ever enchanting lullabies

And keep Him asleep

It's music is so fascinatig

That prayers 're never heard

And are kept away

Outside the gateway

Of His Heavenly Dreamworld

And there's no gate pass

That could ever take

Your prayers inside....

Let Him sleep

Why make Him worry?

His dreams are beautiful

They are the angels

Who keep the heaven bright

We are ugly unfortunates

Have no place to go

World's a party of strangers

And heaven's doors are closed

For God...is fast asleep

Asleep , asleep, asleep....

not worthwhile yet not worthless

Things are not always that worthless as are thought......
they might not be worthwhile....yet they can't be worthless!!!!!!

" NOT WORTHWHILE YET NOT WORTHLESS"

I am

A drop of wasted sweat,

Can't even

Water the earth,

can't even

Quench a worm's thirst,

Yet I am the

Proof of a man's toil.

I am

An untrodden path,

On which

Walks not a single soul,

Where only

Weeds grow and fall,

Yet I can

Be changed to useful soil.

' Through the eyes of a window"

hi to all well i believe my window does see things the same way ...as i do...it's quite a living entity for me....it's a part of my life ...well can u all imagine a room without proper ventilation? can't? so can't I and my window does every little thing for me....

"Through the eyes of a window"... ( a poem)

Through the broken glasspane,

As far the window could see,

There stood a lonesome tree,

At the corner of the lane.

 

And a courting pigeon-pair,

Cooing on a lamp-post,

In a cuddle were lost,

Spreading love in the air.

And clouds grey and white,

Had elves and fairies,

Playing games in arries,

And an equipage of delight.