Shutting the World Out

He'd suffered heartbreak,
Or had his mind twisted by book, talk or thought,
Reckoning he no longer needed the world,
He attempted to shut it out,
But who in truth even knows what it is,
Let alone outrun it.
He drew lines and curves,
Setting boundaries for himself and others,
Resisting human and excess material contact,
Was he happy or not?
Strange indeed are man's needs,
He wants people but prefers alone,
It is not a balance that he seeks,
He constantly craves the other when in one,
His inner turmoil kindled by himself,
He blames the outer world for it,
And the world, no matter how hard he tries,
Seeps in, like a heavy flood into a weak house.

The End?

Does death end a person?
Perhaps the soul is trapped,
In a motionless body,
Crying out to not burn or bury,
Still feeling pain and agony,
In spite of inertness or decay,
While we, being hasty beings,
Carried away by what we deem right,
Pay no heed to such calls for help,
Discard the carcass mercilessly,
Like a kid would throw a toy,
That refuses to dance anymore.

The Walk to the Scaffold

They held his hands from both his sides,
Down the narrow passage,
Their steps echoed forth,
But hardly heard by him,
His feet felt like heavy iron shoes,
His limbs numb, refusing to move,
He dragged himself forward,
His heart pounding hard,
Knowing these were its last beats
He tried to cherish every tread,
Knowing they wouldn't be retraced,
His throat was parched, his lips dry,
His eyes trying to cry,
He couldn't hear, couldn't think,
Couldn't even gulp,
Couldn't say a thing,
He tried to dry his eyes, to think of his life,
To regret his crimes, but remorse wasn't going to pay,
His loved ones seemed aeons away,
It mattered not, they'd forsaken him,
Now nothing was going to change,
No friends, no wife, no family could help him now,
His life stared back at him, an empty heap of thoughts,
He struggled within, his heart racing,
Until it settled on him,
He gave in, stopped resisting,
Letting it fill him up,
All he wanted now was for it to end,
And as quick as that could be,
He raised his head, glanced at the scaffold,
And it returned his empty gaze.

*Written on 20th May, 2016 at 5:53am at B001, H13, IIT Bombay while watching Jesse Pinkman being tortured on Breaking Bad
Title was previously The Walk to Death

The Tour Guide

They came from a land far away,
Spending with him their entire day,
They knew not who he was,
Or whence he hailed,

But embraced him for who he was,
Passing no judgement, keeping no secret,
Sharing their food, jokes and their love,
They treated him as no different from their own,

His joy knew no bounds when he was with them,
He opened his heart, shared his secrets,
Showed them the best locations,
In all earnest

He was drenched by their warmth,
Oblivious to the passage of time,
He revelled in their company,
He forgot all worries.

Before they realised it, it was time to part,
He didn't know which hurt more -
Saying goodbye or quoting his wage,
With a heavy heart, he waved and let.

This treatment wasn't new -
Tourists could always be categorised,
But why was it that even after years of being a guide,
The kind ones kept making his heart melt.

Birth

A disgusting act,
Performed to signify a lifelong pact,
Sometimes without it,
Merely in a spur of the moment,
In answer to a craving,
With senses raving,
A few seconds of joy,
Triggering months of agony,
A burden borne as penance,
By the two who profess its creation, by choice or by chance,
Do they really know what created life?
Is it an entangling of bodies of husband and wife?
Or some inexplicable force?
That brings in and runs life's course?
The sprouting of the offspring softens their hearts.
Transforming them gradually from spouses to parents,
Whence came this purity, suddenly after marrying?
Did it exist all along or develop in carrying?
When did these minds get clear of all the stench,
A lot of which makes one's mind wrench,
Acts in a gross sense disgusting,
Both intercourse and birthgiving,
Deep down, however, beneath the seeming filth and dirt,
Lies beauty, purity, innocence and a life yet to see all that - a child.

Written on 18th May, 2016 at B001, H13, IIT Bombay at 3:46am

A Sibling

The closest person to your own self,

Born the same way as yourself,

Seemingly different but similar in inexplicable ways,

Growing up the same way as you did, treading the same path,

Experiencing the same feelings, the same thoughts,

Understanding you with a mere nod, sometimes not even that,

Connected in strange ways, sometimes merely humming the same tune,

At others, sensing your heart from far far away,

A reflection you can stare at, fight with and admire,

Nothing short of a gift from God.

Doubt

Who are these people

Or rather what are these creatures?

Embodied living things like myself,

Or are they merely lifeless imitations of me?

They express some things I feel and I can't help but believe,

That they are indeed like me,

While such a thought is reassuring,

To know that I am not alone in what I call this world,

It answers no questions,

Solves no mystery,

The greatest mystery, however, remains,

That I question the existence and behaviour of all that I see,

But not this I who sees,

An entity that takes itself for granted,

Before one even grasps the import of such a doubt,

The screen that blinds one takes over,

Pretending to think logic and science,

Brushing aside real questions of life and its purpose,

Until one day when

The brain that functions, and the body it thinks about are turned inanimate,

By that other mystery, Death

Beauty

It was born with her, it grew with her,
Earning her attention and words of praise,
Words that were once received humbly,
But later sunk in, taking away her modesty,
It got her a job, earned her followers,
Why, it even won her the man of her dreams,
She thought it was one with her, and would never desert her,
Too bad it was only skin deep, it never sunk into her head,
She never realised that all this would go, that one day she would drop dead.

A One Night Stand

A mutual spark,
Or an attempt that worked,
It could be a long term pursuit,
Or a pick up like that clicked,
They knew they had a vibe, they think,
Not pausing to wonder, even for a blink,
They approach each other, suspending sense and thought,
Hoping to make even more out of the night,
They hunt for a room or just a quiet spot,
Hasty, in a frenzy to engage in the act,
Claiming to 'enjoy' an evening,
As if there's no way for that but smooching,
A night they both knew they will forget,
But for some reason, nurture no regret,
Believing they are enjoying each other's presence,
While, in truth, it is merely the pleasure of indulgence,
Human craze manifests in ways that are, to some, despicable,
Even in an age where gratifying hormonal whims is fashionable,
An age of forgotten chastity,
Of neglected morals and ruthless audacity,
They tell themselves that they had fun,
Reminding each other that they had to run,
They bid goodbye, never to meet again,
Emotional beings feigning cold, but for what gain?
It is victory for both, or at least for the one that tried,
If such is victory, where is true pride?
They say it is forgotten, a one night stand,
But I'm sure it's it's a night that in both hearts, will forever stand.

Written on 2.5.2016 at 6:30am at B001, H13, IT Bombay

On Upendra Yadav

A brother, more a guide,

Who's walked with me, helped me with every stride,

A selfless boy,

A source of joy,

Loved by all, a man none can hate,

But perhaps none would want for a soul mate,

An unassuming lad,

Who is seldom seen sad,

A fierce mate who wouldn't hesitate, in the nick of time to teach his friends,

A student to whose understanding science bends,

Certainly a sportsman even when not on the field,

To whose limbs every sport yields,

His hands always full, usually handling a ball,

Occasionally engaged, scribbling his ugly scrawl,

An avid drummer,

But a terrible hummer,

Ever ready to listen to a roommate's whine,

Providing valuable insight every time,

Our dear roomie whom we love calling "zeher",

You've got a place in our hearts forever,

It's going to be hard for Mangesh, Ashit, Raam, Sandy, Prasad and Shubhu,

To even imagine IIT in without you,

We'll miss those iterations of shehar ki ladki,

And one or the other of us losing our room key,

We thank you for those long night talks and unforgettable memories,

And hold you in a warm, tight embrace,

Etching your face in the core of our hearts,

With a heavy heart, now we part.

Written by me on 1.5.2016 at 1:48am, lying on my bed