The Paper Cigarette

His chest squirms in impending desire,

His brain heavy with content to clear,

Their way out only too well known,

Habit itches his forefinger as he stifles a groan,

Followed by his thumb and middle one,

Three fingers fidget about apart but in unison,

As his other hand reaches out it hesitates for a second,

"Perhaps not now?," his heart pitches meekly,

And he casts a look at the work piled up*, vacillating slightly,

But he grabs the thin cylinder before his mind replies,

And he surrenders to the will of his thirsty fingers -

Which grab it in a frenzy to slake their hunger,

Holding it a shade too well,

Placing it at its rightful place of dwell,

Maneuvering it swiftly,

As he lets his thoughts drift.

As the pen scrawls his thoughts down,

He grips it in tightly, bent with a frown,

His thought currents flow from head and heart,

Through his arm onto the thin chart,

The cigarette scribbles rapidly, struggling in vain,

Hurtling ahead to catch up with his racing mind,

A phrase in a book, another on a bill,

Some on his arm, and even on his table,

He sighs in relief as he empties his ink,

Taking a break, stopping to think,

The contents of his mental vessel now spilt,

He's done, finally, and free to rest,

At least until another thought fills his mind,

Perhaps similar, or of a different kind,

It was a marvel, yes, but would others ever know?

That writing was a compulsion, not a talent for show,

An addiction, a disease, an irresistible urge,

To capture and pen down fleeting thoughts that surge,

And that, at times, the pen-canvas fails to record,

An idea that flickers and dies, especially when tired?

Would they know it's a feat that could come and go,

That writing wasn't by demand but thoughts that could flow?

That though today his work was fresh and novel,

They would, one day, become rusty and stale?

He fears it when alone,

Letting out a soft moan,

They demand another, cheering him on,

While he waves and smiles but cringes within,

 He locks himself, with his paper and pen,

Ignoring the fear, that forever haunts his den.

*The fleeting thought shimmers temptingly

The crux of this poem was written on 27.10.2016 at 2:55am, at C504.

Significant edits, along with putting in a rhyme scheme were made on 31st Oct, 2016 (post lunch). Completed by 4:20pm. It took quite some time, distributed over more than two hours.

Wishing for a Soulmate

“A man's sexual choice is the result and the sum of his fundamental convictions.... He will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer--because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement.”

- Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged*

I crave a heroine*,
Worthy of my company,
Whose heart I win in honour,
And who wins mine in return,
A beautiful, intelligent one,
As I consider myself,
With no dearth of morals,
And a conscience like mine,

I will shower her with love and care,
Giving up to her my heart -
Expending resource and energy -
All to make her smile,
Oh I crave her presence, her beautiful smile,
My hands wish to hold hers,
As she leans her head on mine,
We'd go for a long walk, hands held,
In the moonlight by the still lake -
And I'd lose myself in the ocean,
That fills her deep eyes.

Written on 27.10.2016 21:46 at LH101, IIT Bombay (Walmart test).

*The first line of this poem, perhaps the poem itself, is inspired by a quote of Ayn Rand in Atlas Shrugged, shown to me by Swati Hegde a few days back at Aero structures lab.

வேடிக்கை

மண்ணில் ஒரு பெயரில்லாத்தோற்றம் கொண்டு,

தோன்றிய காரணமோ தானறியாமல்,

பிறந்து, உண்டு, உறங்கி, பேசி, பாடி, ஆடி, ஓடி,

மற்றவையின் இயல்புகளையும் காரணங்களையும் ஆராய்ந்து,

இப்புறம் திரும்பி தன்னை ஆராயும் முன்னே,

அம்மண்ணில் மண்ணாகக்கலக்கிறானே,

இதல்லவா வேடிக்கை?

Written at 11:27am on 24.10.2016 at Aero structures lab, IIT Bombay

Pain

A distracted creature he is indeed,

Fleeing at the sign of trouble,

He escapes pain, engaging in little pleasures,

In sex, in films, or by reading books,

He chooses not to confront pain,

Picking to fly instead,

A coward to put in in short,

He lets his mind well in pleasure,

While hoping the pain to pass,

Upon his return, intoxicated, he finds,

That pain still does remain,

He also sees, in his sight,

A chunk missing from its waist,

There he find the key to quell,

The pain that seems to forever dwell,

Clouding memories of his past,

And so his pulls up his socks, hoping to act fast,

Pain passes in pieces,

Blocking his breath in its way,

The lump it makes in his throat,

Hurts bad, but goes,

Leaving behind hot lessons to cool,

Pain goes when faced and embraced,

In pulses, now and then,

But what it truly needs, to go,

Are time and lots of sleep.

In Search of a Holier Consummation

Oh how I wish, my love,
That there was a union holier than this,
A ritual of communion to make us one,
Oh how I wish could rip my heart to give to you,
To merge your soul and mine,

Why should there be such a meagre means,
A bodily conjoinment,
A nervous pleasure,
To celebrate our wedding,
And the unifcation of our divine love?

Why does our journey,
Have to culminate in something so low?
A physical desire followed by a gross release?
Is this love, my darling?

Oh how I desire a worthy consummation,
Signifying the union of hearts, not just bodies,
Oh of what use is such wrapping of our carcasses,
When we have fused our souls into one?

Perhaps there is none greater,

No feat more sacred,

Than to love each other thus,

Perhaps no ritual holier,

Than that we already did,
When we wrapped our hearts into one.

Vain Love

Inflicted,

By the disease of love,
I stay in vain anticipation,
Craving attention and recognition,
Chasing after opportunities to make memories,
Sacrificing all in lieu of her time,
I stare down the empty road, squinting my eyes,
In an effort to see her handsome form,

She sees not, my eager eyes,

Hears not my racing heart,

But the lifeless road takes pity,

Its heart melting,

It returns my empty gaze.

Come, sit by my grave

Oh dear reader whose heart I may have touched,
I give you my thanks for listening to my work,
You may be a stranger to me, but I am not, to you,
For you have seen a speck of my soul,
And tasted a morsel of my heart,
Pray, I beg you, I may be dead and gone,
But visit me by my grave,
And sing to me a song.

My grave shall not scare you,
For I am timid myself,
A sensitive and mellow man,
I crave your company,
My nights may get cold and damp,
And my corpse may writhe in vain,
I pray to you my only friend,
To come, sit by my side,

I may lie motionless,
Silent and inert,
But I beg you, my worthy friend,
To come, sit by me,

I fear death and closure,
As a kid would, a ghoul,
I'll lie quiet and await your entry,
And revel in the joy of your company,
My life is dark and so shall be my grave,
Yet my heart is all light,
I promise you I won't scare you,
When you come to visit me,

I speak of solitude and the bliss it gives,
But maybe that's only in life,
I know not what death holds,
Perhaps I'll need a friend,
So you, my reader, my friend,
Come, sit by my grave,
Come sing a song or talk long,
But don't leave me by myself.

Don't leave my grave,
I'm not so brave...
I'm sorry if I've hurt you,
Through my writing or in life,
Forgive me and come to me,
Come sit by my grave

Written between 12:28am and 12;45am on 19.10.2016 (night of 18.10.2016) at Aero structures lab, Dept of Aerospace Engg, IIT Bombay.

Initially thought of titling it as "When I'm dead and gone"

A wandering thought

These words that put my mind in labour before spilling out my pen onto paper, they stay there, disconnected from the soul that bore them.. Oh some may perish in vain as victims of the test of time but those that endure?

Oh they are of no use to me even now* - of what use will they be to me when I'm dead and gone?

And tomorrow, when I cease to dwell on this planet, nay, even this plane, people will connect it to a name and face that I might perhaps no longer relate to..

*Well, they do serve the vain purpose of letting my ego gloat with a false sense of achievement when I complete a piece, or receive praise..
Written at aero structures lab, aero dept, on the night of 18.10.2016 (11:30pm or so, perhaps a little after)

In a weak moment..

In the blink of an eye*,
Desire grabs the wheel,
Clouding judgement with a translucent wall,
Jerking one's stance albeit however firm,
As one stumbles, possessed,
By a compulsive impulse to slip,
To taste the nectar of transgression,
Intellect trips and so does sense,
As a powerful urge takes over,
Caprice's eyes meet his,
Before she steps behind him,
Ready to push him into the abyss of vice,
He looks down into that well of contrition,
Contemplating on the joy of breach,
The lips of sin smack in anticipation,
His mind surfaces, facing a moment of choice,
While his feet stagger at the cusp,
Instinct nudges him, and so does compunction,
Once more he trembles as he makes his decision,

The Fall

He picks the easier one as his heart races,
Guilt engulfing him as he gains momentum,
There's no turning back now that the choice is sealed,
The Devil smirks as he falls, weak,
Choosing to relish the fleeting joy,
But alas! 'Twas too short,
A moment's pleasure, followed by,
A lifetime of remorse.

The Abstention

The right choice was harder to make,
Yet a higher joy overwhelms his soul,
His soul revells in a bliss unknown,
And conscience sends a kiss forth,
Yet, a trace of regret stays smeared,
Secluded in a corner of his heart,
And while the brighter side rejoices,
The road more travelled receives an empty gaze,

But the heart is a maze,
With countless corners and passages,
Behind both, conscience stirs,
Revealing yet another sign,
It tells him, as it tells itself,
That even the stumble was a lapse.

Epilogue

The deed done, he looks back,
His head hanging under the weight of his choice,
He assesses his actions with a biased eye,
Praising or cursing the source of his decision,
And slowly he rises looking at it from above,
Accepting the effect as an outcome of his resolve,
With a deep breath and a firm mind,
He embraces his resolve swallowing it whole,
In time he digests the lessons he learnt,
As it adds to the person he's made himself to be,
And the choice he made, it stays with him,
Perhaps as an effect, but evolved into more,
It gains lustre over time,
Condensing into a pearl of wisdom.

Written at 12:53am on 18.10.2016 at C504, H13 IIT Bombay
*This line is a humble offering to the Tamil work, Sivapuranam from Tiruvachakam.

Breaking Free

I break free from the chains that've given way,

Brushing the dust away,

Inhaling the first of many fresh breaths,

Discovering a calm in my depths,

A peace I'd always had but'd chosen to bury,

To let myself think and worry,

No heartbreak was ever inflicted,

As I see now, why I was so affected,

It was never you that'd bound my soul,

Nor my love for you, my girl,

I made the choice to bind my spirit,
Giving up joy and delight,

I gave you my heart, while calling you mine,

In it I sealed your form, forging the chains,

That hitherto bound my spirit,
I built my cell, trapped myself,

And chose to stay imprisoned,

I inked my core and made a stain,

Choosing to hold the pain,
And unlike Him, the Lord's Son,
I bore a cross for no reason,

Until today when I looked within,
When truth slapped my chin,
I shook off the gloom, killing misery,
With no fight or archery,

And now with newly found freedom -
A treasure I'd always owned,
I walk with head held high,
I twitch my feet, clench my fists,
And I take off towards the stars.

Written between 8:58pm and 9:36pm on 17.10.2016 at C504, IIT Bombay

Pondering About Life

Blinded,
Submerged in a sea sans surface or bed,
He lashes his limbs about in vain,
Living life between pangs of desire and pain,
Sometimes balanced, sometimes sinking,
Fidgeting about without thinking,
At times seizing onto a hold,
That he values as gold,
Afraid to let go,
In fear of the unknown -

Clueless and confused, he moves,
Unsure if forward or in reverse,
In this way he lives his life,
Sploshing through the mess,
Yet putting on a show of calm,
A pageant for the blind,
He hides behind the mask of reason,
Yet tormented by absurd fears,

He spends his day fighting friend and foe,
And nights fearing all who come and go,
Unaware he spends his days,
Like there are countless more to come,
Thinking not for a second that he's racing to his doom,

But perhaps death is a gift for his puny soul,
A relief from this pointless rush,
A sleep he needs for his mind to quell,
A peaceful grave to dwell.

Written at 2:08am on 14.10.2016 at C504, H13, IIT Bombay

Mellowing Down

With skin that feels just like mine,
A voice and body slightly different,
A mind and heart I cannot divine,
A person nonetheless, flawed and human,

But a character so gentle,
She mellows my rough soul,
With words of love and a smile,
Softening me whole,

Her presence calms the mind,
Diluting aggression, alleviating rage,
Without words, generating a field of some kind,
Though different in experience and age,

How can one human soften another,
And that, so perfectly though unwittingly,
Be it a wife, sister, friend or mother?
How does the ego submit so easily?

Sleeping Errors

Perhaps I must let it lie,
The sin I'd buried,
But the restless mind refuses to stay still,
Meddling with trivia, blowing them up,
Clouding my judgement, deluding itself,
And prods my inhumed lapse,
Like jabbing a still snake with a stick,
Awakening pains I thought didn't exist,
Pangs of regret engulf me before I see response,
Peace as know it, forsakes me,
Leaving behind a turmoil,
That seems never ending,
And I struggle in vain for relief -
A dormant creature within stirs,
Awakening with a fearsome roar,
Keeping me awake for nights, attacking with guilt,
As new pains surface, deepening the pain,
I die within, as I shrink to void,
And what remains of my life bears it in silence,
For it is left with no choice,
Tears flowing down in response,
While I decay to naught -
And then, after an instance of death,
I reemerge into existence,
Devoid, now, of any pain or guilt,
Virgin and unbound,
Freer than ever before.