Poem: Back into Harmony

She was always around me,

but anonymous was she,

under the hood,

a locked treasure.

I wish, I snatched her then

and left no regrets remain.

If only, I had found the right key,

had I written the right note on the staff,

up had been my life’s graph.

Love was always in my kit,

but masquerading was it,

behind the veil,

bag full of gold.

I wish, I played together, black and white,

Had I made all pieces fall in the place right.

Those were omens, the singing birds

and the old Radio, my friend.

If only, I listened.

Music was always there,

lost somewhere in the air.

All I had to do is knit the harmony,

to turn monotony into euphony.

The strings are now attached

and my heart now skips a beat

in melodious rhythm and retreat.

It sounds like percussion,

a bell rings

and pushes me on my way, to conquer my Passion.

Ashish

You Might Also Like: Zero Mile

Poem: A walk through the future

Hello Reader

This evening I was in my hostel and near a washroom I heard the sound of water flowing out of a tap. Someone might have left it open. So, I just went and closed it. Then I realized that there would be so many taps in different corners of this world which would be leaking, left open or even tap-less wasting a huge amount of usable water.
And one day this will lead to a huge water crisis.
Then we also have, to make the scene more uglier and intense, air pollution, deforestation, CFC gases killing ozone, etc

So here is a small poem on the same.
My recent researches on Time Travelling have helped tell you the tale from a sci-fi angle. :)
here it goes...

When it began,
it certainly was a dream,
but now he knew, it wasn't.
He was witnessing the tomorrow, today.
Travelled to the future,
where everyday was a doomsday.
No rain since ages and impotent soil,
all he could see was chaos and turmoil.
The world war three was about to trigger,
and nations debated over the last drop of water.
To peep into his future, he was so keen.
'Is this what I wished to see?', he thought.
What a waste of a Time Machine.

When it began,
it certainly was a dream,
but now he knew, it wasn't.
He saw a fish in the pond,
too much stoned to respond.
He explored, but negative.
There was no butterfly.
Everything was blue, except the sky.
Nothing was green, expect the Battleships and Military.
On the positive note, smokers stopped taking tobacco puff,
the corrupted air was poisoned enough.
The count of holes on the ozone were now umpteen.
'Is this what I wished to see?', he thought.
What a waste of a Time Machine.

When it ended,
he knew, it was a nightmare.
But now he is wide awake and well aware.
It is time to save water, petroleum,
and the endangered ones.
Unless they are to be kept at a museum,
for the generations to learn about their heir.
World should unite for it's longevity,
as fighting over nuclear issues, isn't fair.
The Mayan's prophecy can still be jinxed.
The holes on the ozone can still be fixed.
The forests on the earth can still be green.
"Not my past, but I can write my future!', he thought.
For showing me my future, Thankyou, Time Machine.

Ashish

Poem : Rags and Riches

Hello Reader,

Few days ago, I was watching an Old bollywood classic called 'Boot Polish'.
This movie is basically about poverty in India which revolves around two orphaned kids who rely on begging and later decide to earn by polishing the shoes of the people.
It was in 1950s this movie was made and the children in the movie dream of a future India with no Beggars and poverty.
But, sad to say, today in India, more than 75% people earn less than average income. (100 rs.)

Reasons : Corruption and Illiteracy. The same old.

Some have no food to eat at all and some are unhappy about the dis-satisfactory garnishing on their food.

So here is a small poem dedicated to the same topic and to the children who are unfortunate to born poor and remain uneducated and poor. I wish, People, who are capable of earning enough to live a daily routine, spend a little on the Poor too instead of spending all on self comforts.

Here it goes...

He looked,
through his naive eyes,
at the Creamy people on the Earth.
The minority crowd,
enjoying the handsome lifestyle,
from the day of their Birth.
He knew he was the majority,
deprived of the primal Needs.
He did anything but beg,
wiped tables, earned a little,
but through his Deeds.

He looked,
through his naive eyes,
at the fortunate, driving cars, walking into malls,
and coming out with shopping bags.
But all he hoped was to get upscaled,
a bit more than Rags.
To kill his hunger, sleep under a roof,
dress in a school uniform,
is all wants in his share.
Unlike,
building a thousand castles in the air.

He looked,
through his naive eyes,
at the trees, walking backwards,
on his way to the orphanage.
He soon had friends, food and fosterage.
Then the day breezed in,
when he met an angel.
The seraph advanced his hands
and claimed,
"I promise you a life without agony,
I am your new father, little Johnny."

* * *
He looked,
through his merciful eyes,
out of the rolled down mirror of his car,
at the pitiful, skinny boy,
wiping the table.
The scene he witnessed,
was a mirror of his own tale.
Teardrop flew down his cheek,
when his own past gave out a shriek.
The little dreams he saw as a kid,
were still like the unfertilized seeds in an orchid.

He looked,
through his merciful eyes,
with handful of shopping bags,
at his deprived childhood,
which still, unstoppably, nags.
Today, He had every felicity.
But, yesterday gave him insecurity.
To build the bridge to his withered dreams,
he had to find a bandage.
His salvation lied in fostering his past,
which lied in the Orphanage.
He found the same little, skinny boy,
sitting at one corner.
"What is your name?"
And the reply came in agony,
in his jittery voice,
"I- I am Johnny."

Ashish

Poem: Zero Mile

Hello Reader,

Valentines Day is near and to contribute to this season, here is a small poem. Hope you like.

"At every dawn,
she came, with anguish,
she couldn't hide
and sat on the riverside.
Opening her diary,
she penned down her blues,
to win versus her sorrows and woes.
Once done with her storytelling,
she would leave with a convincing Smile.

Me, from the other side of the stream,
would adore her innocence, her charm.
Every sunset, I would wait for her
and try to give a sign, an alarm.
The sun sat, and so did the hope,
everytime she got up to elope.
For once, I thought,
"Would she ever notice me?"
as the distance was that of a Mile.

Then the calender turned,
to the blessed day,
when we met, eye to eye.
Trust me, it was as whimsical as a lullaby.
I waved to her, she waved back,
a moment that nobody could hack.
From then on, every dusk was salvation,
WE would play, chat and translate in gesticulation.
The days were pacific for me, for her,
that she came, with a cheerful cast,
and return back with a Smile.

This splendid connection,
of shore to shore,
survived only for days of four.
She was standing on her bank,
showing off her engagement ring,
glittering, just like the teardrop in her eye,
narrating me the story of the mousetrap,
of ordeals, forced by her family and ally.
She gestured me to meet her in the deep.
She stepped in and so did I,
as we had no time to weep.
The earth didn't, but the water homed our love,
where the distance, between the banks,
was zero Mile."

Ashish :)

Pani Puris of Life

Hello Reader

If you have never enjoyed the high class luxuries like owning a penthouse with all high class facilities, rich bright colored, white shaded walls with famous paintings hanging on them, having bath in a jacuzzi, cuddling with your chihuahua, a rich wardrobe, having lunch at the most 'Englishly' civilized restaurant with the most lavish ambience, going to shop at Varsace and Louise Vuitton showrooms in your Audi, don't be deluded because you have encountered better events in your life. This sophisticated, well-bred lifestyle may really look good from the outside but trust me, real fun is in living down to earth.

It is just incomparable.

Eating your meal at a place with only noise coming out of the forks and spoons touching the plate, people silently swallowing in food with turkish napkins rigged to their collars or laps and the dining hall too shining with the perfect decor and the mannered and educated waiters can't be compared to the pani puri and other junk stalls on the roadside where you are served on wet, unhygienic plates and spoons with oily, unhealthy eatables mixed with a little bit of sweat, dust and automobile exhaust.

Ordering your well-dressed driver to the destination sitting back comfortably with all updated magazines and daily newspapers in the back door panel of your stylish sedan, with perfect inside atmosphere and temperature maintained by the air conditioner, just right amount of silence or music adjusted on your mood and tinted glasses to prevent you from the sunlight can't be compared to your struggle and fight to get the seat in a public bus, crowded so much that there is not even a little space to rest your foot, then hanging inside the bus with all varieties of people surrounding you, stinking with sweat, drunkards and in between the conductor whistling and fighting with you asking for the change.

Certainly the former is more humane, correct and cultured. But the real bliss is in the fight for the seat, the spice in the junk. One feels complete only after going through all that annoyance and discomfort. The value of water can only be felt after a long day of tedious hard work. Similarly, pleasure lies in such small things.
A smile from an unknown person, waving out to the crowd through the window, dancing in the rain, spending time with your loved ones rather than your new iPad and all other 'Me Gusta' jobs.
The spicy taste of Pani Puri!