Gully Cricket

That day
he cried
cuz he didnt want to go
beyond the wall
and bring back the ball

They broke the wall today.
He cried...
He had his stumps carved on it!

The others play
over stumps made of broken brick pieces
and cry
over virtual wickets that fall on them

He doesnt cry anymore
He neither bats nor bowls

He only keeps wickets
to save the ball
from going behind!

DISILLUSIONED

When the clouds and thunder shift
To a side which is lit
And when you see the gleam
Of the shimmering clouds
With naked eyes
You forget for a moment
That you may be blinded
For a lifetime!

Aah...Why did I show this to you?

Randomness
Excites
Linear
Individuals.
Individualistic
Linearity
Embarasses
Randomisers.

Play
Game
Win/Lose.
Mindfucking
Games
Play
Winners/Losers.

Losers
Exhibit
Commonness.
Commonness
Sucks.
Suckers
Lose.

Losers
Fuck
Magnanimity,
Brightness,
Happy-endings,
Women,
Lives.

Losers
Win
Alone.

Losers
Drink
Alone.

Drinkers
Win.
Rather,
Drunkards
Win.

Losers
Never.

Suck, Lose, Drink, Fuck - Formula To Win!

From where I came

Once I told my mother
She didnt bring us up well
She said
She cried...

Once I told my father
He didnt bring us up well
He said
Fuck off...

Once I told my brother
We werent brought up well
He said
He cried
Then said who cares
And then said fuck off...

I went back
To where I did not come from
I did not cry
But I really cared whether I was brought up well
So I couldnt say fuck off
And I didnt say...

And from where I was
I could see all of us
My mother was crying
When my father said fuck off
And I was telling my brother
To not care about them
When he turned to me.

I saw him crying
And then I saw
My father crying
When my mother said fuck off
Because he had said
That she didnt bring us up well

My brother asked my mother
Why did she say that
And she said
Because my father said that to her
And saying so
She started crying

My brother turned to me
Where I was sitting alone, watching
And said
See?
And I said
Who cares?
And he said
Then fuck off...

And I did!

A Tribute To All Indians Between 24 and 27 Chasing Borrowed Dreams

The pain is rising
Advancing towards the brain now.

It was fine until it was only local
At least the mind was free.
But now its not keeping quiet
It wants to expand
It wants to eat more
- the insatiable, non-eradicable monster,
the alien villain shown in Hollywood movies -
the encroacher who cannot be fined
even by the corrupt police.
Such a big shot he is -
the pain.

And now I cant even think,
Cant write, cant sit, cant stand!
All the while there is an unlocatable sting
Clutching the brain from both sides of the face
My nervous system has gone slow
The nerve is being affected, you see!
The eroded tooth however,
Stands watching, unaffected
- A mute witness of his own exploitations!
There's not much he can do though.

And I tolerate the pain
Of the consequence
Of its inactivity.
I suffer,
let it pass.
I stand through it.
Its called the ROOT CANAL.

I become Kafka's beetle,
For no explicable reason.
Kashyap's 'K', every other software engineer in India,
or a BPO employee -
That's ME - Mediocre (Non)Entity

I am a middle class mediocre,
Incapable of any action
Though filled with an imaginary courage
Which I never demonstrate
Except when I am alone
In front of the mirror in my bathroom
with my underpants still on!

Self criticism

When I revisit my blog today
After a long gap
Of more than a month
And read a poem
- and more of them -
Of which I was quite proud
When I was away,
I think I was really naive
While writing those
And emotionally misdirected
To be so mistakenly eager
To bask in self glory
That I ended up
Doing mediocre work.

It was this disorientation, I feel
From the actual work
And towards self glory
That prompted such action
And such results from me.

Today I am conscious
That I was mediocre.

And this consciousness of mine
Raises me a level above
So, I think!

Live fucker, Live

Life needs a reason
To continue
And when someone seizes it
It starts finding a reason
To why that happened.

And thus,
It fuckin continues...
Until God or someone
Seizes Life from you!

If I say only this much
The poem won't satisfy you,
But that's about it!

And before you go on
To find the reason behind that -
Your dissatisfaction, I mean

Let me tell you
That I just gave you
Another reason to continue.

So Live!

I dont want to do anything

Writing is not my purpose
Neither is it anyone's
Nor is anything else

All doings are only devices
To redeem oneself
Of one's not doings.

What is funnier is
That the emergence of this feeling
Of redemption
Is another doing
Towards the redemption
Of one's not doing

And so on and so forth!

Why?

The invention of the wheel
Is the worst joke
Of all the milleniums - AD and BC!

Things started rolling only then!

Beer & Writing

I have had seven gulps of that beer by now
My cell rings
A message
I reply
I check other messages (why?)
I reply to a couple of others
I lean back to regain my original disposition
Sorry - position!
My hand moves
Where?
It doesnt know
I am perplexed
I strain myself
Invain
What was I doing?
Fuck!

Is it the beer?
Only seven... Nah!
I pick the pen
And write this! (Of all that I could)
I remember...
I was preparing!