Poetry, Quill

Business

I often pour cranberry blend into a decanter and leave it for a couple of days to rot.

Until it turns rancid and all the sugar turns sour. To sip on it is an acquired taste, more like inhaling cigarette smoke.

And while I lay on my bed, with closed doors closed and lights off, with this secret recipe of mine, I wonder to myself-

Am I allowed to feel?

I do know you can trick people but not yourself and I do try- to be true to my conscience- and let this gloom envelope me. But I fail

I fail to feel

A deep heavy voice strikes the back of my head, “You can’t waste this opportunity. Not often does this mighty sadness descent upon you. Stop mourning and trying to feel and go and create. Mould this gloom into a poetry or something before it vanishes.”

A good businessman gives his clients what they desire the most and also makes sure that he pounces on every good opportunity. And poetry, and this word play.

Isn’t it but- Business.

And isn’t this what this generation of ours, this generation of half hearts and half smiles, truly desires? Talks of pain and narrations of sorrow that tells them you’re not alone.

So I throw my hand on the switch right above my bed. Pull out the chair, and the dusty diary from the right of the book shelf. And I take a quick glance on the screen of my phone- I click your tab to check if there’s any new message, I smile at nothing, have a good look of your face and re read our previous conversations- all this before my conscience catches me.

And by the time, conscience could react to this cold heart of mine, I already have used that glimpse of you as a source of rage, of fuel, just as this pen uses ink and have begun to write.

Poetry, Quill

Top Of The World

[Intro Speech]
Ambition is a scary thing, mate.
But let me tell you this, what’s real tough is not the journey…
Not at all. It’s what comes after that.
While you rush for your dreams, even the hate acts a fuel, pumping up your adrenaline. You get to convert every emotion, form pain to love, into a rush that makes you even more dedicated towards your goal.
But once you reach there… then what? You can’t rush no more… What to do with all the love and the hate? When you can’t ignore everything anymore? When you can’t just run to the top any longer, cause you’re already there. And then…

[Verse 1]
Then soon they’ll discuss you to the point of imprisonment
until you’re left with no choice but to reminiscent
of the times when you hadn’t yet lost your mind
tryna figuring out
who was up there against and who was standing on your side. And now
the expectations exponentially rise
so to cope up
I started bullying my mind
exploiting it in ways I shouldn’t do
but it helped me pull out rhymes I otherwise
wouldn’t be able to
jot down. It’s like,
snacking on valium every single night
giving rise to a pain that
acts like the price
that you pay to the critics in return for their smiles. But now
I just can’t let go of this dine
cause twenty-four seven I’d be hitting this vibe
lying bare on my bed
hallucinating the crimes
that I’d be committing
if I hadn’t got these rhymes.

[Background Speech]
Now speaking of crimes… it takes me back… back to you

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
.
.
.
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
.
.
.
Waiting for you…
Lonely…

[Verse 2]
And the Sixteenth of may
would have been our anniversary day
but we parted ways
September twenty seven was that day
and ever since I’m trying to reach you
got some words to say but
never had a chance so I put them in this verse to lay.

You were always full of whats and whys
complaining the grass looked greener on my side
but you had to get your perspective wide
to understand the pain I hide.
My life was almost a homicide
that time I was so traumatized
I needed your shoulder to cry
but you pulled your back on me that time.

And now I get it too,
It was fine if you really wanted to leave
but was there any need to prick the bubble
right in me ears and wake me up from my sleep
Cause we were still together holding hands
sitting across the sunset point, in my dreams.

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
.
.
.
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
.
.
.
Waiting for you…
Lonely…

[Verse 3]
Now I don’t get what am I supposed to be-
a soldier who never loses his composure?
who never blunts, neither lets out a grunt?
And I’m honestly sorry for blowing off once
Though it still was better than disappearing for months
And even knowing that I was mourning that time
for the losses I had
It still wasn’t a reason big enough for you to call me back.
Instead you gave it to your friend, who went on and on
confronting me for the man I was
But tell me one thing love, did she even have a clue
of what that sting was.
So take this is as a gentle knock, on the door of your brain
to never mock again, a pain that you haven’t endured

Though this is not what it is all about
cause I know I crossed my limits and
you know you went out of bounds
But now it just seems too heavy to be carried around
this ego thing is pulling both of us down
Let’s make things simpler just how they were
Let’s get back along, both of us together

Cause I know, even though we don’t see each other no more
Deep in your eyes, even when you smile, you wanna cry
What kind of being strong is this, when you can’t even laugh
I’ve let my guard down already, enough of it cherubie, come back.

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
.
.
.
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
.
.
.
Waiting for you…
Lonely…

Poetry, Quill

Cost You

Genre: Subtle Horrorcore

How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer
Cocked it, aimed it, shot me in the head
but smart enough not to leave any proof
for anyone to find it was you who got me dead.

I was lying there bare, and my brains fell out
picked it, pushed it back in and tried to crawl out
As I regained my conscience, it was crazy what I found
The scene was all clear and no blood was spilled around

Confused, I dazed tryna figure why my head would hurt
Only to realize the irony that curbed
That the bullet was just silence, and the pistol were your words.

Now as I walk along the streets, people confuse me with alive
Asking all their whys and how the grass looks greener on my side
Until I start to tear it all out, let out wild cries
Just run in my room turn the system onto max, in a hope to hide.

Sheets rolled all over, I sweat hurled in a corner
Where gloom looks at me like a coroner
I picture your face in it, and start throw fits
like a crazy addict, cutting but air with his wild violent hits.

But soon I grow weary and start to lose my breath
I feel your hand at my throat, choking me to death
The vision blurs down and it all gets dark
And glad I lay, with no more tries.
Seems a happy ending
But soon a stark streak of light enters my eyes
The sun is back up, got to get back on life.

As I plod to the shower, I wonder to myself
How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer.

Quill

VERSIONS

So, how did it happen?

From where do I start? The part where I ran into the street as they came after me, with stones and sticks? Or the time when they doused kerosene on my house and I watched as it caught fire? Or should I stick to the story of the police, calling it a sudden, spontaneous event? Would my sister’s tale be more authentic, she is an amazing orator, she will tell it better, the manner in which the money for her wedding was burnt, Rs 10 lakh, our entire savings and as acid was poured on her as she came out of the mosque? Wait, the mosque has an even intriguing account, it was that silent spectator, watching the city he had been in for decades, engulfed by flames. It tried to stand its ground but the smoke in the air was too suffocating, it crumbled under the frenzy, heated passions, mindless chanting and chest-beating. It was buried under the love for its country, too big a price to pay.

Come, let me take you through these narrow alleys where I played as a child. This shop has, sorry, had, the best paani puri in entire Seemapuri, this store, the best cotton candy. But I think you won’t be able to make out their differences. After all, they are painted in the same colour of hatred.

The colour of hatred, ashen and charred, displayed in every nook and cranny, on hoardings and podiums.

But the riots were because of Anti-CAA protests, Shaheen Bagh precisely, they blocked the roads, should have seen it coming, these traitors.

We were there, doing our duty, we called in additional forces, but the crowd overpowered us. We were stranded.

In the backdrop of sooty scooters, black houses, homes destroyed, lives lost, fingers pointed and tears that refuse to come out.

Versions that numb.

Versions that sting.

Poetry, Quill

And…

And I look at my mom – I see a distant image of what she could be
If it wasn’t to be what she should be
If it wasn’t for dad, or for me, or for my elder brother
Only if she had a chance of being herself first – than being a mother.
I sit with her and I look into her eyes, as she cries,
And glares back to her younger side, through me,
And hear it say, don’t worry mom, you raised two good men,
It’s all gonna be all right.

And suddenly at four in the night, the insulin level
shoots and he’s sweating in the cold night.
He grabs a snack from the side and munches on it
while me and mom look into his eyes – they still ain’t watery
Maybe too dry to cry. These nights are so lengthy and
the sun doesn’t shine for even he- who fed fifteen at a time.
Yeah, that’s it, it’s his fight with the time,
Dilapidated and weary, he still smiles down at us
and says don’t worry, I’ve got it, you’re all mine.

And as I glide, through the streets of area four,
I look at the corner three-story house
that looks like coroner, and condenses a cloud
of memories and rains it all out.
I see my brother bowling the eighty bucks red cherry
and I swivel my bat it hits the ball and the window cracks
and my neighbor screams- that’s out just before mom comes out
and we run for our lives and we laugh as we hide.
I reminiscent the launch, the tenth, and the ninth
who do friends change lovers, and love is out of life
I glance at my wrist- gotta run- it’s ten past the class time

And I wonder if he also smiles seeing all this too
as sits back seven thousand miles tryna fit in the shoes
of a man, these times demand of him to be.
In a life, he barely got time to breathe
out a sigh, let go of to laugh or to cry.
But I guess, no matter our different grounds
we both smile cause we’ve got the same blue sky.

And now, I got to keep my quill down
’cause though I don’t really get it
but the benzene ring’s freaking me out.

Quill, Write Ups

Happy Birthday Cheenku

I really don’t get it why do I just fail to write good letters for those who really matter, but yeah here it is.

Friend eh?

A lot of times when I tell people, “I don’t have friends”; they confuse me with some sad lonely knob head. And maybe they are correct in doing so, for what they lack is complete knowledge behind this trademark phrase of mine. Now, I won’t go on sharing the knowledge, but I’ll tell you of someone who somehow manages to break all the bars I’ve set comfortably, and sit as my only undisputed friend.

And honestly I don’t really get it, how does he do that. You see he isn’t one of those famous brats of the school, yet somehow everyone seems to know him. He hardly does anything that would make someone like him, yet somehow everyone loves him. He looks far from fit to play, yet somehow his pull shot is one hell of a thing to witness. He’s more like a paradox and that is why I thought he and me we both were alike.

Well somehow he proved me wrong in that assumption too. We’re far from similar. And as I try to write this too, I just cant explain what is it that makes him so special. Is it that he was there with me from the beginning? Is it that he has seen me laugh and cry and rise and fall? Is it the way he just repeats the motivational quotes, I once wrote on the board, when I feel low? Or is it the weird business ideas that we discuss that makes our bond so special? Is it the way he bought that book as a gift for me at the airport? Is it those tears that he quickly sucked in when he talked of me leaving? Is it… actually the list wont end… Is it, it all? Or is it the fact that I never bothered to try and figure his mind out because I’m too busy living the little moments I get with him?

Actually, it’s maybe the only thing that I don’t even wish to understand for, he and me… we’re like those legends we hear and see…

Jai and Viru, Saadiq and Raees, Kamli and Sanju, Circuit and Munna bhai, Raju and Rancho… or rather the sum of them all

Cheenku and Manan

Quill, Write Ups

Quieter

Stop.
Just stop, okay.
Stop counting the days since he last messaged you. No, stop thinking about how he hasn’t talked to you since 5 days. Stop staring at the blackboard and start listening to the professor, your melancholy isn’t going to help you with your grades.
Don’t sigh.
Take a deep breath,
in…out…in…out.
He has draped your love with feigned ignorance, stop checking his last seen. He’s not going to reply to your messages.
No, the sunset is not gloomy today, or the night is not quieter. It’s just the smell of cigarettes, not his. Don’t be a wreck.
Don’t hallucinate.
Take a deep breath,
in…out…in…out.

Quill

Thoughts…

Sometimes being stiff, rigid and relentless doesn’t make you strong rather love, tears and hardships do. Sometimes the person you love , hurts you. Sometimes, an unexpected thing just happens and turns your life upside down. Sometimes, you can feel so full that you might be overflowing with joy and happiness. Sometimes you can feel so empty , it’s like you are caught up in a world of perplexities , loneliness and darkness. And sometimes no matter how hard you try to push away a thought, it kind of just stays in the air. Sometimes you know everything and still know nothing. You could be standing in the front of truth , a truth that can hurt you deeply , & is capable of shattering your heart into a million pieces and still not know what to do. Sometimes you just want someone to hold your hand and say,”stay!”. But you see, that’s how life is. Life isn’t a garden with roses, bougainvillea’s , daisies or orchids rather it’s a battlefield. Life breaks you, it makes you suffer, it punches you in the face, it makes you breathless, it gives you pain. Life isn’t one word , rather it carries with it an infinite sea of words and phrases. Life is a lot of things. Life is pain. Life is ecstasy. Life is misery. Life is contentment. Life is heartbreaks. Life is darkness. Life is suffering. Life is a million things but most importantly ,maybe, life is just a delusion.

Quill, Write Ups

And So I Conclude To You

There is a humongous possibility that you may criticize me, to the point of where we shall rather call it, crucify me for what I am about to utter. But I plead you to try and understand what I say before the rant is launched.

“I have seen all the works that are done under the sun. And, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. I communed with mine own heart, saying: “Lo, I am come to great estate”. And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in such wisdom is much grief, and he that increases knowledge, increases sorrow.”

With contemplation, we non arguably agree, wisdom is but the prime virtue. And in accordance with Ecbert, such wisdom brings much grief. This brings in the fact that this is rather a loop of grief and wisdom. Where attaining wisdom gives rise to grief but wisdom itself, on the first hand, stems of grief. Creating the eternal loop with no bars on increase in knowledge or pain.

But what I bring to you is a different tale. Where grief is spoken as pain and wisdom, after all, is the sum of emotional and intelligence quotient of a man.

As to what it appears, pain is in a symbiotic relationship with both the intelligence and emotional quotient of a human being. A relation where more is the pain fed, more does the value of quotients rise. But, what makes this relation agathokakological is that pain feeds but only on the human spirit. And by eating the spirit gradually it strengthens the emotional and intelligence quotient of the very body the same spirit resides in. Hitherto creating a scenario where your spirit is consumed by the pain you carry which in turn increases your ability to reason as well as to understand your emotions more efficiently.

To link it to the more common examples in our world, we are well aware of the many stories of how the greatest of men who walked upon the surface of this planet, from inventors, to artists, to investors, to athletes had one thing in common in all their stories- ceaseless suffering. But unlike the eternal loop we talked of, this truth fits into our reality as well for there is a bar up to which a man can live.

This creates a limit upon both the wisdom and grief of a man. This limit is what we call spirit. The day we cease is the day when our spirit runs out, when pain runs out of food to consume. This day our ability to develop our quotients ceases. Our wisdom, our knowledge stands stagnant at a point, out of pain to consume to grow further. And hence, when the heart and mind get stagnant and the spirit runs out it is then that the body stops to function any longer.

And so I conclude to you, suffering is imperative for great intelligence and emotion as well.

Brevity, Quill

WHISPER

It started with a whisper, a crackling whisper of resistance. It spread across regions, infecting the oppressed. It became the sound of the voiceless to fight for their rights. It moved people to stand up, it compelled them to raise their arms in solidarity, it burned in their hearts, it fired up their minds. It had slept soundly for centuries, showing up now and then. But this time, this day, it gained strength. It gave hope, embers of persistence. It made us speak, something we chose to ignore. But now, it resides in our resolve. It made us realize the world of inequality and injustice that we live in. It made us aware of the crumbling pillars of democracy. It opened our eyes to face the emaciated poverty-stricken strata, labouring on barren fields. It made us hear the wails of malnourished children, the victim of diseases. It made us feel the agony of traders and small businessmen. It made us smell the burning stubble.

It made us alive, ready to fight back. We, the people of India, stand tall, one for all and all for one.

This change started with a whisper, the crackling whisper of dissent.