Headlines

Cholera rages through their stomachs.
Bullets fill their mistaken identities.
Bombs eat up restaurants.
Hotels and trains become graveyards.
Pink slips run over ambitions.
Countries argue over phone calls.
Atoms destroy civilizations.
Childhood stolen
Red carpets trampled
Judgments pronounced
before seeking evidence.
Nature abused.
Legality threatened.
Ethics re-written.
Dreams become nightmares.
Hopes made hopeless.

Don't...

Don't worry about the lies told
They were said by the lawyers.
Don’t worry about the laws
They were made by the revolutionaries.
Don’t worry about the money
It was stolen by the thieves.
Don’t worry about the promises
They were made by the politicians.
Don’t worry about the system
It was made by the defective.
Don’t worry about the consequences
They were made by the unimportant.
Don’t worry about the protocols
They were made by the impotent.
Don’t worry about respect
It was made by the egotists.
Don’t worry about discipline
It was made by the unruly.
Don’t worry about deadlines
They were created by the tardy.
Don’t worry about commitments
They are made by the forgetful.
Don’t worry about the principles
They were made by the immoral.
Don’t worry about fulfilling dreams
They were made by the failures.
Don’t worry about loyalty
It was made by the insecure.
Don’t cry over broken hearts
They can be mended with Fevicol.

Stoic

She swallowed insults with a smile.
He endured injuries with a smile.
She embraced despair with a smile.
He encountered sorrow with a smile.
She faced separation with a smile.
He bore troubles with a smile.
She welcomed hopelessness with a smile.
He adopted loneliness with a smile.
She accepted failure with a smile.
He will meet death with a smile.
Today they smile,
Not because they are happy.
It is because they forgot
How to cry.

Photographs

Photos from Gangaikonda Cholapuram. I took them.

The Devil

She steals morality.
She gifts vices.
She consumes hope.
She spits decay.
She smiles gloom.

She sees you cringe.
She hears your screams.
She feels you shiver.
She smells your sweat.
She tastes your blood.

P.S. On a lighter note, this could be called "An Ode to the Female Anopheles Mosquito". I hope that sounds less 'gothic'/'bitchy'/ any other adjective that this post is susceptible to invite.

The Train to Destiny

The train halted for fifteen minutes at the Boldora Station. I had come to Boldora on a business assignment. It brought back old memories of my life as a student of this city- active, rebellious, passionate and sensitive. I had friends. That was because, I was lazy on days when the moon turned violet. Now, I work for a diaper marketing multinational at Xerides. During the recruitment they said they required a macho, aggressive and ‘dry’ person. They chose me.
I was disappointed that the Company was stingy enough not to buy me an air ticket back to Xerides. The arrival of the fluorescent pink train was confirmed by the remotely familiar hooting noise from the engine. Trains are fun- I consoled myself, remembering the days when I used to yearn for those vacations that took me to the land of Mullagai Bajjis. Moreover, the journey was going to be comfortable. Considering the fact that I only carried an orange briefcase and I had been booked in an A/C 3-Tier Compartment.
I entered the psychedelic furnishings of the compartment. It wasn’t difficult to find my seat number. However, there was a problem. An obsessively curly haired woman had seated herself comfortably in what was rightfully my place.
“Excuse me?”, I asked, firmly, “Think there is a mistake. You are sitting in MY seat.”
The obsessively curly haired lady looked up.
“Oh my goodness!”, she gasped.
“Typhoid!”, I screamed.
Typhoid Bacteria, the girl from Vlesod. The lady who was the doughnut of everyone’s nose. Her pink curls were the curliest curls that anybody could have seen. They made the creepers feel creeped out. The telephone wires cut themselves in shame. This caused a huge crisis during my college days. The Telecom Minister was sacked.
“Moroner! How have you been? You seem to have disappeared from the face of this Galaxy!”, she said.
Her maroon eyes always mesmerised me. I was always fascinated by the fact that my name and the colour of her eyes sounded similiar.
“I .. I am fine! I work for a Diaper Marketing Company. What about you?”, I stuttered.
“I landed myself in a job at the Telecom Ministry! I am attending a conference on wireless systems at Fernises.”, she exclaimed, holding my hand. That was when I noticed the sapphire wedding ring decorating her hand.
“Fernises?”, I asked blankly. The sight of the ring filled me with emptiness.
The Ticket Collector came by, which was when I realised that my seating problem had not been sorted yet. I approached him.
He simply said, “Saar! You have boarded the wrong train.”

Phoenix

The breeze has returned to the waveless sea.
The river has returned to the thirsty plains.
The lamp has returned to the dark chamber.
The sand has returned to the empty desert.
The snow has returned to the bald mountains.
The tree has returned to the colourless forest.

The colours have returned to the rainbow.
The fragrance has returned to the perfume.
The tenderness has returned to the petals.
The melody has returned to the music.
The sugar has returned to the candy.
The beauty has returned to the art.

The strength has returned to the weak.
The success has returned to the failed.
The sight has returned to the blind.
The innocence has returned to the child.
The knowledge has returned to the seeker.
The happiness has returned to the self.

The Hour-glass has already turned

I open the rusted mail box,
Hoping for a familiar hand writing.
It is empty.
I pick up the receiver,
To hear those old voices.
It is silent.
I flip through old photographs,
To sense the happiness in those smiles.
They are torn.
I wear those old clothes,
To feel the colours of the past.
They have faded.
I open a fresh leaf,
To immortalise those memories.
I cannot bring them back.
Sigh. The hour-glass has already turned.
P.S 1st November, 2008: Weirdly, this post reminds me of 'Will you remember' by The Cranberries.

Corporate Melody

Coffee aroma followed by slurps and gulps.
Screeching glass doors.
Creaking leather heels tapping against the marble floor.
Envelopes being torn.
Computer keyboards and mouses clicking.
Ringing phones and mobile ringtones filling the air.
Multiple voices on phones.
Voices across tables and phones
Throwing fancy jargon.
Piling files.
Pens scribbling targets and deadlines.
A single, lone voice: snoring.

Twelve

Twelve is an interesting number.
Twelve months in a year.
Twelve Zodiac signs.
Twelve animals dedicated to every Chinese year.
Twelve angry men.
Twelve is the age before Teenage.
Twelve Apostles.
Twelve is a six letter word defining its double.
Twelve years of elementary education.
Twelve is the epitome of continuity as,
Twelve is one followed by two.
Twelve- the number of lines in this bullshit post.

My Dream

Sat on the wet sand,
Watching the sun
Slowly sink.
Was that my dream?
Sinking into the depths
Of cynicism and self-doubt.

Looked up at the sky,
Watching the moon
Slowly rise.
Was that my dream?
Borrowing the glories
Of the valiant and great.

Gazed at the stars,
Bejewelling the sky
With their twinkle.
Was that my dream?
Shining brightly only when
There was darkness around.

Stared at the water,
Reflecting my face
In the moonlight.
It was a confused me,
Woken up from
My dream...

The Journey

Walking down the well trodden road,
I realised I was not alone.
Yet there was no company
As my journey had started alone.
A question seemed to pass by me,
"Will the destination be alone?"
People passed by me
Into the unknown future space.
I continued my journey.
Still wondering and gazing
At the sky.
First, the green canopy
Then, the cotton clouds,
Shrouded the pristine blue.
Was that my destiny?
I continued my journey.
There stood a majestic mirror.
Aged, proud and dirty,
I stood in front of it.
My world faced me.
I dusted the smooth surface,
And there was Reality.
The much sought Truth.
I had brought the wrong map.