Tuesday, October 13, 2009

diary of a dead poet

“I am an arrogant bastard; I think I am quite intelligent at least more than any other bastard that I have seen. I am very much into drugs, I loathe those practically right dudes and I loathe myself sometime too. I am not in a very good mental condition you know, and every other day I am in a fight with one of many my so called friends. I am in a habit of speaking f words to people, and one day I said those to my mother too. But not so long ago I quit. I quit smoking, I quit drugs and I quit talking too….”


“It is weird sitting in a room, situated at a place where everyone is a stranger to me. I assume u know who strangers are, the ones who would make an assumption about you in just a flicker. I used to hate them, but maybe I was wrong, I am indifferent to them now”.


“How those people live who don’t speak? it is tough explaining without words, but I am liking this. I saw pity for me in their eyes, I ignored it, but still I can’t ignore- old habits die harder.”


“Music, music, music!! It’s in my head, I miss the older days, I miss my mother and also the so called friends. But I know it is nothing but a mere human nature and I hate them, I hate them and I hate them.”


“Finished all of the novels I had today, feels great. To read how someone felt about the world, the perception, the interpretation, the thought, the view, the vision, the fiction and the reality.”


“I saw my neighbor today at 4 am, drunk, singing, he came roaring his bike. I saw my neighbor again today at 2 pm telling the landlady that this won’t happen again, when he knew this will and when she knew he lied. I saw complication, I saw one of those, I saw the world.”


“The great ones are those who think manly and act femininely. And people on the other end are just lost between sexualities.”


“The man who achieved nothing but self satisfaction, the man proved to none but himself, the man who look nothing but ordinary in the first look, is the one you need time to understand.”


“I am happy being a stone, at least throw me in a river.”


“Can’t I be the one who is normal? Can’t I be like the ones who fake stupidity and intelligence? Can’t I be conventional and yet alive?”


“I remember one of my so called friend’s friend who had came to his house for a work which was a “big deal.” I remember how the words he said were so right, how he was telling people what to do, how he was always boasting about his ventures and never forgot to add the line of humility in the end. He was a successful man and also the one with a pragmatic approach. Everybody had long conversations with him, alone and in a group, while he talked for most of the time. Something about him was not right, I never liked him.”


“To think is to progress?”


“Sometime I want to be the one who doesn’t think much, he simply can’t hold the thought. Is he blessed? Who is blessed?”


“How are you doing?”


“The ones filled with negative feelings, the anti-religion ones, ah! They are different, they are unique, they simply can’t figure out a strong reason for their liking towards the morbid. But then there are extremists, having thousands of reasons to prove they are right but not a single one for the other side of the coin. ”


“The good one is good to you.”


“Power, Fame, Money….and I laugh again.”


“Thought of her haunts me, she is an enigma, wore the white cloth, teaches me, preaches me, I never understood, language is cryptic, I am a fool, can I see her again?”


“Fear of the unknown; strange but true; Imagination !! It is a powerful thing.”


“Not always I wrote about my grief,
I knew the pond isn’t pure,
Not always I told you about myself,
I knew you don’t listen to me anymore.”


“The vow ended today, the first word I would speak hence was a great deal for me. Hours passed and I said none. It had rained heavily last night, streets were full with the water and mud, and the speeding rickshaw didn’t bother to notice someone is standing on the roadside, quite near to the rickshaw and moments later the splash of water was right on my shirt and a bit on my face. I was going to swear but I paused, I thought, I smiled and walked. I decided not to speak again ever.”

Sometime again
“Three phases of death
------“a room full of strangers”
----------“new but not strange”
-------“there is no way outta here, when you come in you’re in for good”
You said I’ll be alright. I am sick again.”

And again
“I am a poet!!!”

The poet died after three years, his mother, his father, relatives and also his “so called friends” came to his funeral. They found a note in his pocket which said “Father! I love you a lot.”

Monday, October 5, 2009

Not always…

Not always I say it doesn’t rain,
Not always I cry about the pain,
Not always I have seen you under the mask,
Not always I have been so happy that I can’t laugh.

Not always I wrote about my grief,
I knew the pond isn’t pure,
Not always I told you about myself,
I knew you don’t listen to me anymore.

Illusion it is nothing more,
Cry aloud, someone is standing at the shore,
Not always, Not always.

Friday, September 4, 2009



A movie, a book or in short each and every story we have heard or watched has a hero, the good guy, idolized by some of us and just perceived as a nice human being by some. The Hero, is sometimes a Prince, a beggar, a sailor, a school teacher, a lover boy, a drunkard, a musician, an actor and just another guy sometimes. Has his profession ever mattered? Has the looks? No for sure, if we really think. It leads one to think, what it is so common among them? What it is which makes them a Hero?

A movie, a book or in short each and every story we have heard or watched has a story, about some one. The story reflects a life style, a perception which came across each and ever time one made decisions and respective action followed. The story reflects a point of view one had about Life, about people and about almost everything. The story tells us all the circumstances which changed one’s perception and his point of view. The story we saw or heard or may be read, we did it through the one’s eye. Then how is there a chance that one is not the hero? So it leads us to conclude that every story we hear about someone from his point of view makes him a HERO, which means every one is a HERO in his own eyes because if life is a movie then everyone has watched the movie from his own point of view and has always known the perception. Aren’t you?

Sunday, July 5, 2009


Gira pada tha yahan, tumne thoker mar ke pare kar diya,
Dekh raha tha aasman, tumne mutthi mein bhar liya,
Kitni lambi udaan thi ,tumne vo dikha di,
Raaste ka kankar tha, tumne jindagi sikha di….

Kal milunga kisi aur mod pe,koi aur thokar mar jayega,
Laaoge apne kadam ke neeche, tumhare sath vala kuch suna jayega,
Hasi khushi,gum aason sab dekha hai sab dekh ke jaaoge,
Pathar dil pathar ko jano,jeena seekh jaaoge.

Saturday, July 4, 2009


I lost my toy bug. He was cute, and I loved him. He had that deceptive smile on his face and yes there was something mysterious about it, but for me the smile was nothing but an expression of approval, sometimes, and mockery most of the times. Really, it was mockery; you know he laughed at me when I told him about the crush I had on this girl and the time when I had a fight with my best friend, you won’t believe but he laughed at that time too. I lost my toy bug and I seriously miss him. I wonder who else will be there when I’ll just be pissed off and will be in the” I like Kurt Cobain” mood, who else will tell me everything will be just fine and will laugh again; yes ,yes ,yes he used to laugh a lot.

He listened to everything I told him, never did he get bore. I remember how many times he spent whole night being awake, just listening to me and my boring stories again and again. I lost my toy bug and I miss him a lot.

Monday, June 15, 2009

arriving somewhere

The morning, the Sun, the yellow big flower and even the grass was different. One glass of water with a newspaper was all that he needed to start the morning, which he thought had to be perfect. While putting the chair in front of his room he thought about everything he had dreamt about “the day”, just to realize that he should better start getting ready for the day. As soon as he had finished the front page of the newspaper, he put back the newspaper at the table and took a look at the clock.
With a toothbrush in one hand and nothing in the other he walked towards the bathroom, just to wonder how many of his neighbors had woken up and had tasted the morning and the tooth cream. He brushed his teeth and looked up in the mirror, adjusted his hair and a splash of water on the face followed. He looked up in the mirror again. He went to the toilet hurriedly but sat there quietly for quite long. He actually liked it, sitting where no one disturbs and no one will, as no one had. He washed his hands and looked up in the mirror. He came back to the bath room but this time with a handful of cosmetics. He went to take a shower and realized how important the day today was and started thinking again. He realized the fact that he was thinking a lot that day but he loved thinking, imagining, and so he didn’t stop and started thinking how later he would change his habit of “thinking a lot”. While going back to his room again he had a look in the mirror just to come back again with a hair gel in his hands. He tried his best to give his hair a perfect look .He wore the pre decided clothes, took his copy and pen and had his breakfast. He was ready for the first day of College.

The habit of having breakfast has gone, but of thinking a lot hasn’t. No more he looks in the mirror again but still he sits in the toilet for quite long. Cigarette has replaced the morning newspaper but he still believes “the morning, the Sun, the grass and the yellow big flower” were different on the first day.