Living Dead

They walk the streets of every town, every city,
A living tribute to the greatest human ability,
To get hurt, and be unable to forgive or forget,
To bide their time, counting the days, at every sunset.

A miserable existence, if you can call it one,
To forcibly live a lifetime, pining for someone,
Knowing it as a dream that will never come true,
Somehow hoping, in their case, the truth wasn’t so true.

To yearn for someone, who can no longer be theirs,
And try to dissolve their sorrow in a flood of tears,
To agonise for someone, who will no longer feel theirs,
And try to digest their failure, through the passage of years.

It is beyond their considerate heart, to step out and ask,
But they can no longer put up with their own mask,
So they try their best, to smile those memories away,
And try to concentrate on these routine chores of everyday.

A few are successful, though most are not,
That doesn’t mean, it ever leaves their thought,
It keeps nagging their mind into meek submission,
Turning their lives into one big despondent mission.

When every second they live is yet another battle,
In a war, that only lasts upto or beyond a lifetime,
And the next one is upon them, before their eyelids can battle,
They simply choose to ignore a living, in the confines of space and time.

To have a life, an existence, that is deprived of soul,
And not have the love of your life beside to console,
Dangling all their lives, by an unbreakable thread,
Wretched indeed, is the life of the living dead.

Ever fallen in love, only to see the person you love getting married to someone else. Ever thought of a life spent ruminating over the loss because the mind refuses to forget and the heart refuses to heal. If you have, then this one is for you, and the thousands of others who dot the landscape of every city and town, in fact they dot the landscape of every human habitation there is.

They drown themselves in the hope that tomorrow will be different, in what way or manner they know not. Because they don’t desire, they just love. So they cannot take solace in the hope that something would happen to bring their loved ones running back into their arms, because that would taint their love, a love that is won on the suffering of another isn’t love at all, it’s just another bloody war, minus the blood. Besides, such a thing would surely cause their beloved to shed a tear or two, making them wonder if it really was love to make their beloved cry simply because they wanted to stop crying.

So they spend their lives in that state of suspended belief, where they can neither get over their love, nor can they love another. And though they go on to marry, work and other activities that continue to make them seem human, their heart isn’t in any of it, and so they live their lives like zombies, forever in a state of trance, alert to everything yet half-minded, eager for everything yet undecided. They can’t let go of life because that would mean separation from their loved one forever. Yet they can never get together with their loved one in this lifetime. Wondering if such a life was also an existence? Don’t bother. The person writing this is also living such an existence in every alternate second, though what transpires in the other alternate second is a SECRET.

Another of the few autobiographical ones, though this one is only partly autobiographical. Most of it is gleaned from the lives of people I happen to know personally(pssst, a person on whom a major chunk of this is based is living such an existence because Miss Aparna got married, don’t tell her this though, else it would defeat the very purpose of that guy’s life, he wouldn’t want her worrying about who was worrying for not getting her, leading a happy life as she already is, posted this one on the condition of complete anonymity. For those who are addicted to reading between the lines, “that someone isn’t me”, I already have a person to dangle a lifetime for).


Though perfectly working, I cannot see a thing,
For, your smile blocks every other sight,
It has settled forever on my eyes,
And doesn’t even step aside for the sunlight.

It is long since I’ve hear a different thing,
Every moment, it is the tinkle of your laughter,
It deafens my ears to everything else,
Only to be replaced with its own playful banter.

A different smell, the air could never bring,
Ever since I first smelt, the magic of your fragrance,
It was so heavy, it choked my every breath,
And became in no time my very subsistence.

A different taste might surely do a thing,
To replace the taste, the sweetness of you,
So hot and yet so sweet, all at a time,
If only, every single time, you didn’t seem so new.

Every single second that you remain on mind,
To never forget you, as if to remind,
I wish I could, but how can I,
If you choose to leave every single memory behind.

I walk on you, and bump into you,
And arise unto you, and fall asleep into you,
I swim away, only to get closer to you,
Maybe it’s because I’m mad about you.

I may seem mad to think so much about you,
But frankly, it makes me mad to forget you,
I never felt so happy about the drowning or mourning,
For such moments, I would sink into you, every new morning.

Feels exhilarating to takes such a leisurely break from some serious poems and have fun in the simple things that make up a moment. Quite how often we get too intricately involved in the figments of our own grandiose imagination that we fail to properly appreciate, or worse still totally fail to recognise the beauty that lies in the simplicity with which most things are expressed. We are so lost in the interpretation of non-existent meanings of flamboyant words that we fail to see the depth of emotions that simple words can convey, this poem for me was such an awakening.

It was the wake up call, to find back those roots for which I took to poetry before going astray with the ambition of writing something ponderous to capture the imagination of an audience. It was the call to get back on a path of self-expression, the very reason I had begun with writing in the first place, before getting sidetracked on a path of bespoilt innocence that was arbitrarily sacrificed on an altar of temporal gratification of artistic pursuits that constantly keep trying to mar my original purpose.

Anyway, just can’t stop rambling. What I wanted to say was that though it was very minimalistic compared to my other poems, it was on of my most satisfying ones, because it took me back to the path that I had intended to follow.

Thanks a lot Aparna. Even through a poem you have managed to set me on track. Guess am more happier letting this continue, than alerting you to these ‘Random Verses’ and having your honesty spoil a dream.

Talking To Walls

I wake up and see one every morning,
Because there is one on every wall adorning,
They stare at me, those eyes of yours, always asking,
Why I still make my peace with you every morning.

They follow me to the door, smiling goodbye,
Staying still, while everything else rushes by,
A click of the lock, and I step into the world,
Into such a strangeness I feel myself hurled.

Where people keep talking, but somehow not to me,
And words don’t quite mean, what they are meant to be,
They laugh, and they joke, at such trivial things,
Reminding me of the joy that every small deed brings.

Silently, I bear with them and their uncalled for happiness,
Bear it until I can get through this unfinished business,
And so keep glancing at the clock, wishing it to get running,
As I bide my time, awaiting yet another homecoming.

I rush home, unlocking the door, to none in particular,
Silently wishing, that at work I was a little more popular,
So I could bring some of them home, and introduce you,
But alas, such thoughts are quite often very few.

I look at a wall, and blurt out the dejection,
And you reply, face saddened at the rejection,
I cry my heart out, and recover in a while,
And laugh upon seeing you returning my smile.

I guess I must be lunatic, talking such things to a wall,
And sitting up nights, listening for your footfall in the hall,
Things were much different, before you clambered up that wall,
Leaving me alone, to deal, with your death, and my own downfall.

This one is dedicated to the human stamina for unlimited brooding over long-spilt milk(or should I say long-spilt tears that refuse to drop down, and instead hang on for dear life, long past the their time, solely because of the unquenchable thirst a person has for sorrow, one that grows on imbibing it and fuels the thirst for more of itself).

Frankly, there is no parasite as parasitic as sorrow, because after devouring on every single little shred of happiness and delight that it can set its eyes own, sorrow never hesitates to even devour itself, if only to further its own cause and spread its addiction into every willing thought of a person suffering from an unexpected separation.

Enough said about things that are broody, having had my fill of melancholy, can’t take any more of it myself, so am switching to something more pleasant and refreshing(surprises me how this topic never fails to refresh every time I put my pen down, it is as if it is an inexhaustible reservoir of joy) called Aparna.

First Light

You close your eyes to a brand new morning,
For there is nothing new this one will bring,
In solitary confinement, receiving the wages of sin,
A constant buzzing in your ears is the only din.

Back against a wall, you know there is nothing called hope,
For, waking unto and sleeping into reality, is how you cope,
Suddenly, like a stray deer, out from the wilderness,
A ray of light, wanders, into the years of your darkness.

Far from its cousins, it bounced around and rebounded,
And before the crevice was forever sealed, alas, it had faded,
That light would never return, but you never did mind,
You were too engrossed in what it had left behind.

Close your eyes, and you were blinded by it,
Open your eyes, and you were surrounded by it,
You walked on light, walked into light,
There wasn’t another moment that you knew night.

It wasn’t just blinding, it was spellbinding,
Of those still innocent days, constantly reminding,
When they came to take you away, to a future more bright,
There were no more walls, no more roof, only light.

Funny, the things it had done to you,
Just a ray of light, one gone astray,
Cutting through rock, it had reached your soul,
It rebuilt your life, and made it belatedly whole.

They took away your body, no longer able to torment,
But didn’t notice, the light, still in your eyes,
You had already lived, a hundred lives in that moment,
And could live that one moment, for a hundred more lives.

My hundredth poem to be posted on this blog, and also the first one on my new domain.

This one is dedicated to Ryan Bliss and his wonderful art, one of which had the title of this poem, must say it was a really magnificent one, with the sunlight filtering across and down through the mighty oaks. Now that the celebrations and dedications are over, down to business. Prepare for a long ramble.

Everybody in life has those few desires that they are unable to fulfill because of the fear of a society that they feel clamps down on such issues. They harbour these desires unless the desires can no longer wait and set sail for more receptive shores. That is the last these people see of not only the desire, but also of the hope that usually accompanies that desire. Then one fine day, what IF they suddenly get a chance to indulge in their wildest, ones that have long set sail?

Exactly what happened to me. Once I GREW up I could no longer frolic around in my favourite elemental force ‘RAIN’, without risking an admonishment from someone or the other. Then one fine day, after 8 years, I got a chance. It was raining cats and dogs on a day when there was no one at home but me. I simply walked out, rather walked into the rain. And to this day I carry the memory and joy of that moment that I no longer will ever feel the need for rain. Every time I think of it, it simply rains on my mind, drenching my very soul, and every single pore, without anybody even noticing.

This poem was an attempt to present that situation about a person on ‘death row’, who is in a cell and hasn’t seen LIGHT for decades. The only thing he yearns for is to see just one ray of light, just have one look at the sun. The yearning soon turns to an unfulfilled dream, until a day when out of sheer luck one single ray manages to sneak into his cell. That one single ray so intoxicates him, that it becomes his very breath, his very life. He no longer lives, he has already become one with that light, all that remains is a body that awaits its redemption.

My most haunting one from among all my poems, it took me 4 days to just work up the courage to write this one, because the concept was so close to my heart, that everytime I tried to put my pen to write, it sent a shiver down my back. Somehow found the strength to finish it and get it done with, was more like exorcising some hidden ghost, because it is one of the handful of poems out of the 100 here, that are autobiographical.

Since this seems to have got me into a brooding mood, for the next 2 or 3 poems I will be delving into very dark(are they really dark?, won’t debate on that with myself) areas of love and life after DEATH, if there ever is one for the two.

Whew! One of the longest commentaries that I happened to write in many years. And in so many ways it still seems so highly insufficient, my mind is dictating, but fingers just refuse to go on anymore, this was supposed to be a blog for my poems, and this one commentary looks bigger than three of them combined, so that’s it for now(unless I hear from SOMEONE of course).

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