You may think that i'm gone

You may think that i'm gone

In the dark bitter days of winter
when the winds blows colder
And you desire sunshine to break away the gloom
Gardens are devoid of colour
And on the sight of an old barren tree
You may think that i'm gone
But your fears are wrong,
cos i'll always be around
I'll be the sweet song of the cuckoo greeting you at dawn,
be the intoxicating fragrance of the rose numbing your senses
I'll be the wind playing gayly with your silky locks
be the raindrop on your moist lips
I'll be the soothing moonlight to put you to sound sleep
be the brightest shining star guiding your path, whenever darkness threatens to claim you
You may think that i'm gone
But your fears are wrong
Cos i'll always be around

A Question

When the ship of life is caught in a storm, and there's no sight of land for miles and miles, the treacherous waves high and mighty threatening to drown the ship, the mighty sun having disappeared behind the clouds, the sky appears like a black shroud,With a pall of gloom descending on the ship,The dark sea seems intent on sinking the ship,And when the sailor has lost all hope-Will you be the miracle bird which signals the arrival of shore.

When the weary traveler lost in the dunes of times, comes across skeletons of the past left behind,The quest for the mystical flower leads through mirages and illusions,An oasis seems like a distant dream, the dread of a blizzard starts to cloud his mind, the spirit starts to sink, and the frail body begins to go down,- Will you be the Angel who guides the weary traveler to the dreamy oasis

When the scorpions sting has turned my body blue, and venom is the only thing that seems to flow, with death eager to embrace me, will you deliver me the kiss of life,from your honey lips.

When all my dreams turn sour, and all my desires die an uncertain death, life seems worthless,will you be my fairy and show me how to dream again,So that we can dream our dreams together time and again.

Lost Innocence

How does it feel when the innocence of a child is stolen from him, when his childhood dies a premature death, when his laughter turns into mockery.How does it feel to be cheated, to be used, abused, betrayed by the ones you trusted the most, the ones whom you entrusted your life with.When blood seems to be thinner than water and venom seems to flow in the veins instead of blood, when the purity of the heart is confused with the defensiveness of mind.When all that you see around are lies, deceit, treachery and betrayal, how does it feel to be on the recieving end of life, where there are only expectations from people, where you are just a means to the end.Why does a good deed go unrewarded, why does courage have to undergo the baptism of fire, why does the truthful end up fighting when it should be the evildoers.Why does life become a series of questions with no answers in sight, a tunnel of unending darkness, a dark cloud devoid of a silver lining.The child never forgives nor does he forget the past; the bitterness is always visible in his eyes, the pain always stabbing him, the fire always burning him, the child may grow up to be a man, but he still desires his lost innocence, still desires the lost love, still hungers for happiness but all he gets is pain, unending pain.No balm in the world can soothe his wounded soul, nor do words pacify him.

Tribute to the City Of Dreams

The first planned city of India has donned several Avatars- From being a colonial posession of the Portuguese, to a free trading sovereign of the British, to the Financial Capital of Modern day India.
The City's character has undergone several transformations across centuries.Victorias no longer ply the streets,Trams have become History, Concrete has taken over the jungles, Chimneys of the textile mills have stopped bellowing smoke,Theaters have been taken over by mutliplexes, Malls have eaten up the Departmental stores.
Times have definitely changed, but has Bombay changed with the changing times.From being the City Of Gold to becoming the City Of Slums;Bombay has had to endure destruction,exploitation, misery and grave tragedies.Still the city has managed to retain the essence of its character of being the City Of Dreams- Where every dreamer arrives in the city enchanted and enamoured by its reputation and glory.And the city like a mother warmly embraces him into its fold.
It evokes a wry sense of humour in our lives, it inspires us, infuses a do-or-die spirit, frustrates us, drains us of our energy and resources, challenges our existence, but it never disheartens us, it keeps our dreams alive - whether we may perish dreaming or trying to live the fantasy, our dreams live on to linger in the city's fragrance.
Bombay is not a city.It's a manifestation of our desires, of our unfulfilled wishes, of our tears, of laughter, of anguish, pain and suffering.
It's a fairy casting a never ending magical spell.
Bombay is not brick or mortar, nor the Arabian Sea.It's the sweat glistening down form a cart pullers body, its the twinkle in the eyes of a street kid, its an oasis in the desert of humanity.
Bombay is not just another city, its a city with a Heart Of Gold.

The Flower

In the journey of Life i've travelled through treacherous mountains and dusty deserts , through the fertile plains and through icy lands, i've come across many a land with flowers and thorns, flowers so equisite so rare that one couldn't ever get the eyes off it, and thorns so sharp so painful, that the pain lies embedded in the body, only to go away when the body may be laid to rest.
But of all the flowers that i've seen and of all the thorns that i've been pricked by, memory reminds me of one flower which stands out among the rest, like a rare gem amongst a crown of thorns,
The flower lay hidden far and wide, in a valley of thorns, where most fear to tread, but i being the crazy adventurer took the path and then i smelt the fragrance so sweet that sweetness of honey would pale in its comparison, the flower smiled the most beautiful smile that i've ever seen on anyone's face, cheering me and making my day, i sat next to it overjoyed and saw the glowing petals, saw it's heart full of nectar, saw the purity of it's heart, yet there was a sadness in the flower, a sadness beyond any description, a sadness hidden from the world,i wondered how could this be possible, something glowing with joy,full of nectar and still so pained, i asked the flower why so, the flower replied that it feared that it would wrinkle one day and then who would crown the poor thorns, it would loose the glowing petals to the bird which builds it's nest, how would it bring a smile to the bees which feed on its nectar, the fragrance would cease to exist in the winds, it wouldn't be able to bring joy to anyone anymore, it would wither never to bloom again ,and the setting sun brought our conversation to an end with the flower going back to sleep,and i bid adieu to the most beautiful flower ever.

conversation with myself

Day in and day out we hear stories of people dying deaths imaginable and unimaginable , stories which we hardly relate to, people for whom we hardly feel for, it takes a few seconds for one to forget those ghastly and depressing tales, even before they've made an impact on us.
Is it because human nature is selfish or is it because people have become so involved and busy in their lives that no one has the time or the energy to pay attention to such things.A momentary act of kindness is forgotten within a few seconds, and men carry on with their daily existence.It's only when one experiences a personal tragedy does one understand the pain and the loss and relates to the suffering of others who have experienced similar problems.
Why is that truth hits harder when there is the involvement of oneself or one's near and dear one's, why can't we as humans feel the pain of someone else's suffering, someone else's tragedy.Is it that the heart can feel a gamut of emotions only when the concerned person undergoes the experience, or is that the heart is incapable of understanding unlike the mind which is more capable of.Does the Heart blind the mind or is it the other way around?Why does the heart weaken the thinking ability of mind, even though at times the heart knows that it's making a mistake which it'll have to regret and for which it'll have to suffer for a long time.Does the power of love, of desire, of passion blind one to such an extent that a normal, rational personal changes for the better or worse.Why do we as human's desire love much more than any other thing, or is love the base of all humanity.Is it love that makes one suffer for the loss of our near and dear ones, our friends, our relatives.

down memory lane

It's been years since i moved out from the place where i'd spent my formative years, my childhood, leaving behind a significant part of myself, lending myself to the character of that place.My friends,my school, the streets, the garden and the school where i studied everything left behind forever.I haven't been able to find the same pleasure, same magic, same wonder in my new residential neighbourhood, everything looks so staid so unpleasant like an eyesore.I feel in an alien land, though i am in just another neighbourhood.Maybe it's what i've left behind that arouses such feelings, maybe it's just my old self that forgets to accept the new change in my life.
There are times when memories flood my mind, and i end up paying a visit to the place that doesn't belong to me anymore.There is a sweetness in the pain of remembering the happy past, the days spent playing street cricket, where every match seemed like the end of the world, where daily life was an adventure, crazy incidents being a way life.Precious time idled away in useless chit chat, seemed so wonderful than and the more so now.Quarrelling,fighting and getting upset with friends and than making up with a game of football, or cricket or just about anything.The eager anticipation of Divali so that one could unleash one's crazy antics, the bonding over ladoos, the time spent jointly ogling at the neighbourhood cutey, wow was it some fun, holi heightened our sense of euphoria and our mischeviousness, hitting the older residents with balloons and the younger ones with frozen balloons, never getting caught doing that, everything just exists know in memories.The place is the same, young kids still play street cricket, still chit chat,but my life has changed for the better or worse, the friends are still there but time has brought a transformation in each of them, And all that has been left behind are a lifetime of memories, to reminisce, to savour and to ponder over.