Living a rat’s race
At our own pace,
Instead of dreams being nurtured
We see them being murdered.
Swallowing the pride, unwillingly
9 to 5, routine daily
Some call us working class hero
What we actually become, zero.
It’s Friday night,
And when booze flows;
It says everything will be all right
Awake till sunshine,
And will have some more, while I have time .
The boring dingy life
Will begin once again
But then someday, I will lose that tie.
And I will be in the company of you again.
We get killed, there are cries
We kill them, no one cries.
We are hurt, we take care,
We hurt them, we seldom care.
We destroy them to live, little realizing
We will be destroyed if they don’t live.
The trees never speak
They bear it all silently.
Our home is destroyed, we feel the pain
And build anew.
We destroy there’s, they silently move.
Why lament when we are eaten?
We feel pride in hunting and killing them
What’s pride In it? Feel ashamed.
Animals and fauna have their share, let them enjoy their freedom.
Enough destruction, now it’s time to act,
React and repent for our mistakes
Earth will be barren, Sun still shining
“Paradise on earth” will be a lost dream
Let’s join hands together
Save, Reuse, Recycle
To make this planet a better place.
We all have been there; felt it. The soothing voice of loved ones act as a balm over the burnt wound. To express the feelings, here’s a short little poem I wrote for The Higher Authority, and now sharing it here…
Cadence of your lovely voice
Surrounds the self,
While they are only whispers
They cast their spell.
Shallow breaths turn racy
And heartbeats become pacy
With such upheaval within me
Eyes are no more sleepy.
As I rummage my hair
A smile breaks, it’s only fair
The feeling is heavenly
And I will guard it ever preciously.
हम अपने ही घर में मेहमान बन जाते हैं
जब अम्माँ हमारा स्वागत करती हैं
क़दम रखते ही बचपन की यादें घेर लेती हैं
आँखों में एक नमी सी झलकती है
आँगन में ना अब हम दौड़ते
ना ही अमरूद को तोड़ कर खाते
छुट्टियों में चार दिन की लिए घर आते
सारी यादें समेंट कर फिर वापस चले जाते
बचपन की वो यादें
वो थप्पड़ और चाटें
उन्ही ने तो सही रास्ता दिखाया
वरना हम तो सड़क पर ही पाए जाते
यादों को समेटते
चाचा चाची नाना नानी को याद करते
वो चार दिन ख़त्म होने को आते
बिखरा हुआ बचपन को समेटते हम नज़र आते
If ever there was an award for “The most infrequent blogger ever“, no wonder I would have been the king, dethroning every other for the last year or the previous one before that.
Consider the world a vast ocean, where you venture out with your very own small boat when blogging for the first time. With every (regular) post, it’s like you’re investing on that boat itself, going a little bit far from the shore where it all started. Move even further, and you will find other boats too, other like minded people with there own boat, out to venture in an adventure. We interact, make completely new friends. That’s where we gain followers, likes and comment. Quite a correlation.