Moustache

I sat in front of the mirror, gazing
At the view which I found quite amazing
For the first time ever, I had grown
A moustache of my very own

I walked along the city lanes
Swelling with pride, oblivious to pain
Oblivious also to the rude stares
Of bratty children and old women’s glares

It was quite plain why they so ogled
My moustache was pretty, so their mind boggled
The moustache in the evening wind thus flowed
That on the inside my heart glowed

I had never felt such happiness before
If a man has a moustache he needs no more
Such thoughts had I as I gave it a twirl
A pity then, that I was a girl.

Master, Thine Help I Need

Master to thee I submit myself again

To give me your wisdom, relieve me of my pain

I live in a foreign city, the people are strange

And try as I might, this fact does not change

We are too different, them and I

In different realms we exist, but together we die

I tried my best, master, I really did

I tried my weirdest habits from them to keep hid

I tried to be civil and a "normal" man

I tried being nice, mingled with the clan

But one moment of honesty, the one time I stumbled

Down all my months of hard work tumbled

They pushed me with their questions to tell them my thought

But when they heard it, they lay there, distraught

I saw them realize it, before my own eyes

I was never, nor will ever be, "One of the guys"

I promise I tried master, I did not push them hard

I kept a certain distance lest them I leave scarred

I suppressed every impulse I had

I passed off as a man only half mad

But it was bound to happen, my efforts were futile

I possessed not either craft or guile

As it is said by the Christian priests

I spoke once today, now I must forever hold my peace

One Nietzschean line was all it took to sway

A whole group of "friends" forever away

I am left now with a choice, one I can ill afford

To give up my friends, or to give up my God

I cannot give God up, so my friends must go

The solution to my problems, Nietzsche will know

I turn back to him again as I did in the beginning

His world I enter desolate but I always leave grinning

He champions my thinking, as his and mine are one

I cannot halt now what he had bravely begun

I must push on, harder than ever and faster
But for that I need your help, Master.

Le Movie Terrible

My friends took me to watch Insidious Two
A movie they told me would be fun
I can honestly say, having experienced it,
A more clichéd movie, there is none

Over acting and long pauses galore
They dragged along a nonexistent plot
All the way to an end which was
Even more ridiculous than I originally thought

Every door in the movie seemed to be creaking
And most opened of their own volition
For a moment, they build up some semblance of story
The next hour, it descends into a farcical demolition

A scary voiced kid, a truant mother
A victim wife and her significant other
Characters from every bad movie ever made
No originality in these "directors" plying their trade

The one scary scene in the whole movie
Was in the trailer when an ugly woman cried
The rest of the night I was on the floor laughing
To me, it was the day horror died

Hitchcock must be turning in his grave
To see such abhorrences be applauded
The field of artistic horror is ruined
The honor of past movies maurauded

I walked out of the hall disappointed
I had foolishly hoped for atleast some fun
But all I got was ripped off scenes
That remain eternally overdone

I turn as ever, for relief in these times
To my everpresent master, and write her rhymes
For even at the eve of a day that was wasted
If I write a good rhyme, i have victory tasted

So tell me master, have I done thee proud
I ask thee solemnly, head bowed
Should I be happy or sad about today
Your reply shall return my frown or send it forever away

Victory

A single glance, frozen in time
Can inspire a glorious rhyme
A poet does eternally strive
Such inspiration to thus contrive

And when the elders of the gentle race
Thus adorn him with this grace
Who possesses the strength to ignore”
His Master’s rousing, beckoning roar

Their battle cry pierces his heart
Their omniscient glare a poisoned dart
Onwards, they drive him with his sword
Consisting solely of the poetic word

In the midst of Xerxes’s Army
Leonidas did stand mighty strong
And in the end the braver men
Left the field with victory songs

And so the poet set upon
A foe much greater than he
He would perish but wouldn’t dare
Defy his Master’s will and flee

They came with almighty drums
And waves of writhing, marching men
And we held them off, using well
The power of his ball point pen

The foes withered and fell away
The power of words held their sway
None would ever question again
The majesty of a poet’s reign

Defeat

Discourse on philosophies
And fanciful tirades
The impression at first is dynamite
But with time that too fades

Surrounded by walls of legends
They gaze down, disappointed
At their so called follower
Who hath himself thus anointed

The follower sits, head lowly bowed
Ashamed of his cowardly posing
Courage, which nature so sparsely endowed
In him did not deign transposing

Mighty words, empty of deeds
His life’s tales do describe
The lord has his jokes and on this man
He aimeth his cruelest jibe

Still he fights on in his own small way
By force of habit, not from courage
He deserveth not his goodly friends
Who form his vital entourage

The wall gods do spite him
As much as he them loves
He lacks the iron fist needed
Beneath the silken glove

He striveth hard to do them good
Some justice of primitive form
But fail he does, time and again
Unable to weather the storm

For a storm it is that batters his senses
A relentless wave of assaults
And resilience, or its lack thereof
He knows to be his prime fault

Down he falls, in front of his Gods,
Lay prone, never to rise
The man who never finds his feet
Can never hope to claim the prize

John Lennon, Jim Morrison
Jimmy Page and Kurt Cobain
Scoff at this weakling’s incompetence
To withstand the littlest of pain

“What Soldier art thou?” They ask him,
“To thus defile our name
We need fighters of fearless countenance
Not mice, meek and tame

And here lieth thou, weak wimp of a man
Cowering in the face of mere numbers
Stand up and fight, uncouth being!
Lest we put you to eternal slumber”

But try as he might
He could not fight
The charge of the Light Brigade

And so in hell
At the toil of the bell
With deserters he was laid

Questions

Standing amidst chaos
Alone in a crowd
The noise does my discomfiture
In darkness shroud

All revel in dance and rhythm
None pay a mind
To the lonely giant
Abomination to mankind

Lights flash in a dizzy haze
I watch on in dull amaze
As one and all sway united

The beat smites my very core
Sweat drips from every pore
But no spark in me is ignited

But am I right and they wrong
Or is the opposite true
Am I so thick skinned that
Their wondrous beat permeates not through?

Or is it that my life’s meaning
Does not in this world find its place
Do I find true happiness
In morbidity’s menacing face

Do I need the grisly truth
Thrust in front of my blank eyes
Does the joy of the one
Depend on the other’s demise

As with all the queries I face
This question too has no answer
I tarry through life pondering
And my doubts spread like cancer

Yankee Doodle

Yankee Doodle went to town
Riding on a pony
He stuck a feather in his hat
And called it macaroni

Black man was picking cotton
And it caused him lots of pain
So he took his mom's advice
And dulled it with cocaine

Jewish people came to town
And money in they raked
Then a German joined the fun
And the Jews in ovens baked

Some Catholic priests came to town
And children they molested
The joke's on them, for the children
HIV positive tested

Some Mauzis came to town
And killed a few good men
I didn't join in their evil plan
'Cause I'm a good citizen

Some Americans came to town
In a land well oiled
But the Mauzis killed them infidels
And so their plans were foiled

Some Chinese people came to town
Their eyes looked like thin lines
But that was the least of our worries
For they devoured all the canines

Ode to Sohit

An amiable watchman awaits me
Though he lies in slumberous depths
His demeanor is always positive
And his job is to prevent thefts

A large man of twenty-four he is
Yet harmless as a baby seal
His rear end is so silky smooth
It adds to his sex appeal

Great writers have attempted to describe him
Dickens, and before him, Moses
But describing a Nepali man
Various difficulties poses

First of all they all look alike
You cannot tell girl from guy
And secondly, they have an innocence
That money just cannot buy

Their cooking stands a class apart
My palate it does enthrall
I only wish they didn’t go around
scratching their balls

They’re quick to catch melodies
On their strings of heavenly bliss
But they don’t receive hints so well
I practically begged him for a kiss

So if any day you need a guy
To make you feel just swell
Look for the watchman roaming the streets
Shouting “All is well, All is well.”

Poem About Nothing

I wrote a new poem today
With nothing much to really say
I'm just filling up the page
To feel I've earned my daily wage

I now have written a paragraph
Without saying much at all
I hope with clever play on words
The audience's impatience to stall

You still keep reading even though
I tell you there's nothing to read below
This is the trick I try to master
At the risk of complete disaster

For if you haven't read this far
This poem I write has no cause
I write only to please myself
But i do crave your applause

Still you read, ah, lucky me!
You are of an angelic mind
To please you further I shall try
Another paragraph to grind

But wordplay too has its limits
I cannot write forever after
The applause you give so graciously
May soon turn to mocking laughter

But I'll take myself to the brink
With a cheeky grin and a sly wink
If there is even the faintest hope
Of you treading this slippery slope

For if I succeed, I have attained
That which genius never gained
Credit received for no work done
I guess that makes me a Kardashian

Writer's Block

There once lived a poet called Mediocrity
He hath not talent worth two dimes
But life had provided him plenty of stories
Stories that he’d convert into rhymes

He observed well, this sleuth of a man
Occurrences around were duly noted
And when these occurrences in poetry ran
On his work the whole world doted

But Fate will not be one’s friend forever
Six billion at once vie for her love
She is generous at heart, Fate, our mother
But jealous is the Lord up above

Life introduced him to Monotony
Events of any interest dried away
His river of creativity lay empty
And the dam of Originality held sway

NH 7 Weekend

I walked the street alone at dawn
Gazing at the rising sun
When on my way i did see
A vehicular catastrophe

Drunken men did the car drive
On drunks does this vile city thrive
And inebriated driving leads to only death
And so the fools took their last breath

Their blood lay dripping on the road
Their guts had outwards blown their load
I pranced around the carcasses strewn
In a fancy Rigadoon

The blood crept under the soles of my feet
Fall i did, and foreign blood eat
It didnt taste vile though it was no gourmet
I could still smell though, the body's decay

I walked on and encountered our watchman
The man whose width did the entire gateway span
Face drenched with blood he spotted, horrified,
There was no way he was gonna let me inside

I returned alone as i had begun
Hunger, starvation and the crippling sun
I had no choice but to go back and eat
pungent blood poured on human meat

And once i had devoured my meal
I came at once to tell you the real
Story
Even if it is quite gory

Eid Mubarak

We lay together, quiet, unmoved.

I lay with my back to her, with one of her arms wrapped around me, the other stroking my hair.
Her soft hand lulling me into a tranquil sleep as it had so many times before. I was in that twilight state where I could no longer be sure if I was dreaming or awake. Her hand inched down to my neck, tracing circles and sending delicious shivers down my spine.

She rubbed my neck, pressing down a little harder now as I sank deeper into unconsciousness, enjoying every moment. She pressed harder still. It began to hurt just a bit. I frowned as the pain began to get a little uncomfortable. But the drowsiness still lay heavy on my mind.  The pressure was really beginning to hurt. I tried shifting to indicate my discomfort, but her arm clamped down in a vice like grip.

I was wide awake now.  This shouldn’t even be a struggle, she was much smaller than me. But it was taking an incredible effort just to extricate myself from her grip.  I was finding it hard to breathe as her hand, so tender just moments ago, pressed ever harder.  I gave an almighty heave and managed to push her off me, as I jumped off the bed and turned to give her an incredulous stare.

She looked straight back at me, no expression on her face. She might as well have been dead.
She looked different, as if the light had died out from her eyes. Yet she seemed to possess a strength unnatural for someone her size. Something was off here. Very off.

I called her name uncertainly, I did not get a reaction. She advanced on me slowly, no emotion apparent.
A cold dread descended on me. There was something unnatural happening here, I could feel it.
I did not dwell on that thought for too long, I could not. She had covered the distance between us in three measured steps and, still expressionless, swung her hand and struck me with a shattering blow.
I lay flat on the ground, my head swimming, ears ringing. I struggled to see anything with my eyes watering profusely. Through the gloom I saw her shape stand above me. She held something in her hand, I couldn’t quite make out what. She raised her arm once more and brought it down upon my head. My head split open, blood gushing out. Excruciating pain drowned out any other thought or emotion from my brain. I writhed pathetically on the floor, screaming in agony.

She stared at me blankly, leant down towards me, brought her lips to my ear.
“Eid Mubarak,” she whispered, and she walked out of the room. 

An Update to my Master

A kingly feast, a friendly beast,

A concert I will not forget
Companionship, Barbecue cheese dip
As good as life will get

Durga Puja ended today
Tomorrow they drown their God
In  a river full of filth and slime
While they themselves are jewel shod

They pose, they smile, Quite infantile
Their attempts at merrymaking
Their smiles are fake, the strain does take
Their jaws past the point of breaking

Confused, forlorn, I stand alone
In the midst of this festival gay
Wry is my smile, on the miracle mile
I stand amongst them, yet far away

Disenchantment in me was rife
What good is gaiety amongst an ocean of strife
He who dares claim to have attained inner peace
His toxic lies do noxious fumes release

But post 9 pm my outlook changed
The creases left my strained brow
All it took to lighten the load
Was the underside of one dead cow.

In the Mind of a Little Brother

A rustle, a crash, a groan, a scream
Awoke me from my blissful dream
The peace shattered, I opened my eye,
"Who dareth awake me, and why?"

My sister sat there guilty-eyed
A broken vase too, I espied,
And as if to complete the tale
Her face became a ghostly pale

Her hand with broken shards was filled
The shards that the vase's corpse had spilled
Her white frock became a morbid red
From the blood that her guilty hands shed

I stared down at her quivering face,
"In fear, woman loses all her grace!"
So felt I, as I stared down
At my sister with a menacing frown

Tears down her face came streaming
Pathetic guilt in her apologies teeming,
She wrapped her bloody hands round my knee
Groveling and blubbering her desperate plea

I softened my tone, stroking her head
Sat her down on the edge of the bed
Laying to rest all her qualms,
I took her into my comforting arms.

Naive Woman! To believe that I,
Her brother, would not deign to lie,
She sighed in relief, let down her guard
And I stabbed her with a jagged shard

Her neck first I did pierce,
Stabbed at it with a passion fierce
As soon as her writhing body went slack
I went to work upon her back

A merry tune I whistled and sung
As I sliced into her now lifeless tongue
Then I carved a message on her face,
"A woman must always know her place"

Dance of the Zalongos

They awoke to the sound of screams,

Despairing wails and wretched moans

Their city, once beautiful, was being reduced

To crushed pebbles and crumbling stones

The onslaught was unstoppable

The enemy numbered too great

The men fought valiant and strong

But which man can overpower fate?

The walls soon tottered and fell

Rubble and dust reigned supreme

The end of the battle drew nigh

The streets with corpses teemed

The men knew the end they faced

They’d fight on until they perished

The women too were of one mind

For above all, their pride they cherished

For it is the fate of every war

That when a victor arises

The defeated men die fighting

And the women are claimed as prizes

A hardened race these women were

Unused to a life of leisure

Their pride would not see them turned

Into a mere source of pleasure

They marched resolute, stony-faced

Straight onwards to the cliff’s edge

They marched silent, unwavering

Taking strength from their unspoken pledge

Each woman led from in front

While her children followed close behind

Till every family in the land of Zalongo

Up against the cliff’s edge was lined

Suddenly up amongst them arose

A chant of great depth and fervor

A woman grasped her child’s small hand

And the firstborn was thrown over

They pitched, they swayed,

In stormy cavalcade

And the chanting only did grow

The mother’s eyes wild

She followed her child

Into the watery depths below

The singing still grew

As each mother threw

Her child to meet its doom

With great song and laughter

She followed right after

Still humming the deathly tune

The marauders stood silent

Awestruck watched the tyrant

As six hundred took their own lives

The army was victorious

Their victory was glorious

But none remained to be claimed as their prize

On the Bright Side...

Man is black, man is white

Man is naught but parasite

Man is dark, man in fair

Man does naught but pollute the air

Man is yellow, man is brown

Man has ever sought the crown

Man is tiny, man is tall

Man rests not till he’s conquered all

Man is fat, man is thin

Man knows not virtue from sin

Man is rich, man is poor

Man resists not greed’s allure

Man is cowardly, man is brave

Man is to his needs a slave

Man is strong, man is weak

Man does ever salvation seek

Yes man has many flaws indeed

And for his faults all mankind bleeds

But if man were not what he be

Whence would come my poetry?

Hypatia

Men are strong, men protect
Men have ruled since life began
But where was all their majesty
When Hypatia’s blood freely ran?

Whence came their fear, their jealousy
Their slanderous, deceitful game
She was the Greatest woman who ever lived
And through mud they dragged her name

She stepped onto his territory
And excelled far more than he
Her quest was only to seek the truth
And they blamed her of blasphemy

They did not seek to answer her
Or prove her endeavors mistaken
They chose instead the coward’s path
And thus it was, her life was taken

They roused a mob most ignorant
They filled their heads with lies
In God’s name did they lift the sword
And God did sympathize

They chased her down, they tied her up
And flayed her stone by stone
Till all that was left of the Great One
Was blood and broken bone

Her work unlearned, her writings burned
They destroyed all she had done
Chaos created, their bloodlust sated
Back to their churches they run

Mr. Postman

There was once a Mr. Postman who lived down Memory lane.
Every morning at 6:00 am he started his daily beat. He walked the same route, took the same shortcuts, greeted the same people with the same greetings.

His daily routine hardly ever changed, but what did change was how his day went. On a good day, he would deliver a letter bearing good news.
He brought news of the birth of a grandchild, or a promotion, or the long-awaited return of a soldier from war. On these days, he was invited inside for a cup of tea and some biscuits. He was thanked and blessed repeatedly for his valuable and faithful service.
Children waiting for the arrival of a toy chased him down the street, and on receiving it, hugged him with all the uninhibited love that children seem to have in abundance.

Those were the good days.

But sometimes life, as is its wont, would change for the worse with absolutely no warning.

“Dear Mother,
I hope this letter finds you well. I must, with no little regret, inform you that I will not be able to send you any money this month. I hope you understand. To maintain a dignified life in the city requires so much expenditure, I simply do not have the money. I will be sure to send you some next month.

All my love and regards,
Jeremy.”

This was the letter Mr. Postman read to the old widow. This was the third month in a row that her son failed to send her the money. Yet every time he walked down her porch, she came out to greet him with her eyes full of hope. She had long since given up the hope of her son coming to meet her. Now she had to make do with the hope of receiving her monthly allowance.

He had not the heart to tell her that her son was on holiday in France when he posted the letter.

 On days such as these, though the news had no connection to him, he felt as if he shared in their grief. He bore the burdens of the entire neighborhood’s troubles on his shoulders. And the news sometimes got worse. Fate often played cruel games, and he was the unfortunate messenger.

A poor, unemployed man was served his eviction notice. He now no longer had a home.
An earnest, hard-working boy received a letter rejecting his scholarship application. He could not attend college.
The soldier who was to return fell on the last day of battle. His wife was a widow at the slender age of eighteen.

Sometimes the recipients bore their grief with grace, sometimes they wept, and sometimes they blamed Mr. Postman. They assailed him, cursed him, wished horrid things upon him. He never protested. He listened in silence and, when they were done, he expressed his condolences, picked up his bag and continued on his beat.

For 20 years, every single day, Mr. Postman brought tidings, whether good or bad, to that neighborhood.
And for 20 years, every morning at 6:00 am, just before he started on his job, Mr. Postman had a question to the clerk at the office to which he received the same answer.

“Any news from my son?”
“No, none today, John. I’m sure there will be some any day now.”

Mr. Postman smiled, nodded in agreement. “Yes, any day now.”
He picked up his bag and went about his work.

The Day Football Died

Where do you go, when the person you equate a whole obsession to, simply leaves?

If you truly love an entity, and then the very soul of the entity is removed, could you still love it the same?

Yesterday, the 8^th of May, just another day at Manchester United.
But, within my lifetime, which is not very much, it will go down as the worst day in the history of the club. The day the club lost its heart.
For me, it was the day Football died.

On the 8^th of May, Sir Alex Ferguson announced his retirement.

There are always great men. In every generation, in every sport or discipline, there will always be men who are a cut above the rest. And while you do feel sad when they end their careers, you look forward to the next great talent with excitement and enthusiasm.
But just once in a while, you come across an anomaly. The sort of person who, even to the eternal optimist, is irreplaceable. A person who has redefined the very concept of greatness.

For me, personally, it was not the trophies. It was not the success, although successes were fondly celebrated.

It was the passion, which, after 26 years at the same club, still caused a 71-year-old man to jump up and down with glee at a goal, that caused him to scream in sincere anguish the moment he felt his team suffered an injustice, that brought out his fiercest protective instinct the moment his boys looked vulnerable.

The sight of Sir Alex Ferguson standing on the touchline, grabbing a player by his collar and screaming at him to raise his performance, is the perfect example of his unbridled pride in the club’s philosophy. The players were like his children, but if they did not stand up to the level that is required at the club, then even his children were not exempt from a lambasting. That was Alex Ferguson.
And then, on the other hand, when a player was ridiculed and tormented, as happens a lot nowadays, there was no stauncher supporter of the player than The Boss. He would stick by them through a hurricane and come out none the worse for wear. That, too, is Alex Ferguson.
He was not a father figure to the team, he was a father figure to the club. To the players, the staff, the board and the fans. There was not a single soul connected to Manchester United who did not look to this day with dread.

Since 1999, when on a fateful night, I watched my first Manchester United match with Roy Keane pulling back a 2 goal deficit against a Juventus packed with legends, there was something about this team that captured my attention. A few weeks later, they did it again, historically, to win the Champions league, scoring two in the final two minutes of the game.

Having witnessed that as my first taste of club football, I believe it was out of my hands, I was in love with the club.
But I realize today, it was in fact Sir Alex Ferguson’s philosophy that had caught my eye. A team that played fast, breathless football. A team that did not acknowledge defeat and till the last second ran their socks off. And more often than not, that resulted in an unlikely victory.
A team that no matter what the opponent or the occasion, never once abandoned their style. Every one of these traits was ingrained into them by Sir Alex. And it was these same traits that made me fall in love.

I will, to my death, continue to support the club, but if I am honest, Sir Alex was a huge part of the image of Manchester United in my head.

So now I ask the question, having lost Sir Alex, where do I go from here? 

The Light in the Sky

When angels cease to fall to earth

And our light no more touches the sky

We must, as a race, know then

That all in our world has gone awry

Will we then change our wretched ways

Will we hark the signs that are beckoning

Or will we hurtle forevermore

Towards our day of reckoning

We never seem to know the way

We don't see ruin till amongst us it crawls

We see instead only petty gains

The worthless filth that thus enthralls

I pray to see the dawn one day

When i can the fruits of life enjoy

When angels again fall to the earth

And our light doth touch the sky

Bangalore

It was for many years
The only love I felt
The only entity that did
my hardened heart melt

I loved its people
And its people loved me
I vowed to reside there
For eternity

But life does not heed
A petty man’s vows
And Fate does not obey
But its own wishes bestows

For now in search of happiness
Of a different kind
I am forced to leave the very place
that I dearly love, behind

To wait, or not to wait
To take the step, or contemplate
‘Tis the decision I must take
To trust in love, for love’s own sake.

Guilty Conscience

I watched her beg for mercy
She writhed and moaned in pain
But even as she groveled for help
She knew her pleas were naught but vain

She saw the lifelessness in my eyes
The cold, calculating stare
She felt my strong, icy grip
And she felt only despair

I slashed her, left, right, across
Swung hard and true with my knife
So meaningless to my mind
But to her, it meant her life

I burnt her, beyond recognition
None would now find her remains
I washed her blood off my hands
And off my clothes removed the stains

I whistled a tune as I went
To a guilty conscience I was not prey
For her, it was the end of her life
To me, it was just Friday

The Flaws of Genius

We live in a world where cowardice is not frowned upon, it is valued.

The legend of Spartans, that they sent out their kids in their early years to fight for their own survival, in which way the weak and cowardly were weeded out, and only the strong and brave remained, today that would be called savagery… But was it really?

Is there not some semblance of logic, if not in the tradition itself, at least in the fact that as a society they were sending the message that cowardice is not okay? That a person’s weakness should not be upheld as a good thing? Why is it that in society today it is wrong for someone who is good at something, to flaunt that he is good at it. If a man excels in any field far more than everyone else, and he shows it, he is called arrogant and a show off, and ostracized.

There was a time when this was not so. Geniuses were allowed to state publicly that they were geniuses, and they were loved all the more for it.
When George Best was asked, “Who do you think was the greatest player of all time?”
He answered, “I am.” It was simple. It was the truth. He knew he was, so why shouldn’t he say it?
Eric Cantona would turn up his collar every time he was on the pitch. Because he knew, with certainty, that on that pitch, he was the king. It was not arrogance, it was confidence.

Every genius has his flaws, but instead of harping on about his flaws in an effort to make him human, I say we should ignore his flaws on light of his extraordinary ability otherwise.
It’s the least they deserve.

I do not say that humility is not a quality. It definitely is. But does that mean necessarily mean
its absence is a flaw?

Today we are at a point where a talented person who is humble is rated higher than one who is not.
Why? Is their ability not the same?
Certainly if a man boasts great deeds and does none, boasting can be stated to be, quite rightly, a flaw.
But if a man has the ability, what then? Is his proclaiming that fact not honesty? Why is it looked on with the same disapproving stare as the one of the vain boaster?
Can a person who is superior to others not acknowledge that same fact? Does he have to falsely cover his abilities in the blankets of normalcy in order to not let the others feel inferior? Is this what our world has come to, where a master of an art is forced to conceal his brilliance just so that the common man watching him does not feel inadequate? Should we not work to cajole the master’s feelings rather than the ordinary mans? For who is it that has done our species a bigger favor? The master, the pioneer, the leader, the risk taker, the one who excels? Or was it instead the layman who sat gaping at these wondrous deeds?

The answer seems obvious. One must strive to make conditions ideal for geniuses to develop. Even geniuses have room to evolve, but we must let them take their evolution in the right direction and not seek to pull them down to our level.

Today it is considered the duty of the genius to educate the less enlightened so as to bring them up higher than they’d ever get on their own. If the genius chooses to do this of his own volition, I have absolutely no problems. I salute him.
The problem arises when he is expected to teach, even if he is not so inclined.
If you force a genius, against his will, to educate the less talented or intelligent, using up time which he could instead have been using to further his own skill and achieve heights never scaled before, are you not crippling progress? Are you not sacrificing the discovery of the unknown just for the noble, yet thoroughly impractical process of making man work slightly above his own capacity?

Let us say Darwin was coerced to teach people less knowledgeable about biology at a time when he could have been doing his research to perfect the theory of evolution.
Are you not doing a greater disservice to mankind as a whole for the benefit of a few hundred or even thousand people?
Those same students, who at the end learnt a bit more about biology than they would have alone, would they not have profited more if they had not learnt at all, but Darwin went on to perfect the theory?

A humble and charitable genius is an idea that is nice to think about, but I would much rather our geniuses concentrated on being geniuses and we common idiots can take care of the charity and humility.

We have reached a point where we are now even scared of telling kids they failed. So now a kid cannot fail until he is in the tenth grade. One of the single most ridiculous ideas I have come across.
A kid needs to be told he failed, in order for him to want to improve. If you tell a kid that everyone who races, regardless of whether he wins or not, is a winner, you are removing the very incentive the kid needs.

Effort-reward. The dynamic is simple. If a kid wants a reward, he must strive for it. If he does not win, his effort was not good enough, he must try harder. But if a kid who tried harder is treated the same as someone who did not, you are demotivating him. You are discouraging the people who possess the ability to go the extra mile from using that very ability. In short, you are restraining them from excelling.

Why?

To protect the feelings of the mediocre.

What this does is it sets a dangerous trend. Parents now learn to teach their kids according to these rules. When the child commits errors, parents prefer to make the child think it is okay rather than admonish him. This is the coward’s way out. A child has, obviously, a child’s brain. If at such an impressionable age, you give the impression that it is not his responsibility to improve and adapt, but it is the world’s responsibility to accept who he is, you are destroying the child’s life in one fell swoop.
Congratulations, you have now raised a child who will never take responsibility for any mistakes he makes!!

It is argued that some kids do not take criticism well, and they break down under it. And their performance would decline even below their normal average just due to mental stress.
For this reason they try and outlaw criticizing a child.

The way I see it, if a child cannot cope with criticism, and he cannot motivate himself to become better, he is mentally incapable of a decent survival anyway. The world is not a place that wants to encourage you to do your best, the world is a place that wants to eat you up the second you stumble.
And if a child cannot prepare himself for that, he is not good enough. And to compromise the development of superior children for the temporary welfare of this one child seems to me to be idiocy.

Today we are supposed to be diplomatic, politically correct, sensitive. What they really mean is, we should shut up and do what we are told. Seems a recipe for disaster to me. I would much prefer a world where the genius rose above and beyond the rest, and were allowed to soar to their heights, while the layman went about his daily pell mell. Humanity did not evolve to the point it has by everyone being equal, it did so by a pioneer leading the way and the common mass following.

Let the genius be a genius, let the common man be common.

Knowledge is my Bane

When you were born, I was your only guide. There were others to tell you what to do and how to do it.
But you were too young, you did not understand them. But you understood me.
Even today you can understand me, if you let yourself. But you won’t, because today you have Knowledge.

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There was a time I ruled the earth. I still do, as far as all the other species go. I am still king.
They still do what I command. But no longer for humans. Humans only have an ear for me in their infancy.
Then my influence fades even as quickly as a child’s footprint on the snow. Only visible until a fresh layer of snow falls, or a brief wind blows. Such is the effect that Knowledge has on my will.

Without Knowledge, every being on Earth bows to me. And only in this way can they achieve the perfect balance. For all beings were perfect when they were created.
But Knowledge intervenes. It gives vain ideas of a better life, of an improved world, harmony, structure, peace.

There will never be peace. Peace is not perfection, peace is a falsity. The concept of peace is my single greatest enemy after Knowledge himself, for it is a minion that comes tagging along with Knowledge.

The world was not meant to be this way. There is a delicate balance, beyond the comprehension of the wisest of you. You presume to understand, yet with each grain of Knowledge you edge yourself away from perfection. You slave away to better yourself, but if one strains to move away from perfection, then each success in his attempt is a failure to his cause.

Would that the world returned to its origins, where men did not question, they did not possess Knowledge enough to frame a question. They obeyed. And since I am not external, but internal, men do not feel enslaved, but it seems to them that they act of their own volition, when it is in fact I that is guiding them every step of the way. Only I know the balance, only I know the structure. For I am taught by Mother Nature herself, and any who question her laws are doomed to a life of imperfection and failure.

When I instruct a man to kill, he must kill. It may not serve him well, it may do him naught but harm, he may rue his decision. And he may question it. But it was necessary. For there is a greater balance.

And there was a time when he would have listened. There was a time when, though he could see no good coming from his action, he would listen to me, and he would act.
 Today, you would call him a savage, but he is, in fact, much closer to perfection than you, vain fool!
It is he that serves the purpose of his creation, he does not presume to be greater than he is, and he does not disobey the laws of the very earth that gave him existence. He may not understand why, or indeed if at all he is helping, but I see all, and I know he has served a greater cause than all the rest of your pretenders put together.

But you are too far gone now, you will not realize it until it is too late, though you prattle on about it incessantly. Even under the curse of destruction, you seek a lifeline from Knowledge, the very cause of your demise.
You had all the answers, right in front of you. And you threw it away, seeking Knowledge instead.

And once you are finished, you shall realize the folly of your endeavors.  You will wish you had listened to me. For I am the purest form of command.

I am Instinct. And Knowledge is my bane.

To The Victor Go The Spoils

In every war that has been

The victor has told the story

Defiling opponents' names

Enhancing his own glory

It is inevitable, I suppose

That when such tales are told

Lies creep in to the narrative

And falsities manifold

And so when down the generations

These legends on are passed

The lies too, do accumulate

And a huge farce is amassed

……………………………………………………………………………

Which story has been told

To every child that is born

Ere slumber each night

And first thing again in the morn?

Which is the oldest fable

That man has ever weaved

And with the ancient legend

Many generations deceived?

It is that of religion, it is that of God

It is the question of how we came to be

How can I believe that this tale alone

Through all the eons has come unchanged to me?

What if this tale too

Like all others before

Was written by the victor

And inconsistencies bore?

Do we live by his rules

On the off chance he was right

Or do we set our minds free

To let it roam where it might?

I know not the answer
And 'til this answer be found
To a life of blind faith
I, at least, shan't be bound

Of Vegetarians

They would that all creatures live in harmony

Though be the cost of that harmony so dear

They would that we suffer for all eternity

Just so their consciences would be clear

The Path That Was Chosen

He strode upon the chosen path

Chosen for him by another

He was bound to it by the very love

That binds a child to his mother

He was tempted oft by fate and man

He resisted, exerting his will

He would not stray from his chosen path

His destiny he would fulfill

He continued as planned on course, on course

Not a foot did he put wrong

Never he wavered, never he faltered

His mother love burned still in him strong

But fate is wont to play many games

On the lives of righteous men

His whole life he had lived for her

But if she were to perish, what then? 

What was the point of all his endeavor?

What purpose was served by his pain?

For the one for whom he had worked all his life

By fate’s hand now lay slain

All the toils undertaken just for her joy

What good did it do now to this little boy?

He stood alone in the darkness, frozen

For he could no longer see the path that was chosen…

WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN

Whoever decided that Satan has to be a man? – Priyadarshini Dawn

WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN

There was a man and wife
Who loved each other so
Inseparable they were
As perfect couples go

They had made for themselves
A secluded spot for home
The garden buzzed with life
The river frothed with foam

This kind of glee
So heavenly
Was not a common sight
She laughed aloud
He gazed on, proud
For she set his world alight

But just one slip of the tongue it took
To shatter the very foundations
An existence based on the love of both
Was destroyed by one’s impatience

A passing remark, an innocent word
A moment when his guard was down
For the first time in many eons did
On her face bring an ugly frown

She took the comment to heart
She bore it in her mind
Her hands clasped and clawed
Her teeth did ominously grind

She could not bear the insult
Our fair mademoiselle
She turned his very existence
Into a living hell

He left her in despair
To find another place to live
He was a lonely man
But with a lot of love to give

With time his new beginning
Took shape in a beautiful land
He laid every brick himself
Tended every flower by hand

And so his new abode
Did all his worries erase
It was named by him “Heaven”
And it was unrivaled in grace

But even his departure could not
sate the woman’s desire
To see the man suffer
To see his world go down in fire

For she created a space
Most wretched to the eye
A place where all emotion
But Misery and Pain would die

Under her watchful eye
Such incredible destruction befell
Once all had been destroyed
She named the place “Hell”

They say hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
In truth, hell itself was thus
from the fury of woman born…

A Pious Man

Pray not for aid to One who made
A set of never-changing laws
But in your need remember well
He gave you speed, or guile, or claws.
                                       - Saki (For the Duration of the War)

A Pious Man

He lived his whole life by the Book
The Lord commandeth, and he did,
If temptation ever came his way
From Satan’s path he hid

His friends, they were not evil
Merely boys having some fun
He would not follow, but sit and read
The tale of the Lord’s Son

If they did implore him to join
He would give them a scathing look
And warn them of the hellfire awaiting
As was written in the Holy Book

At a certain age, he began to feel
The temptations of the flesh
But he rid those thoughts, for in his mind
The Holy verses still ran fresh

He abstained  from material belongings
Except for necessities bare
For he knew this was the trap by which
Sin did man ensnare

Only one thought did consume his mind
That once he did feel Death’s kiss
He would leave this cruel and trying world
And sail off into heavenly bliss

He did deny himself of every
Pleasure that the world could offer
Thinking, “Every sin I avoid here,
In heaven will fill my coffer.”

All of sixty years he lived
A pious man as can be
Naïve man! He knew not
Of life’s great irony

For Death did come his way
And he breathed his last breath of air
But now his life is over
And heaven is to be found nowhere...

Why Does The Chicken Cross The Road?

She had searched all through her life
But no results had it showed
She still did ask one and all
“Why does the chicken cross the road?”

She asked her mother this question
But no answer could she goad
Her mother had no answer
“Why does the chicken cross the road?”

She asked her father in the hope
That he would relieve her of her load
For the question still burdened her mind
“Why does the chicken cross the road?”

Her father gave no answer
But her quest for truth was not slowed
She still asked the question
“Why does the chicken cross the road?”

She decided to find out herself
And across the path she strode
In her eternal quest to find out
“Why does the chicken cross the road?”

She reached the other side
But she could see no change
She saw nothing special
She saw nothing strange

And now, though she made
The other side her abode
She still knew not the answer
“Why does the chicken cross the road?”

Billu

A steed he was, noble and great

We knew him not, yet we knew him well

Fate had blessed us with his presence

Why we deserved him, none can tell

Majestic in every step he took

And not one foot did he ever put wrong

No man can describe his value

Through oratory or through song

Descended he must be from royal lines

Yet he would never let you know

But an aura he carried quietly with him

And your respect for him would only grow

Ancient and wise he grew to be

Yet never his strength diminished

He walked ever, strong and proud

Until his time on earth was finished

We rode on him, an honor it was

An experience to remember, that he ensured

To even the most unskilled rider

A smooth ride was assured

It mattered not who needed his help

It mattered not who held the reigns

He was in control, he guided you

While exhilaration coursed through your veins

A simple act of riding a horse

Made to feel like an act of nobility

For we were merely the passengers

Witness to his awe inspiring abilities

Age seemed to affect him not

As it affected a common man

Nor should it have for he was Billu

The greatest steed that ever ran

His hair grew long, flowing free

Rivaling tales of Rapunzel

When he flew, it flew with him

And with his light footfall, it also fell

He was considered the best

By young and old, by one and all

Blessed was considered the ground

Where his holy foot would fall

His own breed would fall in step

Not daring to disrespect his grace

Wherever he went, they followed suit

In the kingdom of steeds, they knew their place

From Zanskar, they say, his origins are

Yet I feel strangely in my heart

He came not from a place known to us

But a world from ours apart

For no equal in twenty years

Of strength and grace have I seen

He stood alone on a pedestal

Erect and proud, as he’s ever been

He must have tired of normalcy

For he has decided to move on

As a result, from our midst

His reassuring presence is now gone

We cannot follow, we don’t deserve to

We must be content with our life

And remember that for thirty years

He was here to ease our strife

I pay respect, meaningless though it may be

To the horse that we all love

Absent he is from this world

I’ll look for him when I go up above...

A Geometric Dream

Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do & die, 
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 

-      Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1809-1892

A Geometric dream

It was war

War it was, that drove him on all his life

War it was that finally drove him over the edge

He remember only war and the destruction that it wrought

He remembered not that he spake to his country a pledge

Blood, gore, madness had filled his head for years

He saw things which man could never dream

It was bound to happen sooner or later

It happened one night, he woke up with a scream

His soldiers knew not why,

They were too afraid to ask

But from that night on, their leader, it seemed

Had torn off his humane  mask

No longer would he pretend to have ideals

No longer would he pretend to care

He had no humanity left in him

Let any test that theory if they dare

He was in a war to kill

That’s what he’d been trained to do

He would do it, and do it well,

He was his enemy’s worst fear come true

He fought hard and dirty

Wreaked havoc of massive scale

None reported his doings

For none lived to tell the tale

But fate caught up at last

His time on earth was through

For his acts of maddened killing

He now had to pay his due

He slept that night soundly

Clear as crystals was his vision

It arrived in his mind unbidden

But with eagle eyed precision

A geometric dream it is called

A concept not known to all

It can spur man to great deeds

Or it can lead to his downfall

In one night’s sleep he saw

The very essence of the world

He saw where he was headed

He saw how his life unfurled

It was not his creation

It could not have been his own

But now that it was there it could not be forgotten

The seeds of hell had been sown

He awoke, all knowing, all seeing

His mind knew only one path

It led him inevitably down the road

And all in the way felt his wrath

He was a general, a leader elect

He commanded a troop of six hundred men

They were ready to lay down their lives

He only had to tell them when

They trusted him more than themselves

For he had never led them astray

He wielded now this power he had

They had no choice but to obey

He was told by his superior

To make sure his men hold their ranks

Just long enough till the time was right

Then attack from either flank

He cared no longer for orders

He now served a higher cause

There would be no life for men tomorrow

In his march there would be no pause

He knew humanity was doomed

He knew this fact full well

When man reached what he considered heaven

He would pray he’d gone to hell

He wished death upon himself

And on those he valued most

And of every living being on earth

His men always came foremost

And so it was decided by him

He would not die alone

He would take the life of the very men

Of whom so fond he’d grown

But a cowards death would not do

His men did not deserve deceit

Their honor could not be compromised

Even when their end they meet

He rallied his troops, onward they went

He filled in them a passion unmatched

Now six hundred rode to fulfill

A plan that in his sleep was hatched

They rode straight into the heart of the enemy

None knew what awaited them that day

None but him, their maddened chief

All they could do was pray

And then in one dreadful moment they saw

That their preparation had been in vain

So great was the sea of men before them

They’d never live to see the sun rise again

But so great was their faith

So dear to them their honor

They wavered not by their chief’s side

Even when confronted by this horror

They hacked, they sawed

They cut, they clawed

They fought like none had fought before

But look where they might

Everywhere in sight

For each dead man, there were ten more

Valiant men in their prime

Whose bravery was unmatched

Had fallen victim to their general’s crime

And been ruthlessly dispatched

Not many were left to see the view

For most were already dead

But the extraordinary few, who made it through

Saw only visions of red

Their compatriots, their mates

Their brothers, their sons

Lay dead to the world

Deformed by guns

Some were maddened in these last moments

Their hearts could not bear the dread

Others accepted death with honor

And smiled at the man who severed their head

But no smile could rival his

The man who was the cause of it all

He stood convinced that into place

Every piece in his plan would fall

He feared no more the concept of death

Fear to him was a thing of the past

It could be this very fearlessness

That helped him survive to the last

At last he looked upon the fields

And saw each of his men had perished

None were left of the six hundred

Of whose so many memories he cherished

His job was done, his time had come

And none would go as peacefully as him

He gazed one last time upon the world

And in that moment, his face was grim

He saw his enemy, remembered his friends

To one and all he bade goodbye

He jumped into the midst of chaos

And thus, on his own terms, did he die

Men don’t know this story

They knew not what had transpired

For all had perished on that day

Long before the last shot was fired

So they did what all men do

They made up a heroic tale to tell

For man always concocts a legend

To hide a concept he doesn’t understand well

And so it happened that this man

By whose hand six hundred had died

Was made a hero by clueless men

And all told his tale with pride.

A Little Information

 'Tis not an easy thing

To write a morbid line

The human heart, by nature

Does happiness pine

Yet strangely as always

I find my heart does sit

In relation to normal beings

Firmly opposite

By darkness and misery

And all things scary

My mind is fascinated

When it should feel the contrary

Blood and gore I appreciate

My bloodlust, violence alone can sate

Pray tell, what’s wrong with me

For I let out a contented sigh

When all in the world goes awry

And I witness a killing spree

 Now shall be told the story behind

The warped nature of my mind

I shall tell all who wish to know

Why my mind is twisted so

The beginning of this morbid tale

Lies in the midst of the Kashmir vale

Where a man’s eye can at once feast

On both, the beauty and the beast

I walked alone on that fateful day

Unwittingly my feet did stray

I ended up tired and worn

In an unknown place, deserted and forlorn

But even on that deserted road

An evil did my heart forebode

For a foul stench filled my nose

From that cursed ground it arose

It mattered not as much to me

As did my curiosity

For at once I felt the urge to know

What evil lurked in the ground below

Digging with a fervent hand

I dug deeper into the land

Blood and sweat from my body did run

Until at last my task was done

I pulled it out onto the ground

But it made not a single sound

Nor should it have, for it was dead

It was a child’s severed head

Horror smote my very core

Hate poured out of my every pore

Who could do such a heartless thing

On an innocent soul, such torture bring?

It seemed not to me at least

The work of a crazed wild beast

Nay, this bore signs of a cold blooded plan

This was done by none other than man

What manner of ungodly pain

Had molded and shaped his brain

That he began to contemplate

Such unthinkable acts to perpetrate?

While I lay there, in shock, reeling

Suddenly I got the feeling

I was not, as I’d thought, alone

There was someone hiding behind the stone

I ran at once to investigate

And not a single moment too late

For there, in the undergrowth, lay hid

The man who had this evil did

He lay there grinning in the dirt

Still wearing his blood soaked shirt

How low could this man’s soul get?

For he showed not an ounce of regret

He seemed, in fact, in total bliss

As if nothing on earth were amiss

He proudly showed to me the knife

With which he’d took the poor child’s life

I set upon him with all my might

He didn’t seem to put up a fight

By the time all my energy was spent

Limb from limb, his body I’d rent

When his last limb did I tear

I heard a cry of despair

A lady, in obvious strife

Was attempting to take her own life

I ran to her, held her arm

Till she could do no bodily harm

I asked her, “pray ma'am, tell me

What is it that so troubles thee?”

She looked at me with pity and sorrow

For her, she said, there was no tomorrow

For the man I’d sent to the lord above

Was her husband, her one true love

I had robbed her of the one thing

That happiness in her life did bring

“why, oh, why”, she accosted me

Why did I wreak such misery

“but lady”, I said, quite astonished

For I hadn’t expected to be admonished

“he cut the child’s head to the bone

And buried him beneath that stone”

Why, u should feel naught but relief

This harbinger of evil and grief

Has finally met his end

His soul to hell did I send

A little information is dangerous

This from my elders I’d always heard

But even in my wildest dreams

The answer I got would be absurd

Yet it strangely did ring true

And suddenly it all made sense

My mind reeled with dread when I

Envisaged the consequence

For she proceeded to tell the tale

Of the child’s murder in Kashmir vale

Her voice was numb when she spoke

For her spirit I had broke

She told me fate had played with us

A game most perilous

For who I deemed the enemy

Was in fact the savior of humanity

The man I’d killed was a priest

Violence he liked the least

But he had danced the devils dance

For it was humanity’s only chance

The child who had so touched my heart

Who lay from me, not ten feet apart

Was in fact a lifeless empty soul

Whose body did the devil control

He was the devil, come from hell

To put mankind under his evil spell

But his secret disguise had been found out

By the priest, god’s loyal scout

The priest took upon himself the task

Though for any man, t’was a tough ask

To send the devil back down the road

To hell, his only true abode

It was indeed an almighty fight

One never seen before by mortal sight

Yet the man who had thus succeeded

Now lay dead, while his heart bleeded

The devil may have been sent away

But he’d be back another day

Her husband, on the other hand

Had forever left this sacred land

A moment after she’d told me this

I felt the death angel’s kiss

For the noble priest’s widowed wife

Had in that moment taken her life

I lay there my mind in tumult

I knew not what to do

I had killed my savior

And now his wife too

The guilt was too much to bear

I could take it no longer

For me to survive this ordeal

My will had to be much stronger

But it wasn't as fate would have it

My will was frail and weak

I slit my throat, then and there

Never again did I speak.