Sunday, 1 July 2007

No man's land.

I opened my eyes to find myself in awe.The deafening noise and the blurred vision aggravated the situation.I felt I was in Abaddon.As time ameliorated my senses,I was aghast to find myself in No Man's Land.Apace I jumped across a big stone and landed inside a gully between the battlefield as if Almighty had made it for me.Atlest for a momemt I was safe from the raging bullets.
Who were the adversaries of each other? What was the action about? Where was I? And the most important question,HOW DID I GET THERE? The state of amnesia ended quickly. I recollected that the dial on my time machine showed the year 2116 A.D. So, I was in near future.
A surge of silence broke my thoughts. It was my chance to peek at the armies. On one side I saw soldiers of USA and UK in the ambush. I could recognise their flags. I wondered whether I was in Iraq and whether my time machine had worked accurately? As I turned to see the other army, I was dumb-struck.
Although it was not an open ground, I could see armies of atleast seven nations taking positions. These included Russia, India, Iraq, Pakistan, Germany and many more I had no time to recognise. It was the war between allies of USA and UK and the allies of rest of the world. Was it that the various nations amalgamated against the atrocities of USA? Or was it that USA had augmented such powers in 110 years that it can take over the world all at once rather than one by one and thus became an assailant? It was not an auspicious time to analyse. As I struggled to reach my machine which was lying nearby I was in an abominable situation as firing started again. My agility helped me and I was safe returning to past.
Though the war on Iraq was amoral, I do not think war is a solution to war. Such antipathy,antagonism,aborrence and animosity would only lead to annihilation of humankind.
One has to realize one's responsibilities towards humanity and endeavor to fulfil them. Or else suffer with the aftermath of anarchism. I donot have proof to adduce my article but I believe it is true as I have experienced this. On my way back, I had a sojourn in 2038 A.D. I found myself addressing a conference in United Nations about this. I was the Prime Minister of India then.

Saturday, 9 June 2007

He Cried.

He cried,
For days and he cried a lot.

No more toys; no more balls,
He thought,
His father's face he forgot.

No more kisses when he falls,
He thought,
His mother's love he never again got.

The story of blast his eyes shot.

Saturday, 7 April 2007


(3rd April, 2007)

prologue:: i know it looks a little lengthy. please read it in parts but please READ IT!!! and comment.

“What makes you angry?” he asked.

Sri Venkata Krishna Murthy was his name but he was known as ‘Chinna’ among his friends. And ‘Kaalia’ among his enemies. Both the names pointed towards his small height and dark complexion. When they called him Chinna they meant ‘my little brother.’
Although ‘Kaalia’ (darky) was derogatory. This was not because of any racial discrimination against him, for all who called him Kaalia were themselves dark, but it was due to the fact that they couldn’t find any other name that annoyed him.

Chinna was a final year student of mass communication and journalism and for achieving 61% marks in his semester examinations his father gifted him a latest model of Sony handy-cam.

“Thank you dad,” he said into the camera recording his first video, “I hope 65% is enough for a motorbike.”

Chinna was excited when he showed the camera to his friends. They examined it in all the ways they can as a doctor performs an autopsy. They asked questions too, questions that showed how much ‘in-depth’ knowledge they have when it comes to handy-cams.

“What’s the maximum zoom option?”
“Is the battery life good enough?”
“What model is it? SM760? I think SM800 is the latest.”
“What is the maximum pixels size, 1024 by 768? Do you have night mode video recording?”
“Hey the sound quality should be perfect when it comes to making good videos. What’s with it?

Some questions were dumb,
“Do you know how to operate it?”
“Can you record a video of mine?”

And some were just jealous.
“I don’t like the color. A black piece looks good.”
“I think you spent more money on it than its value.”
“Oh man! It’s heavy.”

The first set of questions he replied enthusiastically, for dumb ones he just smiled. And for the envious ones he only said, “It’s a gift.”

His best friend Ganesh Das, a.k.a. GD, was operating the camera and Chinna, holding the mike which he had bought by his pocket money, was speaking into the lens.
It was a mini project they were doing for improving their academic performance. Chinna, although, was dreaming of his motorbike. The short documentary was titled ‘Silly Anger’ and they set out on the busy markets asking everyone,
“Hi. This is Krishna and GD. We are from Ashoka University, mass comm. and journalism students. We are doing a small research. We are having a question and we want you to answer that. But before answering please tell your name and occupation.”

“O.K. GD, start the camera,” said Chinna and turned towards the not-so-interested man and continued, “Sir, what makes you angry? It may be a silly thing or a grave one. Please let us know.”

Saying that he pointed the mike towards a man who looked frustrated as his wife was shopping for hours.

“Go away you people,” he said disinterestedly.
“Sir, it will take only two minutes of yours,” reasoned Chinna.
“Don’t bother me.”
“Sir please, it’s only…”
“Don’t bother me you…. and shut the bloody camera off. You let your wife do shopping for four continuous hours and you will know. You want to know what makes me angry,” he was shouting now, “You people, yes you bloody people make me angry, who just take a bloody camera and bother the world for bloody fun. Go away you idiots.”

His wife intervened or else the man would have hit them. Chinna and GD ran from there and while running Chinna shouted, “Thank you sir. And I’m not married.”
When they were safe GD remarked, “That coward dog. He was letting the anger of his wife on us. It is fun, man, it is fun.” They were laughing. Chinna said, “Whatever, we got the answer to our question. Let’s continue with our work.”

“I am Gaekwad. I am an engineer. The heavy traffic and the pollution irritate me.”

“Hi. My name is Rahul and I am a student. In a bus….,you know, everyday I have to travel a long distance to college and in a bus with, you know, heavy rush I have to stand around a seat, if I don’t get a chance to occupy it. The person sitting, you know, sometimes makes gestures as if he is going to vacant the seat. But he doesn’t leave, you know, sometimes he checks his purse and sometimes just, you know, he changes his posture. He makes me happy for a while, you know, that I will get a seat to sit on. But no, he gets down at the same stop where, you know, I have to get down. This makes me very angry, you know, I have to stand during the whole journey and he teases me for that. At least, you know, he should sit still. ”

“Good morning. I am Gnyandev Bhattacharya. I am a retired government officer. I don’t like the new generation that doesn’t respect their elders. They forgot the values an Indian should have and this annoys me a lot. This also disappoints me. The new generation is going to be the bearers of the Indian palanquin in the near future.”
There was an hour long lecture by the elderly person. Thanks to the battery that lost its charge and ended the speech. They had edited the part that tested their endurance for as long as 60 minutes.

“I sell fruits and their juice. My name is Devaiah. Politics I don’t like. I get angry because of politics.”

“Hi there, I am Yogi and I am a medical student. I really hate it when urgently I need to use the toilet and it is occupied by somebody else or sometimes when the zipper of my trousers gets jammed.”

“I hate politics.”

“I am in a hurry; we will see later what you both want.”

“Hello everybody, I am Jay Mehta and I work in a MNC and it annoys me when my boss shouts at me. I feel like filling his mouth with cockroaches.”


“My name is Radha. I am a housewife. I told my husband to see a doctor regarding his snoring problems, but he doesn’t. He snores very loudly and that makes me angry.”

“Nitin. I am a hardcore cricket fan. I really get angry when cricketers do not perform well. And I also get ashamed.”

“aaannh….politics, yeah politics makes my blood boil.”

“Hello, my name is Manoj, and I own this grocery store. I don’t like people who buy items at credit. And we sell products at cheaper rates than anyone.”
He thought that this was going to be shown on cable.

“Good afternoon. My name is M.Janakiram and I am a traffic inspector…..hey you, stop there…riding triples on a bike….stop, stop, stop. Wait here……yes, oh, I am a traffic inspector. I burn with rage when people break traffic rules. I also hate people offering bribes and…and some policemen accepting it. I never take bribe, Thank you,” he continued in a whisper, “Let the camera be on and shoot here,” and then he shouted, “You three, breaking the traffic rules. You have to pay the challan. No, no, no, don’t try to bribe me, I don’t accept bribes. I am an honest policeman.”
That was the first time he didn’t take bribe.

“When India lose a cricket match, especially against Pakistan.”

“I hate ….I hate dirty politics.”

“A very good morr...ah...afternoon to all. I am Priya and I am doing my B.Sc. second year. The thing that makes me angry is….aanh…….aaannh….let me think…..aanh…..just a sec……aaannh….that makes me angry…..oohhhh…there are many things but…..aaannnnh…I hate…aaaaannnh…….I hate when I don’t remember small things. Wait… I hate when….aannhh…I…”
She thought for the next couple of days but in vain.

“My name is Atul. I am eight years old and I am studying in fourth class in St. Mary’s High School. I never become angry. But I don’t like when my Daddy shouts at Mummy.”

They got lucky when GD bumped into Azeem, a school friend of his. Though Azeem didn’t have himself recorded, he took them to the house of previous year’s ‘Great Indian Voice’ runner up Ravinder Reddy. Azeem insisted his very close friend to record a two-minute video for them.
“I am a great fan of yours,” said Chinna and continued, “And also I voted for you last year.”
“Hey, thanks buddy,” Ravinder replied. “So, what’s up?” he asked.
GD explained and Ravinder asked, “Do you have any write up or should I say whatever I like?”
“Say what your heart feels to,” replied Chinna with a smile.
“Gimme a minute,” Ravinder said and took out his handkerchief and wiped his face with it. Then he looked at the mirror to comb his already perfectly combed hair. He then murmured something to himself and said, “I am ready.”
GD switched the camera on and said, “Action.”
“Hi everybody. It’s me, Ravinder…O.K….Cut. Let’s do it once again.”
“Hi everybody. It’s me, your beloved friend, Ravinder Reddy. And I am, as you all know and thanks to you all, a singer by profession. Now this is a difficult question asked to me by my friend Krishna that what makes me angry. Although I am a very calm and composed person, sometimes even I lose my temper. But I never enter into a fight or argument. Sometimes I don’t get time to water the rose plants in my garden, thanks to my busy schedule. If somebody else, say the maids in the house or my mother, don’t water the plants in my absence, I really lose my nerve because I love rose plants very much. This is a small thing. Another much important thing that makes me really angry is the increasing number of poor and deprived children in the country. Most of them are orphans. It makes me sad and my sorrow turns into anger when I think of the people who caused this. I don’t know who they are but they are one among us. The corrupt leaders are behind it. The people, careless people, are behind it. I will definitely adopt at least one such child in the near future when I will be more successful. At least I will be able to change the life of one such child. I appeal the people to help children so that they can lead a better life. Thank you, I have nothing else to say.”

“That was really good,” said Chinna to Ravinder.
“Don’t mention it buddy,” he replied.
Chinna and GD left his house leaving Azeem and Ravinder behind.
“So what’s up these days? Any singing contracts?” asked Azeem.
“Not yet man, not yet,” Ravinder sighed.

GD said to Chinna, “You are a fan of Ravinder, you never told me.”
“Even I didn’t know it until I met him. I just thought of praising him so that he happily gives us the footage. By the way, I voted for the winner, not him,” replied Chinna.
GD remarked, “So you are learning the techniques of journalism.”
Both of them smiled. Then Chinna pointed out, “Some more people and we are done. This Ravinder is going to give our documentary a lot of weight and marks too.”

They took their camera to an ATM and tried to talk to the security man standing over there.
“Who you people? Go away, go away,” said the security officer.
“Oh don’t mistake us. We are students from Ashoka University,” Chinna tried to explain.
“Yes, Ashoka University. Here look at our IDs. We just want to talk to you.”
“No, no. I on duty. No talk. Go away.”
“Only two minutes, please.”
GD was recording all the conversation. Then Chinna explained him all and also said that this will be shown to everybody in the college, even to the principal.

“I the shecurity of thish ATM. I from Nepal shir and my name Jung Bahadur. We get angry lessh. After duty when wife shouts at home I get angry. But shir we get angry lessh. My country very poor shir. I pray, Buddha, to bring money in my country. Shir, children not die of hungry. I pray Buddha.”

“Thank you Bahadur,” Chinna shook his hand and told.
“Thank you shir,” Bahadur smiled and said.

It was almost a week that they had been shooting videos of people. Both Chinna and GD were now tired and fed up listening to the silly things that made people angry.
“You know what makes me angry?” said GD while editing the videos on the computer and continued, “Holding a camera and wandering on streets asking everybody a foolish, useless question and then editing the videos as if we will get an Oscar for making it. It’s a headache.”
“Shut up and do it,” said Chinna and smiled. He suggested, “Let the transition in between the scenes be flashy and add background music. This will cover up all unnecessary noises.”
Two days later the final documentary was ready. It was small yet effective. It showed the frustrated man sans his slang; the elderly gentleman sans his discourse; the foolish grocer sans his attempt for free publicity; the self-declared honest policeman sans his hypocrisy; the girl with amnesia sans her ‘aannhs; the innocent fourth grader sans his parents; the popular singer sans his artificiality and the nostalgic watchman sans his argument.

“It’s missing something,” said Chinna.
“What!,” replied GD incredulously.
“Hey, it’s good but don’t you think it’s just presented plainly. I …think I know just what it needs.”
Chinna then picked up the camera and giving it to GD he said, “Shoot me.”

The following day they presented their documentary to the lecturers, professors and their fellow students. One thing was sure that Chinna was going to receive as much appreciation as Kaalia was going to gather hatred. GD addressed the class for few moments and then the documentary started. It flashed the title ‘Silly Anger’ in large and bold fonts on a black background. The eyes present in the room now aimed only at the large white screen that LCD was projecting the movie on. There was a mixed reaction among the audience. Most of them enjoyed when the characters expressed their feelings, they laughed in unison and clapped in unison. They kept grave faces for some scenes and for some other they were disinterested. The lecturers and professors were impressed. The final part of documentary showed Chinna speaking and behind him was the view of the city from top of a building.
He said, “Anger is a weapon. Where it can ruin a dynasty, it can also help maintain the law. It is up to us to decide in what way to use this weapon. Do we want to waste our energy by burning our blood on silly things such as snoring or shopping or on relative things such as performance of cricketers? Can’t we see that only hypocrites get angry for ‘true’ reasons? But they will do nothing as they are hypocrites. And if any truthful person feels bad for his poor country all he can do is pray because he is poor. Anger is a weapon. It should be stored in our hearts and when the situation actually needs it only then it should be used. Only against falsehood it should be used. Otherwise these silly things that make you angry will make your anger silly.”

There was applause in the room and the screen showed,
“A presentation by
Sri Venkata Krishna Murthy, MCJ04B21
Ganesh Das, MCJ04B08.”

(2578 words)

Monday, 12 March 2007

RED::Episode:3::The final run.

Prologue::: PLease read Episodes 1 And 2 Before reading this.

His father brought him a glass of orange juice and sat on the adjacent chair. He said, "Son, you don’t worry about all these. I am here to take care of that." But Anand was adamant. He said, "No dad, tell me I need to know all."

Though reluctantly, his dad said, "Ok, you know this is a very bad world. The killing started somewhere in Paris and it spread like a disease. Let me show you." He then switched on the television with the remote control and showed him the international news channel. The thing they observed firstly was that the screen, other than the template and logo of the channel, was crimson red. They heard,
‘This is the view of the Atlantic and the Indian ocean from above. It is completely red. The other images you can see show the red sky which is reflecting the earth. Blood that is shed in the carnage mixed with the river and that went straight into the ocean polluting it. Let’s see once again where it all started. This is the footage of the family which was having breakfast this morning. They say that suddenly their food, the bread and the cereals, even the water turned red. The forensic tests say that the ingredient found in the food was mainly composed of blood. Ironically, the family members say that they liked the taste. And the madness grew from here when people from different parts of the state were reported killing and devouring on the corpses of others. Amongst these puzzles, the main questions that are being asked are ‘Is this madness a disease?’, ‘Is the killing going to stop and if so, then how?’’
The father turned the television mute which still showed the bloody images. He then said, "The family which had the bloody breakfast is any common family in the world. But they were so indulged in corruption that they were drinking common people’s blood even before this incident happened. This is the only reason I can think of why they liked the taste of blood. After the incident their greed increased, they wanted more blood. So they started killing. But hours later such incidents occurred in other parts of the world including India. It is like a spell and all the dishonest people are under this spell."
"Dad, and the bullets. Who were they?"

"They were the soldiers of the security force. They thought that you were one of the ‘Red Men’."

"Red Men?"

"They are called Red Men and you can speculate why. I was with the force and when I saw you, immediately I moved with the force to your rescue."

"How come I didn’t know all this in college?"

"You were lucky my son. Rather I am lucky that you are safe. In our city it started from far east and your college is in the west, far west. In fact our house is also far from the epicenter of the carnage."

"What now dad, Is it going to stop?"

"Don’t know. All I know is that it wouldn’t have started if people were not so deceitful, if only they did their jobs without necessitating bribes, if only they didn’t offer bribes, if only they didn’t kill each other for selfish needs, if only, for filling their pockets, they didn’t incite riots, if only the foolish people didn’t react on such incitation, if only they believed in hard-earned money rather than quick-earned money, if only they knew that they have to answer God for every penny they have earned by unfair means, if only they were honest, my son, if only they were honest."

Just then they heard a blast in the neighboring building.
"And then I woke up," said Anand to Marshal and Priyanka the next day and continued, "I was sweating then."

"That was a terrifying dream, although it was true in a sense," Priyanka said in a grave voice.

"You should stop playing violent video games right now," said Marshal to lighten up the grave atmosphere.

"Yeah it was terrifying," said Anand, "And I cried in the night. Partly for that I saw in the dream and partly for I love my dad." His eyes were wet.

His dad was a martyr in the Kargil war.

Epilogue::: Im dying for the comments. This was my first prose. so kindly save me from dying.


Prologue::: Please read episode 1 b4 reading this...

……He felt he was alone in the world. No sooner he could think what was going on than a bullet struck the wall an inch far from him. He was shocked and ran as fast as he could to find a cover. God only knows how he saved himself from the swarming bullets. For a moment he thought he was in Iraq. He tried to read what a nearby banner said but he couldn’t. Suddenly he saw that the sky is turning red. But he had no time to think. He saw a group of people holding daggers, swords and torches in hands was approaching him. They were shouting, "We want blood, we are thirsty, we want blood." Now he was trapped, if he moves back the bullet would find his heart and if he stays there the people will be devouring on his body seconds later. He was frightened to death. He was wet in sweat and blank in thought. As the crowd moved closer and closer, he lost control on his body and hid his face with his hands and closed his eyes waiting for him to attack. He waited and waited and when he couldn’t wait any longer he opened his eyes to find that he was lying on a bed. His father was near the window, fully dressed in his uniform and with a M16 in his hand. Anand only gave a shout and started crying. He then jumped out of his bed and hugged his dad.
"You don’t worry my son. I am here now."
Anand was still frightened and his legs were not stable. He fell down and his dad helped him to sit on the sofa. Moments later when Anand retained his equilibrium he said, "Dad, How did you get there and why don’t I remember anything. What’s going on dad? When I left for the college in the morning everything was fine but suddenly what happened. Why suddenly the curfew was ordered. Who were the people and why were they shouting ‘we want blood, we are thirsty’ what does that mean. What’s happening dad?" Anand was very confused. He continued, "And dad why was the sky Red???????"

Epilogue:: Thanx for the overwhelming response. My third and final episode will be posted withtin 4 days. It explains allllllll........ Thanx once again.

Sunday, 11 March 2007

RED:: Episode:1

“Red is the color that catches the eye,” said Marshall while designing the banner for the upcoming event. “This is going to be a great event,” he continued with confidence.
“Green, blue, orange, yellow and pink also catches the eye,” argued Priyanka. She was wearing maroon.
“Yep, but red is different,” defended Marshal, “red is …aaaanh….sooo RED.”
Anand stepped in the cabin, crowded with furniture, at a corner of the building and closed the stained glass doors behind and said,”Guys, what’s happening?”
Priyanka explained and Anand smiled. “Well,” said he, “They respect you when they offer you a red carpet.”
“Do they when they ‘offer’ you a red card?” asked Priyanka sarcastically. “Many shades of red we see here,” she continued, “when red is used as a symbol of revolution, of bloodiness and of war, it is also used as a symbol of love. We see it in red roses and red ‘heart-shaped’ balloons especially on Valentines Day.”
Anand remembered a letter send to him by his father from Kargil. He said in a grave voice, “My dad once said that the color he hated most is red. He said in a letter to me that during the war the earth becomes red with blood, with anger and with shame. The sky appears red reflecting the ground.”
All the three were silent for a while. Then Anand said, “Hey, when is the event, the red-letter day?”
“On 24th this month,” answered Priyanka and continued, “Thank God that there are organizations like Red Cross and Red Crescent that works for the relief of victims of war, natural disaster, etc.”
Marshal withdrew from his mouse and keyboard, turned towards them and said, “Red has a great history attached to it. The Bolsheviks once used red color as a symbol of revolution representing their communist ideas. Garibaldi and his army wore red shirts and worked for the unification of Germany. And in the same Germany, Hitler used red colored flags that represented his evil ambitions.”
“Bhagat Singh distributed red pamphlets before he surrendered,” Priyanka added.
“Hey, Hey now you both please stop. Marshal you use the red background for the banner, man, no problem in that,” Anand interrupted.
“The design is complete, have a look,” said Marshal and opened the image on the screen of the computer. It was really a good design that will definitely attract the people.
“Who will know that this banner over here had provoked us to have such a lengthy discussion,” said Priyanka.
That evening Anand was walking along the pavement and was surprised to see or rather not see anybody. The streets were empty, the shops were closed, the road was nude and there was an uneasy calmness in the atmosphere. He felt he was alone in the world. No sooner he could think what was going on than a bullet struck the wall an inch far from him........................................ be continued soon in the episode :2

Epilogue:plz comment this is my first prose. as soon as i get atleast two comments i will post the second episode.

Thursday, 8 March 2007

The heart of a mother

PROLOGUE: this is a story told by my social teacher in high school farewell. I m sorry i couldnt compress it further. I hope by the end your eyes would be moist.

kindly comment on my way of presenting.

The best day in life for a woman,
Is the day she becomes a mother.
That day she gave birth to a son,
It was even more special to her,
For her marriage was in ninth year.

She liked it when he walked,
When he laughed and when he played,
When he cried she cried a lot,
My son be happy only she prayed,
Not a single word so sharp ever she said.

Day by day she grew old,
But the love remained the same,
Day by day he grew old and bold,
Wicked friends were to blame,
For flesh and fortune now were his aim.

He married a girl very beautiful,
Her beauty filled him with pride,
Alas! She used it as a tool,
She was greedy, jealous and often lied,
O Dear! He couldn’t see the venom inside.

Mother was happy as the son happy,
The wife, though, was not pleased,
She spoke rudely like Xanthippe,
Excited hatred and his reason ceased,
The mother, now a widow, abuses received.

One day as the heat was high,
She compelled him to do one thing,
“Your mother leaves the house or I die.”
But for carnal desire he cared nothing,
And sent her away the next morning.

Wife still unhappy, still restless,
Asked him to kill his mother at once,
He reasoned, she is far, why make a mess?
“If you love me you do it thence,
And bring her heart as evidence”

He started from home with his heart of stone,
Mother smiled but her eyes tears shed,
The blind son stood, his madness grown,
Killed her at once and nothing said,
And cut opened the breast that once fed.

In a rage he ran, that cruel hound,
To show his wife the bloody heart,
Hitting a rock he fell down to ground,
And a voice was heard from the heart in dirt,
“Son , my son , are you hurt?”

Saturday, 3 February 2007

Hidden joys

'Bad day was today, yes it was, '
On his way to Tony's school, he thought,
'How could he fire me, my boss,
for whatever was not my fault.'

He flushed with anger, it was fact,
He discredited his word, his honcho,
The transgressor, of course, didn't react,
He felt an urge to smoke tobacco.

For cigarette he stopped, his scooter Bajaj,
Looked for his wallet, it was gone, stolen,
Depression grew showed his visage,
'Can anything worse now happen?'

It poured that morning, cloudy it was now,
Six year old smiled as arrived his dad,
Misery in mind maintained to grow,
O Dear! What a bad day he had.

The scooter wobbled, it crossed a pit small,
He was tensed but in action quickly,
With great effort he prevented a fall,
Nudging the boy to ground safely.

'Oh God! I suffered a lot' was his complaint,
The boy clapped and jumped and in triumphant shout,
Said,"Papa, do it once more" , the 'Stunt',
First smile of the day on his face, this innocence brought.

At low ebb, when one looks around,
Darkness and darkness is what they see,
Such small and hidden joys surround,
Happiness and happiness they bring to thee.

P.S. Part of the story is true.
One should not miss small joys in life, they really refresh you.
You dont miss to COMMENT. Bye

Saturday, 27 January 2007

Something has to be done

There is no water-supply though its late in the morning,
It’s the same story everyday.
I am losing my patience, I should do something,
I will not bath today.

Time is ruined in the traffic and health in pollution,
Pits and ditches increasing the agony surely,
Such a gargantuan traffic, something must be done,
Let me lookout for an alley.

Dirt on the table, dirt on the chair,
Office looks awful, janitor being a sloth,
I have to do something, its dirt everywhere,
Let me wipe my seat with a cloth.

Inflation is reaching the ionosphere, what to eat and what not,
Common man is not able to buy basic amenity,
Government is apathetic; things to be done are lot,
I am going to ATM to draw money.

Tensions in Kashmir and war in Iraq,
Dirty politics is leading us to doom,
Something has to be done; war in the name of justice is a mock,
Hey, what’s on channel Zoom?

Life has many problems surrounding,
And people dreaming to change the world is not new,
You have to do ONLY ONE thing,
The change first has to be brought in You.

P.S. My first try at satire.
It speaks about careless attitude of people.

Friday, 26 January 2007

Great Man

Zealous was he that bright Sunday morning.
Mother was filling the basket with eats,
Father fulfilling his word for an outing.
Rocks and stones gleaming, leaves and flowers dancing
Through the breeze. Children displaying their feats
In the park. Kush was playing with the boys,
Parents were jubilant watching his actions.
Father said with pride to Kush busy with toys,
“My son when grown up will be a great man,
The world will remember.” Eyes with emotions
And body with rags, a boy looked at the bun.
“Go you away and look elsewhere” gave a clue
Kush`s father to him. “Thank you father but”
Kush told his sire, “Will the boy remember you?”

P.S. This is a my first sonnet.
A sonnet has 14 lines with usually 10 syllables in each line.
This has 10 syllables in each line except 3rd ,7th and 14th which has 11 syllables each.

Your comments are my rewards.

And they are fighting still.

And they fought,
For raw meat, not even a pound,
The meat laid there with their corpses to rot,
Never to be found.

And they came to blows,
For barren land, not even a foot,
It is irrigated with the blood that flows,
Seeds never to take the root.

And they raised troops,
For a young girl, not even thirteen,
Wives became widows and whores in groups,
Girl killed herself, never to be seen.

And they killed,
For a bag of coins, not even a dime,
Bag exchanged coffin, the grave was filled,
Coins were never away from crime.

And they drew the sword,
For an auric crown, not even a nickel,
The multitude suffered without uttering a word,
Kings never ended to kill.

And they are fighting still.

P.S. This is my first poem.Hope u like it. I`m waiting for comments...


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