Grapes of a Distant Land

 

Grapes of a distant land are way more delicious

Than grapes of homeland

They claim just by looking at the picture of them

They fight with you despite the fact

That you have been to distant land and

You have savored those grapes

Countless times directly from

The grape vine in the distant land

And found their grapes are 

No more unique in taste

Than grapes at your homeland

What next?

They refute your claims by comparing

Jams made from both types of grapes

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Maternity Leave

Maternity has become a sort of endemic

How could I afford maternity leave for all the ladies

Who join my workplace to get pregnant

 

He sends out an advertisement

In the leading daily which reads

Female staff required

Unmarried or married

As long as they aren’t pregnant

And don’t wish to be pregnant

In future

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Mandodari’s Frog Days

 

Mayasura and Hema, lovers of two different worlds

One demon and one nymph,

prayed to lord Shiva for a daughter

 

There was a nymph named Madhura

To express her love for Shiva

She danced her heart’s out for Shiva

When Parvati arrived she cursed Madhura

To be a frog and to live in a well for 12 years

Shiva calmed Parvati down and diluted her curse

“You will marry a man that you will love”

 

Shiva handed her over to Mayasura and Hema

The love and care of two different creeds

She was destined to be loved

And then one day Ravana walked in her house

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Kamdhenu

Option A:

Think of a cattle wandering around you

Write a letter to the authorities, ask them for money, open a gaushala/shelter, force people for donations in the name of cattle (if not threaten them with dire consequences about heaven and hell), admit only native cattle (supposed mother of Indian): not the cross-bred and non-descript

And after that

Eat their fodder and money and if that doesn’t satisfy your appetite: sell some to illegal traders

In addition, get the job to protect the illegal traders

 

Option B:

Wander around like a cow or in group like cows here and there

Find someone/others ferrying the cattle from one place to another

Tie a saffron cloth on your forehead

If that person belonged to other religion, that’s even better

Follow him or them

Chant the word cow smuggler online or offline

Till you get enough followers

Arm them with sticks or stone or both

Locate a place to beat him/them up, without disturbance

Chant ‘Hail Mother Cow’ when police arrives

Keep repeating it even in lockup

So the big and influential people come and talk to you

And offer you job or something bigger

 

Option C:

It is summer season

Let the cow wander in hot weather

And feed on hot air

How long can the cow survive?

Call the media and plant blame on someone

That you dislike or even hate or want to extract revenge

Cry ‘Mother cow’ ‘Cow Mother

Kamdhenu: solution to all your problems

You get what you ask for

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A Tiny Bible of Criticism

I sneaked onto every comment on others’ writing

like a thief stealing in broad day light

but in term of knowledge, these weren’t even

worth my time.

From stealing – I couldn’t benefit much.

 

Most of these comments were pretty basic

Geared to not offend the writer

My turn came

I can be nice to them but I abandoned

my view – I couldn’t cheat them such.

 

Sometimes, I found comments I like

rare like gem stones at seashore, glistening

from a distance, and waiting for to be picked

but because of their scarcity – I couldn’t learn much.

 

Why didn’t people give meaningful comments?

 Why they spoke in cryptic language,

Were they just short of time or they had assumed

serious comments will fetch serious replies.

Baffled by reality and eulogy of such kind

A mirage – I couldn’t trust much.

 

May be others didn’t like reality

Lots of love is that they all need

Happy and ignorant they would sleep

on unreliable fluffy mattress made out of

unadulterated love of their parents.

Their souls  wake them up in the middle of the night

“Life like a rapid river will flush the mediocrity one day”

But they discard it saying

It’s too pessimist- I couldn’t help much.

 

They were aware of reality and

they had shed bloody-truth from their conscience

seeking only praise from their critique group

where they pledged against passable ‘literature’

when started on this ink-path,

I resist the temptation – I couldn’t reiterate as such.

 

In writing and in life

Truth is the only survival mechanism

Truth will rise: only when we swim with problems;

not when we stare at them like inert pebbles of shore.

Little procrastination is acceptable but to dupe others

That’s where I draw the line – I couldn’t do such.

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God of Volatile Things

 

Born in the storm

Abandoned by your parents

You grow older alone

Missing them, their love, care and affection

The world is bitter at you

It doesn’t care about your orphan archetype

It wants you to be ready at any cost

On the slippery roads of future

You are pricked by thorns of expectations

You bleed daily, yet you learn to remain calm

No other choice you have to satisfy your soul

Demand of survival looms larger

Let people stare at you

Wonder at your equanimity

Who are waiting to see the volatile you

Concoct a smile, walk down the road

Whisper to the darkness surrounding you

“I’m the prince of storms.”

 

 

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Songs of Grief and Regret

 

 The death god had arrived and left me alone

Again

He is certain and He is cruel

Always hell-bent on taking

A sure snatcher, he is

detested for his virtue but

Never discriminate babies from adult to old

I’m left alone with a mere name,

a long history, and some faded conversations

 

People around me remember other gods

Gods who are supposed to keep us alive

Partly in fear of dying, partly in faith bordering on blind

I can never know who is playing the game

God or people

 

Even after death I pay the money to priests

So that the dead one can have safe travel to the other world

I feed the people,

So that all who feasts can take away the feast memories of the gone

but the one who is gone is gone

I feed knowing the fact the known witch ‘poverty’ is lurking behind,

in the form of pot bellied money lenders,

 to rip me apart as soon as feast is over

I am sad

They are never going to see what had been done for them

If they sits atop this world, as I have been told,

They may feel jealous of the feast and laugh

To be treated special like this

One must kiss the death

 

Blessings, dreams and hope get destroyed

this pet sentence ‘Everything will be alright’

will come rescue some of the people.

Loss, as they say, can’t be summed up in words

words, as usual, serve as mere fillers

for people to show their compassion and care.

Old fallout find a reason to come together to cry

but who can know how true were the tears

Even then death is a mean to connect with other fellow humans

and chance for some transformation

I wonder why such a certain god got a bad rapport

But then who wants to lose

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My Crescent Moon

There was something in that moon

that was so calm,

cool and sparkling.

Night didn’t mean much

apart from that crescent patch

among the stars he would come to home,

only to those who survived the sun.

People with charred emotions call me insane

I can listen anything for you, my moon.

 

 

 

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Murder and Slaughter

Humans dies the death of mosquitoes

who get more coverage than the human

Thanks to mosquito repellent ads

To follow his heart is one thing

but to fight mental fear is another

People like him dies daily in newspaper

For not following the convention

Even when he wants to speak, he turns dumb

Blood stained bodies visit his dream, he claims blindness

Daily he think of doing something, he just thinks

Knowing very well that

There is no guarantee that

He will survive to see the change

Change takes its own sweet time

Staggering over the dead bodies

To reach to its destination

 

It’s nothing but his destiny that he is alive

Standing up against the oppression is

Like running against the wind

People with logical ideas are forced to remain silent

for the logic and reason may create disturbances

To allow the mob to swell up in the number

It’s so easy to crush the logic and assassinate rationalist

Like swatting the mosquito

 

 

How to crush logic in a common man

            Abandon the common sense

            Tweak the understanding

            Instill fear

            And then it’s time to oppress

Slavishness comes naturally to thems

Gods, kings, britishers, and politicians

had so much faith in their irrationality

 

A sheep blindly follows the sheep in front

Despite listening to shrieks of death

They should have run away smelling the blood

 Instead they follow the road to slaughter for their god

If anyone disturbs them in their plan

Sheep claimed that either they will die

or kill anyone who came in their ways

 One by one, sheep would come to him

and offer their meat to him, their god

He relishes their meat, they know

What is life, a blind sheep would say to another,

If  you can’t fill someone else’s stomach

Poor people next to them request some meat

Dying sheep looks at dead babies in their arms

And whispers to them

“Not my problem.”

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