Words. Appearances.
Polished thoughts on paper. on faces.
Stories with happy endings. Think up a presentable context, and hold it on your face.

Words written as if meant to be read.
Unlike a burst-out, a word vomit.
Muscles in control, like a pen.
Aforethought shapes.
On paper and faces.
A necessary evil? Or the path of least resistance?

Control. On the exterior, the output.
What does 'being normal' really mean?
'Act normal'? Or 'BE normal'?
And what's normal? Who decides?
Does collective thinking work?
Or is it just an appendix?

Guess I know. Can I be sure?
How 'bout you?

*kuch* poem ...

read somewhere, edited slightly...

Honthon pe mohabbat k fasaane nahi aate,
dil ko rone ke bahane nahi aate,

Palkein bhi chamak uthti hai soti mein hamari,
Aankhon ko abhi khawab chhupane nahi aate,

Dil ujdi hui ek saraaye ki tarha hai,
Ab log yaha raat jagane nahi aate

Yaaron naye mousam ne ye ehsaan kiya hai,
Ab yaad samjhe dard purane nahi aate

Udne do parindo ko abhi shokh hawa mein,
Phir lout k purane zamane nahi aate

Is shehar k badal teri zulfon ki tarha hai,
Ye aag lagate hai bujhane nahi aate....

uffffff

Ufff poem

Be a Blaze !

This world so huge and life so small
Let's set in motion the rolling ball

Work and live and love from the heart
Don't put the heart and the brain apart

Know your worth and show the world
Know your energy and blow the world

Work for your peace and have your peace in praise
Fasten your fears and turn faster your pace

Never be slow but a lighted blaze
Never and ever let down your craze

Let your every breath change the world for good
Do all you should and know all you could

Stand not behind but face it on your face
Fight too brave and let the world sing your grace

The Aura Of The Rain

Rain ! O' rain !
Come ! o' rain!
The fields await,
give us the grain.

The farmers are thirsty
Their fields are dry
Wetten their eyes,
when they stare to the sky.

Cloud ! O' Black Cloud !
Thunder ! O' Black Cloud !
Send us drops of life
Bestow upon the crowd.

The clouds came above their heads
They raised their arms to pray
Emotions awaited, the feel of the wet!
And the clouds just flew away.

They shouted, they screamed
They were torn through the heart
The closed eyes, the felling tears!
The souls and the bodies fell apart.

They cursed and cursed
the spotless sky,
The blinding bright,
the dropless dry.

And one day again, the eyes were open
One day, there was a cloud again
This time again, the arms were raised
Waited in silence, the crowd again

And one drop fell,
and wetted an eye!
And drops and drops,
then fell from the sky

It was water! It was water!
It was falling on the ground!
It was raining! It was loud
So exciting was the sound

The clouds gathered and
it was big and strong.
Then thundered the sky,
and the farmers sang along

It rained and rained
and rained that night
It rained all days
and rained all nights

There was water everywhere
There was water too much!
The fields were sinking and
the ground too, was such.

It had stoppeth not
since the first drop fell.
The heavenly sky,
had again turned hell.

Their soil, their toil,
was dissolved in the flood
The fields were destroyed
which they sowed with their blood.

The crowd again,
looked above, up there
It looked all black
And it did not care.

The monstrous sky
stood high and tall
It's small, round arrows
were piercing them all.

They cursed and cursed
the clouds and the rain.
The blackish demons,
and the watery bane।

.

Sleep, sleep o' girl!
Sleep, sleep o' boy!
Sleep over your worries,
and wake merry with joy!

Got problems? Got headache?
Got a diisturbing boyfriend?
Switch off your phone and sleep over it,
do not receive or send!

Sleep when you don't know,
sleep when you don't care.
Sleep when you feel low,
sleep when you despair.

When the bad thoughts hover,
when its not gone right.
Gotta sleep it all over when the
daylight seems too bright.

The world's not for real,
for all it's mysteries unfurled.
Sleep is an illlusion but then,
isn't so the world?

Sweet Dreams! [:)]

Making Sense Of Nonsense

wrote this for the Inter Hall English Creative Writing. :)

MAKING SENSE OF NONSENSE

"Mr. Walter! Mr. Walter! Come back here I request you for god's sake!"
But Mr. Walter swings his head like a pendulum, apparently to say no and keeps walking towards the huge front gates, staggering and swaying to keep balance. I hold back my urge to shout again and run after him. Moments later, standing and staring into his drooping, yet excitingly childish eyes, I felt helpless like never before. He used to remind me of how incapable I was to help him. He was panting, groping for breath, straining his lungs for some air. Walked too hard for his age I guess.

"Where were you headed Mr. Cherry Head?", I asked him jokingly, trying to smile as I said it. He let his lips widen into a happy arc and leak out a sudden little bout of laughter, hearing the words 'Cherry Head'. His red, although scanty hair were a matter of amusement for all the inmates! Oh how he loved his smooth shiny strands! Mr. Walter had made a lot of friends over the time that he had been staying here, some because of his cherry-red hair, and some with his famous 'bouts of laughter'.

"My daughter! She called me yesterday! She asked me to meet her at The Square.", he said, with a mix of surprised happiness and urgency on his face. I tried hard to nod to him in agreement and said, "Yes Mr. Walter, I know she called. And she is already here today! Waiting for you in the hall! Ah she'll be so happy to see you! Lets walk back, she has been waiting for you for so long." He went merry in a circle with his hands flung up in pleasure and a smile covering the whole of his wrinkled face!

Mr. Walter had been a successful man in his life. A furniture business that spread to nearby towns, a magnificient two storey house with a small garden in the frontyard, a lovely wife whom he had loved more than half his life, and the most beautiful daughter in the world whom he had married off to a young lad from the neighbour town. His life couldn't be more satisfying. But god is a selfish being. He takes away good people for himself. He killed Mr. Walter's daughter. She was hit to mortality in a car accident while with her husband. They were to take her pregnancy report from the hospital. The reports had been positive.

Constraint is possibly the greatest virtue in life. And Mr. Walter was a victim of the lack of it. Time had made him an old man with a weak heart, and the detailed phone call from his daughter's husband proved fatal to his weak pulses. This jolt sucked all sanity out of Mr. Walter. He fell on the floor and went unconscious.

Sleeping on the soft white bed of his hospital ward, he looked perfectly healthy, and his face so resolved of all worries, devoid of any thought or complication. Three days later he was shifted here, among other inmates, who all shared the common trait. He had been declared insane.

We walked together, me and Mr. Walter, towards the compound, where no one was waiting for him, not his daughter, not anyone else. But it wouldn't matter. Before even reaching the compound, he would forget every second of the day that had passed.

These were not mad people, Mr. Walters and everyone. They were just living somewhere else, somewhere inside their minds, far away from the world outside.

And I make sense of them.