Yes I am him. And He is me.
There are two of us for you to see.
But can both stay? Or must one flee?
How do I escape this contingency?
He says that he is a mind set free,
His pursuit is holy ecstasy.
But I think I’m the one who is higher,
I shall not let him play with fire.
His method is not malice, this might be true.
And his reasons compelling too.
But he is only half a story.
His better half is lost to glory.
And I am the keeper of his well being.
I must protect him as you are seeing.
For only in his days of cheer,
will I see myself without fear.
Why did we chance upon
this treasure chest?
I don’t remember going
on this quest.
Did you then open it,
or was it me?
I don’t even remember
seeing the key.
The fortunes we then
went on to find,
but let the ghosts escape
because we were blind.
They rose above our
and of leaving
they didn’t show signs.
That day will come when we bequest,
all this occasion to another chest.
And far away we head to test,
what lies ahead with wit and zest.
The glowing ember of scorching heat
was mighty patient on its feet.
Its muted cryptic subsistence
was not a cheerless home retreat.
The latent fury of this blaze
was surely missing from its gaze.
Though simmering it was subsurface,
in front of you was just a haze.
This is the power of cognizance,
of its mighty dominance.
It can ensconce your flimsy being,
and defend you with confidence.
I’ll pour you a cup of poetry straight from the soul.
It’s all yours to take in part or the whole.
But what good will it do you ask me today?
My fair lady, this is how I live and play.
This gift for I’m grateful and sincerely too.
The least I can do now is share it with you.
For golden emotions are born each day.
They embolden my spirit, they’re here to stay.
The fluence of motion of thoughts below,
that subservient consciousness which lets it go,
is that what we want our minds to be?
Nay, I say, observe, speak and simply agree.
By means of these few silent lines
of curious wonder that I spill between,
I hope this simple thought above
is not the blunder left unseen.
People hide behind the tiniest of covers,
when the rains pour, when there’s unending showers.
People are so afraid, so scared of facing it straight,
they dodge and dribble themselves and they wait.
Their friends wonder what’s all this absurd dance.
but these answers exist only in a state of trance.
It is funny, futile and forever a lost game.
deep down they are sorry and know not to blame.
And then the devil turned towards
their puzzled town; he smiled.
The smile he wore was more horrendous
than his frown, yet mild.
He raised a torrent of darkness from
his pocket; so quick.
And rained in upon the beings;
said “shouldn’t that do the trick?”
Forgot he even that it was still day;
not yet his choicest time.
But whence he had cast his shadow,
there day and night were at once sublime.
The little dots fled together;
moving in swarms and drones.
And they disappeared from this world at once;
they simply melted into their phones.
Start with a bang!
You must come out swinging,
with the hells bells ringing;
and a mean grin hinged,
on your face red tinged;
with those bloodthirsty eyes,
that they can’t hypnotise;
and be armed to the teeth,
with swords in your wreath;
let your cold steely edge,
foretell your brutal pledge;
and you deft little swing,
will sizzle and sting;
when the wicked horror stricken,
scream and flee like chicken;
then you stake your claim,
and quit this cruel game.
Woe is the list of things you planned for,
for you are nowhere to be seen.
So is the one thing you stand for,
for now you are not pretty keen.
Woe is the dream of that eternal night,
the one that you nurtured with pride.
Somehow that glimpse of the future bright,
slipped through the cracks in the light.
Woe is that ambition you watched it grow,
the one that fueled your advance.
No is the answer to that question though -
Well, does it still stand a chance?
The Best Batch Ever.
Panchtatva, FORE School of Management
Jubilate 2013, FORE Alumni Meet
A man is as heavy as are his thoughts in the day
Be light as a feather or heavier than yachts in the bay.
How fast he does move
that depends on his
nature of play.
The one who is lighter just tends to be on his way
But where will he be now oh that he just can’t say.
The direction of his flow
only the winds know
The other with the load of his mind on his shoulder
Follows a trail that simply grows colder.
As far as he knows
he can only stay put