Vigneshwar Shankarabout @vgnshwr archive poetry design


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.

This Cruel Game

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?

Suit up

Suit up

VODASThe Best Batch Ever.(As such)

The Best Batch Ever.
(As such)

Panchtatva, FORE School of Management

Jubilate 2013, FORE Alumni Meet

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
and pray.


Comprehension is a facade, not meant to be.
even retention is a hazard, please be free.

Wandered Away

I let my mind wander
it didn’t come back,
So far away in fact
that I lost track.

Perhaps a with a purpose
of its own it just left,
Now that was something
certainly much too deft.

But did I will it far away
as it troubled me per se?
Or was it never here
this remains still unclear.

And then they ask where
he came from,
absurd as it is ad certum.
At this time when it’s away,
his mental being is quite today.


Smitten to the very core
why have I been?
Do once again I adore,
for I have seen?

Is there reason anymore
to be unkeen?
perhaps a wait some more
to be sanguine.

Oh an intrepid furore
I conceal within,
but don’t know how I win.

On The Day That Logic Died

How else could I describe it as,
but as the day that logic died?

Wits and wisdoms of this burg
with the blasted nonsense collide
on the day that logic died.

He or she bespoke this plight
and flung it far with every might
on the day that logic died.

And told the people that were shattered
but some jabber that not mattered
on the day that logic died.

And ruled the folk of the narrow
with no burden of the morrow
on the day that logic died.