The Conquerer of Mountains

Just like the sky-blue mountain tops
And the snow that's all around,
The footsteps of sorrow are buried
Deep into the ground.
Increasing in number,
In accordance with a progressive beat
Being played in some faraway land.
Where a wife, calmly placed in her seat
Narrates her stories to fatherless children.
Of a man who once lived -
Conquering the greatest peaks
Would calm his veins, she believed.
And, how she had helped him set in motion
The sound of footsteps going further, and further
Leaving behind three halves of his soul
In a state of dreamless slumber.

An Act,Completed

The smoke disappeared outside
Not giving my dreams,a chance.
In thin wisps of solitude
And an air of nonchalance.

Had I kept them to myself.
The shattering silence of a soul burst.
Would've hardly helped me
To quench my thirst.

And the sweet smell
Of an act,completed,
Still lingered in my room.
My purpose being defeated.

Jolts

While she stood alone
All shining and cheerful.
My thoughts raced
Faster than my heart.
Twisting and turning,
Finding their own path.
Stumbled and fell.
And got up again.
And there she waited,
As it began to rain.
As the raindrops hit me.
I felt my lips part.
"Hello! Is everything fine?
Now,where do we start?"
And then,what began
A journey,deep into the realms
Of her secrets,
And untold lies.
I could've had it stopped
And reach a dead end.
But,I was already too deep inside her heart.
To let go of her hand.
Too deep inside
To be afraid of a day -
When no words would be spoken
And no smiles exchanged.
Dreams would be broken,
And paths deranged.
And, my love -
I'm sure,you aren't afraid either.
All you need to do is,just remember.
Nothing can keep us apart.
You may free your mind of me.
But can you erase me from your heart?

Ruth

She lay still
And listened to him
Complaining all day long.
He went on and on.
In a hurry,maybe.
To finish a soul less song.

And all this while
Memories awoke.
From the ever silent grave.
She'd proved them wrong.
All those who'd said
Love is only for the brave.

She'd had a childhood
Of suppression and abuse.
She never had a say.
She'd grown up
And fallen in love.
Like the others,anyway.

Seasons passed
And times changed.
The clouds shifted from their place.
The moon shone
Upon the black spots
That blotched her graceful face.

We all knew
It would be soon
When she would call it a day.
Thus,with blood clot
Around her throat
Silent and still,she lay.

And her husband
Still complains.
Now faced with the truth.
He looked for the first time.
With love.
Into the lifeless eyes of Ruth.

Lace

I remember the night.
The cloudy sky,and the dog's fright.
I felt a strange numbness in my mind.
That hid her presence from my sight.
Yet,I could sense the existence of a veil.
Her skin was chalky white,and pale.
I missed her eyes,my favourite part.
I blindly held on to her black heart.
And,then the veil played its role.
Blindfolded my loveless soul.
Desire burnt in me,in a bright red flame.
Yet again,my desperation was to blame.
I felt an urge to hold her face.
Tear apart the chiffon lace.
A bright light tore apart the sky.
And,through the lace,surfaced a lie.
[Transported me ahead in time,to another day.
Beneath a tree without leaves,a man lay.
I could see his body but not his face.
Which was covered in an old piece of lace.]

Ants,Thieves and The Percussionist

Episode I: Ants

All the black ants had gathered to discuss the fate of one of their own. The Head of the Ant Family spoke first.

"We have gathered here to discuss the heinous act committed by one of our mate. Our world has never experienced a crime like this and therefore it is my humble request to all of you to co-operate in discussing the matter calmly. We must also judge whether the crime committed is actually a crime. The convict,here,has had a commendable reputation for being an honest ant and a strict disciplinarian. He had been the Supervisor of building the new Anthill. However,according to reports it has been seen that the sand that was being used for building the Anthill was not pure. So the question that arises. . ."

The shrill cry of a female ant broke out from among the gathered ants.

"But he is a very honest ant. He is my only son. He is not capable of such an act. He is a simple ant whose dream has always been to be a percussionist. He can't steal. He is not a thief."

The sudden interruption of the Head of the Ant Family's speech by the mother of the Guilty Ant had enraged the other ants.

"This is nothing but betrayal. We demand his death. We demand his death."

Episode II: The Two Thieves

A few meters away from where the ants were gathered,two thieves were sitting on an wooden bench in front of a closed tea stall,smoking weed. One of them muttered in a not so determined voice.

"I firmly believe that thievery should be made legal."

"And why is that?" said the other thief whose surname was Sarkar.

"What will we eat then,huh? Money,my friend,we need some damn money to keep our stomach from staying empty."

"But I can't see the point why it should be made legal".

"Because the Government does not provide jobs for the young people. You see,all the students passing out of private colleges mostly remain jobless. Why? They pay,don't they? Then why can't they get a job? They pay a fortune to study and at the end of it all,only a handful of students from colleges run by the Government get six figure salaries. Government? Yes. Obviously. It is the Government's fault. All of it.
Oh! What's this sound? Is it the siren of the police van?

"No. No,it's the percussionist."

"Oh! So,as I was saying,these private colleges should be banned. A law should be passed. And who would pass the law? The Government. The same old fucking Government. And thievery? You speak of thievery?
The people up there are all thieves,aren't they?
Listen to the percussionist. I bet he has got a story of his own. Maybe his music was not accepted by the society."

The other thief was calmly gazing at his friend.

He said,"It's the weed speaking,my friend. Not you."

"Yes. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe it is the weed. But I'm speaking,ain't I? I am a thief and I am speaking and your surname is Sarkar. Yes. You are Sarkar. A thief too. Sarkar. The Government. Fuck You".

Episode III: The Percussionist

Just across the road there was a hut. A world. The percussionist's world. The hut was the percussionist's world. He knew he was a musician. A musician who was not famous. He always said to himself that he made music for his own self. For his own mind. A mind which was intoxicated with something far more stronger than weed. He knew that two thieves were smoking weed just across the road. The were the same thieves. The thieves who had stolen his wife's pet parrot a fortnight before she died while delivering her first baby. He did not want to remember that day. That grief.

From that day the hut became his world. The world,where the sensuous odour of his wife still lingered. In his imagination. In his intoxicated imagination. In his music. In his percussion. He still made love to his beautiful wife.  But he did not consider himself a family man anymore,after his wife's death. He was a percussionist.

A Denial

Days spent on thinking
Then he sent the letter
Sleep deprived for days
His wait for an answer.

And finally when it came
Breaking his heart into a thousand pieces
His retreat became his room
The blank walls with their silent hisses.

All the lights are out
His spirit lay in darkness
The face fades away.
What's this sudden brightness

He wonders through the mist
His inner voices scream
He watches the bird's flight
He knows he'll never dream.

Darkness lay all around.
Endless sky,the hard ground.

He goes deeper and deeper
Into the bottomless hole
The shadows begin to fall
On his aimless soul.