THE RAIN SONG....

Under the cyclopean sky i lay,
Lame and tired on a placid day,
Blaming the Gods for my bedraggled life,
For filling it with incessant strife.

I lay there atop a one tree hill,
On a soft patch of grass, all still,
The life of that tree was metaphorical to mine,
All by itself in rain and shine.

The wind from the west had picked up speed,
Rustling the leaves and blowing the weeds,
Like a melody playing in sotto voce,
Peace came to me,and let my eyelids close.

I missed seeing the cerulean sky transform,
Cirrus clouds marking the advent of a storm,
The divine orchestra of the Creator,
Setting up a symphony in his amphitheatre.

Thunder roared, lightening fell,
I sat up and looked as i've landed in hell,
Then the first raindrop kissed my forehead,
And the derangement of my mind, it all fled.

The clouds above me let out their bountiful shower,
And the earth overwhelmed me with its redolent power,
I sat there transfixed for a moment or so,
Before i realised, i had to go.

With a stupendous pace of a fleeing prey,
Down the slope i ran all the way,
To save my wits from the scathing rain,
The way i dread of being in pain.

Half way down the slope it caught up to me,
Drenched my body, but cooled my heart,
Killed my demons and set me free,
And inspired me to make a fresh start.

So foolish of me to have believed so,
To outrun my dolors in a go,
Standing in that rain i realised a truth,
That its frivilous to lead a life of ruth.

Like an untrammeled spirit, like a jubiliant soul,
The other half i ran slicing the blanket of rain,
With arms outstreched, with a heart on a roll,
The rancour of being alive i had slain.

Your life is a revelry of rollicking moments,
Interlaced in a string of turbulant times,
Like the music you hear when a storm descends,
The thunder's roar, the shower's hiss, finally it all rhymes.

SLUMDOG 'BULLY'IONAIRE

Its miniscule eyes opened for the first time,
Was blinded by the light from the Cerulean sky,
The air it breathes saturated by the stench,
Of a canine carcass rotting by its side.


Born in a dumpyard of a pervert world,
This pariah of destiny began its wretched life,
Paraphernalia of a pair of hopeless souls,
He crawled, then walked through the lanes of his slum.


Darwin's Law was the first thing he learned,
Fight for thy bread, or thou shalt perish,
Love for him was a chimerical emotion,
Written on billboards of hindi 'fillums'.


He still has flashbacks of the first brawl he had,
As a neophyte urchin on Petkar Street,
When some salacious 'veterans' pilfered his pittance,
He fought them down with his newfound resolve.


From that moment on he never lost his mettle,
Bullied his way up the echeleons of the slum,
Unperturbed by the bludgeonings of fate,
He rose like a pheonix above the scum.


On the slovenly streets of his shantytown
Where every soul is endowed with unremitting woes,
He tested his sinew and fought for every piece of bread,
In the shadow of a hoarding; 'India Shining' it read.


The Order of the Underworld were the lessons he learned,
Th lacerations from his fights were the notes he made,
When the world seems resplendent with a myriad opportunities,
His was a world of obdurate uncertainties.


His metamorphasis in itself is a quixotic tale,
From Slumdog to Slumlord he made his way,
Where rags to riches is still a celluloid dream,
His bestial life was scripted not by men, but fate.


Every time you oblige to your child's say,
Just remember that there are kids out there,
Being pushed to the brink of life itself,
By the Aparthied drawn by our vested deeds.


Their souls disowned by the society they could have served,
Their minds poisoned by rage and despire,
Our nameless slumdog's rise to infamy,
Is a testimony of their rendition to our diabolical self.

HEROES

Since the genesis of time,when cities rose,
Barricades of men, as armies pose,
Lead by a league of chivalrous souls,
The mob christened them as Heroes.

They are not born;our idols, but they are made,
The mob worships them ,till they fade,
The youth dreams to be one of those,
Whom the mob christens as Heroes.

In a despotic world where the sane are rare,
Children starve and die,but very few care,
The bombs ,they kill, no religion it knows,
For some they are terrorists, for others, Heroes.

One man saves a hundred lives,
Chaos is beaten, faith survives,
The Sandeeps,the Sullys ,the Bhatras, they all chose,
To risk their lives, and made Heroes.

They rise amongst us in myriad forms,
In sports fields, screens and battlestorms,
Your insatiable expectations add to their woes,
They have to pay a price, to stay Heroes.

The Devil's sentinals are present and clear,
Within and without your wretched lives, filling it with fear,
In absence of heroes, sanity will be gone,
Because when a Hero is born, Hope is reborn.