Penned Ego

Trust Dear Dearest, You asked me whether I trust you completely. Baby I can’t say that I trust you. I don’t trust anyone, for trust is a belief. And I don’t believe blindly. And if I say that I trust you for a reason, how can that be a trust, it is actually a realisation. That doesn’t mean that I don’t take chances. I do take chances. But I don’t ignore the other possibility. May be that’s why I am always anxious. I don’t believe that you love me. I understand that you do. That doesn’t hinder you from leaving me if I become bad or incompatible. Or at least I know that it shouldn’t. I understand that you had been on my side on many occasions when I needed you and when I needed someone. I also understand that sometimes I was on my own. But you are one among the people go to when I am troubled by something. So, I don’t believe that you love me, I know that you do at this moment. That is the foundation on which our love is built. Thus, this relationship will go on until we stop feel...

The Illusionist Dwelling in the tangled labyrinth is the rover, In the realm of time and space an eternal wanderer, The inventor of innumerable creators, Having the shape of their creators And codes of life, mutable always, Suiting the beastly humane ways. Where the hell is the hell? In the abyss like well with corpses' smell Or the complex nerve cell Where all evils dwell. To once reach heaven Never do those seven. The heaven and those seven, Mere cookies baked in his oven. How did the imaginary lines that divide Relatives, contingent on where they abide And twenty-four and sixty slices Of the earth's spin come to life? After this grand illusion He too started living in delusion.

Immoral Beings Why has God given us eyes? To see good things. Why has God given us ears? To hear good things. Why has God given us brain? To think good things. Why is it so? Because it is given by God? No. No. Definitely not. The ones whose livelihood is God, Needs us to not to see, hear, and think Beyond what secures the concept, God, As it will make their treasury shrink. The eyes, ears and brains, given by God Won't see beyond. We HAVE eyes to see, We HAVE ears to hear, We HAVE brain to think, Both good and bad. Only then we can rebel, Rebel against the circus trainer Who cages us to perform for his gain In this giant circus tent.

Eight out of Ten I saw a girl and liked her, The astrologer didn't like her, He rated three out of ten I saw another girl then Same happened again Only astrologer had gain Many came and went When I like he would resent. I saw a girl, didn't like her, The astrologer liked her, He rated eight out of ten, They made me marry her then. Today, is our divorce. I spare him for now, For last month he too faced divorce.

The Severed Tongue The silenced has a language, A powerful, peerless language. Each one has a tongue of their own, The one, along with them have grown, With undiscovered words that surpass The language of elite class. A language, not of elite class, And thus unfamiliar to the mass. A language forged out of experiences Unfamiliar to the mass that seeks differences. Yet in your language, we seek expression, The language that has treated our experiences with oppression.

Poet, Lover, Lunatic I don't know where all my thoughts wander. In a span of two minutes where I tried to sleep by closing my eyes, I thought of narration (as I was trying to sleep listening to a bedtime story in calm app), imagined how I will narrate a story to our children, will I be a good story teller, how can I be a better story teller when their mother is already a good one, I thought of sound modulations that I may bring in my narration (I literally imagined those sound modulations), then I thought of whether I should tell them fairy tales, because I know those form a wrong understanding of the world, creates a neocolonized mind, then I thought that I should tell them the stories or else they won't be able to understand and recognise one of the most effective methods used to shape and dominate minds, then I told to myself that I should deviate from the traditional way of raising children by teaching them not to discriminate, and then I thought about rights, I thought ...

Mr. Deviant R.I.P Mr. Love, the butcher of Normal Street, renowned for his swift hands, slaughtered Mr. Deviant in the name of God. Mr. Deviant has travelled beyond the street, and was therefore a headache for all. He questioned the agents of God, sometimes the concept of God and always the existence of God. He was not supposed to be left to rot as the butcher believed that he will pollute the air and the sin of slaughter will be washed away when it is served as food.  The butcher gave the flesh to his lover, Ms. Kind, who owned a small restaurant in Normal Street. He told her that it was Mr. Deviant, and she asked “The devil’s son? People say that he got his name from the devil, is that true?” The butcher disagreed to that and said that he is not the devil’s son, but that he says  we were not made by God but we evolved from other animals. The butcher joked that Deviant might have been born from a monkey. Ms. Kind, due to her curious mind, asked, “He says he has travell...

Atheist's Rebirth I am an eternal being, it's a truth for believing, they say. Rationalists ask for proof, look up to heavens beyond your roof, they say. I accept the theory of eternity, but never by giving up my rationality, I say. "I think therefore I am" but I am not merely what I am, I say. Simultaneously, I was a fish, I was a moth I was a tiger, and was also in its mouth, I say. I was once in the food cycle, I was there in one's life cycle, I say. I die, they cry, I go beneath, return as a grass within a goat's teeth, I say. I will reach its gut and then it's cells where my long dead brother too dwells, I say. I too am an eternal being, they say. But it's never belief's giving, I say.

For Sale Wandering along the local market I noticed the dominants' target. Sparkling inside the chief's shelf, It directed my attention to itself, Later to its label, JUSTICE. Under the label, on the paper board, A price that I cannot afford. The lower rack's product drew my atention. Something we often bought till then. Its price made it look affordable, But it's label never made it buyable, Which read, INJUSTICE.

New Year Earth wished to give up revolution, Thinking it should be her resolution. She was believed to have reached A point on the orbit that ceased The existance of a framed year Which displeases one's ear. Petrifying animals, polluting air, She once again became a ball of fire, Like her chauvinistic polygamic spouse, Who confined her to his vast house. Animals, petrified. People, betrayed. Air, polluted. World celebrated.

Haiku 6 Used a filter and separated some elements. Used another filter and took some back. Beware supporters more filters yet to come.

Haiku 5 Someone pushed us from the vantage point To a lower level of deception point. The latter, "more real' than the former.

Haiku 4 Wipe the tear from common man's eyes, Said a Legend. Then came another Legend, And wiped out men, to prevent tears.

Justice In heaven, she and I, held each other's hands and cried. Then we looked at each other and cried again. We saw a marriage happening on earth, we cried again. She tried to hug and kiss me, we couldn't, she cried again. We cried not for our lost chance for a life together, there was never really a chance rather than me being murdered by her angry relatives for my unintended identity and her living as my widow. We don't cry for this injustice, we cry for another which we never saw coming. She gripped my hands even firmly, and narrated the events of the night we were brutally raped, her sexually and me mentally. I was her only therapist and this narration was her only therapy. The story of the night I left her alone in her apartment. The night I planned to go to my home and wished to inform my parents about our secret, silent relationship that we maintained even after the whole issue at her house and my intention to marry her ignoring the possibilities of my murder....

Article 19 (1) (a) Don't dare to chisel my tongue For the triumph of your tongue. Don't dare to snatch my right To be, in my language, erudite, To be who I really am And add before ma ,am. I don't do any charms And transfigure my arms To look like legs or head, And never force them to tread. And yet I live as a single entity Without them having any enmity. Impossible is it, to impose unity By ferociously erasing diversity.

Safe House Ronny watched the clouds touching the roof of the needlessly gigantic, abandoned building where he lived along with the abandoned inhabitant, whose eternal mate rested inside the specially built concrete chamber outside, reluctant to join earth and others, whose blood and later flesh and bones nourished the soil to be futile nowadays. He rushed into the house while the thin, pale, grey-haired, woman talked to her children abroad. Through the phone, with features transcending her requirements, they assured her safety from the threatening flood. “Amma, you don’t have to worry, flood won’t affect you as our house is on a higher plain. We will come there next month, for Anju’s wedding.” The soothing words subverted the effect they created as they said, “we may not be able to come and see you this time, as you cannot come to the wedding with this health condition and we don’t have enough time to come home.” She missed her days in the old age home. Back then she had a family, t...

One More Falling Leaf Leaves fall today, tonight Does the tree mourn every night? The yellow leaf falls and dies Never is this a big surprise. Intermittently falls the green leaves. Pigmented with dreams, it leaves The group of greens it loved, Forced by the stubborn lad, Into a life eternal and free Nourishing the mighty tree But, for his fall tonight Will the tree mourn every night? The tree stays still When it's leaves fall ill The tree stays still And new leaves fill. None mourns for a leaf every night. Does the tree mourn every night?

Rejection The night's dead silence ends As voices arose from both ends. A quick question, simple, but dangerous Subverted the tone so far humorous. "Can I marry a man from a lower caste?" Silence returned, but shortly did it last. Reply arrived in the form of a question From the database of cliche questions. "Which caste?" Simple and direct Cunningly created by his intellect. The girl gave the caste name with the same Boldness her lover had whenever he said the same. The air became dense, the man became tensed, "Out of billions of options", Waiting for the marriage auctions, "You chose the Fifth One? This has to be undone." "Your elder one, at her New home will suffer. No one from our caste will marry your Younger sister, if you marry this impure. You won't marry him when I am alive For that you don't have to strive." Hoping to convince her, he concluded With the archetypes that included, ...

The Unlike Twins They stood and fought On either sides of a seesaw, Balancing each other, and sought Aid, for them to ever go. Light, an illumined darkness, Order, chaos in disguise, Life, a journey to death, And nature, a forgotten culture. To see one's fight, Must know other's styles. What a beautiful sight, That takes us miles.

Cerebral Hermit The man who renounced The chaos around, renowned For the deaths of many, abuse of many, Never ending mutiny using ones lacking penny, Was confined in a cell, for his mind, puny, And left shackled to unending agony. Restricted within four walls, For he could raise higher walls Guarding the paradise he built From the flag bearers of guilt. Momentary hermits in deluxe caves Cage sane hermits for insanity that paves Highways for an alternative, That for others may seem adversative.