All Indians are my...

(Voice of the north-east)


Can you hear them, silent sobs?
Gagged innocent mouths and slit tender necks
Thundering off silently in a subdued corner
Where justice is but a frivolous empty word.
Their yells for survival so cruelly quietened
By the high mountains and our apathetic walls.

Hark, you people from the mainland!
Listen to the hard breathing of humans in fear
The brothers and sisters we pledge everyday.
Nobody cares for their unaccounted deaths
Nor for their dreams that can never come true
None of us care if they are terrorized.

There, open up your humane eyes and see her
There she starves to get noticed, but in vain
Nobody sees her silent struggle for her people
To rise above the dark ocean of forced silence
To bring on themselves the reign of peace
To find themselves a way out of mere survival.

Can't you feel their beats beneath your ribs?
Praying for someone to listen, someone to see.
Fellow countrymen crying from invisible proximity
Shouting through indifference for their rightful rights.
Praying for understanding hearts from our side
To echo their voices and break those walls.

A toast to the Martyr - Mr. B

           Today as I booted up my middle-aged laptop there was a loud silence. I was 30 words down in my 101st blogpost when my ears were temporarily shut off and I began hearing a unclear resounding echo. Ten minutes into the din, my trained ears perceived it to be the wails of my unsung backspace key (Hence referred to as Bspace). Though unsuccessful at a complete translation from 'keyboard-ish' to English, I was quite able to understand the message. It said "You jerk, useless brat, keep your stinking nail-bit fingers off me!". This is the censored version of what Bspace said.

           Though my first intuitive reaction was to bring the bit gardening shovel on to B's spine, the professional in me sprung up. According to articles from the opportunities and other 'Become the leader that you are (not)' type of books, when a customer has a complaint,
          Rule number one   : Act like you understand him
          Rule number two   : Make him feel the boss
          Rule number three : Say that things are going to be okay
          The golden rule  : Never meet him again


            Going by the same order when Mr.B complained, I cried with him (for an hour). He finally gave up seeing that my wails were more horrible than his. I took a brand new tissue wiped off the dust and with pair of  neat forceps removed the ages of snacks and eraser dust that pained him. I also promised him that I would use a sanitizer before I started typing. Second mission accomplished.
           
             B had a serious complaint, he was frustrated with the way - I kept typing crap for my post, erase it all up; type my name a hundred times and remove it again (My name a hundred times seriously doesn't make a good reading); Sit there with no idea of what I was going to write about and unconsciously type down a Taylor swift song and erase it all over because I was terrified of copyrights; sometimes unconsciously played vaguely remembered Casio tunes on the QWERTY keyboard and still rub 'em off because I hadn't yet completed my post for the day.

            Oh yeah, I had the same doubt, how does my non-deliberate typing practice worry him at all. But then, I realized (quicker than you did!!) that every time I erased I fractured his plastic spine and he was tired of it. Ruthless had I been, indeed. I started to sympathize, forgot the golden rule, forgot my professionalism and cried. I decided to celebrate him and write the 101st blog post about my special backspace key.

           So, I broke his bones as i erased off the half written post (Oops) and wrote this post toasting to the one semi-martyr of the blog, Mr. B (sans the chips underneath).

The hope of tomorrow

Busy streets, What drives life?

Greed, desire or maybe joy?

Seldom is the option on the list

Rarely do we people care.

No sorry is ever said today

No promise instantly kept

The half finished dinner makes it

To the refrigerator every night.

A dying ant still guards its food

In the hope of tomorrow's lunch.

Life isn't all about today's smiles

But the hope that tomorrow comes!

Can't you see? Mom Stole it!

Sometimes when its dark at night,

Deep in my head, you glow bright,

Every such time I wonder as I look

Wrinkles! How can there be none?

I curl into a corner and think hard

Maybe it was 'coz of your kind heart:

Gandhi, Mandela and Teresa as well

They had the folds, Didn't they all?

Perhaps b'coz you were immortal?

But, The angels do magic, you just love.

It can't be 'coz of those miracle creams

None work at all, even in the dreams.

Each of us start out as bright sparklers

Losing all the light in silent crackles.

You slyly hid back your innocent charm

Spring or winter, you simply stay warm.

You gotta grow older to have the marks

You just grew and kept back the sparks.

Cunning as you are,you got me bewitched,

Sorcery it is, I gotta have myself checked.

Greedy me!

There stands desire tantalizing

With cherry blossoms at the clearing

I jump in there to make a grab

I got it now, my hands are full.

Then she moves into the sky

She waves the rainbows at me

I drop them flowers, so rapidly

Fly above and cling on tight

Colors make a gorgeous sight.

Look back down at them shreds

Of what once were bright reds.

I want the rainbows and the clouds

I want the wind, their rattling sounds

Why is it I can't have them all?

Why is it I stay the earthly soul?

Out of my dream

I did not have time to take it slow

When you told me 'its all over now'

I cried out and called you names.

You had been my pretty snow man

The summer came, you're water again

So obvious and yet hard to deal.

I felt like a small kid shivering

After Rain spoiled her evening

So rudely pulled out of a reverie.

I am happy that you cared about me once

At least I am sure it wasn't all just a trance

Now I can mourn our love's death.

We were barking up the wrong tree

From where we were it was hard to see.

I am happier than I should probably be.

I am sorry that I fussed so much

And added the tragic melodrama touch.

The truth is better than just dreams.

Where is my tiara??

----My sister is the best sister------

It feels so warm to know you are there

Like a pearl cozily held by a shiny oyster.

The way you stand up against the world

Just to make sure I don't feel un-loved,

When you smile your big smile at me,

Don't I feel like a princess already?

Oh, people are sure gonna blame you 

When I go about demanding my tiara!

I look beautiful looking in your eyes

I am not giving you up for anything nice.

Blessing!

I wake up to a half nightmare
Heaved out of my dream paradise
My lazy muscles eager to dare
To reach for that unreachable snooze.

Morning blues cloud my vision
Frustrated, my mind begins to issue
Task after task for my machine
Yet another day to pay my earthly due.

I remember the chores I have to do
Carelessly I crane to look at the clock
Look at it twice - too good to be true
Sunday it reads - The dream continues.

Blessing!

I wake up to a half nightmare
Heaved out of my dream paradise
My lazy muscles eager to dare
To reach for that unreachable snooze.

Morning blues cloud my vision
Frustrated, my mind begins to issue
Task after task for the my machine
Yet another day to pay my earthly due.

I remember the chores I have to do
Carelessly I crane to look at the clock
Look at it twice - too good to be true
Sunday it reads - The dream continues.