Saint to Devil

Endurance for momentary cheers,
and impulsiveness for sighing alas.
An year to see the Jesus,
a single day made me Judas.

Taking words as predefined terms,
I changed to devil from saint.
But my hopes of revival dashed,
learning there’s no difference ain’t.

No difference speaks of equality,
so are all we equals as if clones?
No forgiveness, some are more equals,
said the looted farm of Mr. Jones.

Nursery Rhymes Revisited

As the mighty gray clouds concealed the sun,
and the slow wind swiftly begin to blow.
Everyone in hiding is out on grassy streets,
expecting mild showers to come and go.

There comes young Cinderella from fairy tale,
carrying her single slipper waiting for a match.
She thinks it will be her lucky chance today,
But outside pleasant fables life is a dismal catch.

Here comes little Johnny carrying his baseball bat,
praying rain to go to Spain as he wishes to play.
He naively thinks it only takes a little sugar to laugh,
But let him grew up and ask a lot more someday.

And Jack descends tumbling down the steep hill,
breaking the crown and spilling a pail of water.
He painfully expects Jill coming after for him,
But she doesn’t as now he is not what she’s after.

Last Time when I died

Last night I had this very bizarre dream. It was that I was in a battlefield, holding my position in a bunker firing my Simonov on the opponent on the other side. Blood and dust surrounded me amid the howling of fire. After taking a few shots I wondered which battle is this, what is that I am fighting for? I examined my blood stained dusty uniform to find a swastika mark on it. Ok so I am a bloody Nazi, but which place is this? There is no sea around so it can’t be Normandy; neither can I find snow so it is not Stalingrad either, and since Germans had mostly air attacks on UK so it can’t be London too. I guess this godforsaken place is Sicily, where else? It means I must be fighting the bloody Americans. Good!! Where is General Patton I wanna directly shoot him and end the battle. But wait, I admire him. I also admire George Scott who refused the Oscar playing Patton. I admire both of them so why kill any? But hey I am a soldier, right? I too must be fighting for a cause, whatever that may be.

Oh Jesus fucking Christ I need to focus. I aimed my gun at an enemy. Shit man it is the face of my childhood friend. I don’t wanna shoot him. But what if he does? I can’t take any fucking chances. No No certainly I can’t. It was the bollywood effect that instead of hailing Hitler I shouted ‘Hail Mogambo’ and took my shot. Holy Arjun! It was perfect. Headshot. My childhood friend died, not much pain ahhh . Simultaneously I felt both a guilty sigh and triumphic ooze. Lord we men, what a basterd we are? We are more ethical then we think and far more immoral than we could probably imagine.

I don’t know whether it was guilt or triumph but I lost my focus. Consequently a bullet stroked me, piercing my chest, blood oozing out of it. It hurt like anything. Oh lord! How unfair I am goanna die, and die so young, how sad. But an inner voice explained me don’t panic, don’t panic! It’s just a dream, a play and nothing lasting. Yes and all of a sudden the pain was over. Hurray. I begin to think what should be my dying words. ‘Jesus Christ!’ or ‘Hey Ram!’ or what about ‘Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan’. Confused. I just muttered “Sorry mate! We are just a pawn in the game” and decided to die.

But wait it’s not over man. It’s a dream and I saw the aftermath too. The scene was my grand burial ceremony. Several guns were fired. Ohh Great! I must have been a high ranking officer and not just a private. Generals with stoical faces were giving me salutes. I tried to look for Hitler, he was absent. That disappointed. People came and gone but at the end this lady remained. She came to my grave and put some flowers and a photograph of me and her together. She wept for a long while and when tears refused to shed then she too left. Meanwhile I kept on wondering who she was? Girlfriend? fiancé,? Wife? Or as I was a soldier on a war, was she a whore I was sleeping with, who fell in love with me? I tried checking her fingers but my vision kept on blurring. First I was killed and then puzzled, such is life. A bitch. And for the first time after that shot I regretted dying, even in a dream. I know I will wake up alive in the morning but I will never know why the hell she was crying.

Something gotta give Up

“What makes you come here son?” he inquired in a deep voice, the reply “I need help”. “So does everyone who comes to me, take the couch and try being specific” he paused to recollect his thoughts but the misty disorder veiling his heart didn’t produced any. “There is something happening inside my heart, something strangely painful and it is making me weak” “Son the heart is an egoist; it feels its need intensely and strives ruthlessly to satisfy them. Have you lost something?” “I have a dream but I lost my hopes” “Ah!! Another dreamer. You love your dream .Right? And it is probably threatened?” “Yes. I said I lost my hopes” “You are never so defenseless against suffering as when in love” the words seemed disrespectful but he couldn’t help not agreeing. “While adoring your dream you had pawned a part of your narcissm” “But sir once that dream gave me a triumphant conviction” “And now pain. If you can’t make it then let it go” “But I don’t want to” “Wants, desires, dreams all are elusion my boy, the life and death drives. They commend to us because they save us pain and give pleasure, but we must accept without complaint that sometime they will collide with reality and will be dashed to pieces” “I agree but then what about this pain” he unable to force himself into unbelief “Don’t alleviate it with imprudent attempts. Let it grow. Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise. All this sadness of heart is the birth-pain of a new attitude trying to be born” His words knocked him. After few silent moments the voice broke “Are we done?” “There is something which I cannot say aloud or perhaps even think” he lied because he thought he was.