When Shit Gets Shittier – NaPoWriMo 2015: Day 6

When shit gets shittier,
Shove your shovel
In the shit hole
and skim your way
through the
Stinking swamp
To swim the stream,
and come out clean,
like a silver swan

When shit gets shittier,
Shake the dust
and strap your suits,
Slip your shoes
And shed your scars
Snorkel in space
through silent solace,
And sparkle your way
Like a shooting star

When shit gets shittier,
sing your songs
Into stories strong and
strum your strings
Like a surging storm
Set your sail,
and strut the stage
Go skate the slopes
Like a freakin’ avalanche


Be The Change


Photo Source: http://fineartamerica.com/

Part – 1

In this world cloaked in darkness, let there be light
In the skies of freedom, let us take this flight
In this battle against tyranny, together let us fight
In the hearts of the young, this fire let us ignite
Let us stand together, hold our hands and march
Let us dream;
dream a world of hope,
let us keep a watch
Let us free the little birds of dreams from their cage
Let us be the guide,
Let us be the change
Let us build this world, build it together as one
and then there will be a change
then there will be change

Part – 2

I will be the wind, I will be the fire
I will be the light, I will inspire
I will not give up, I will not fall
I WILL find a way when there will be none

I will be knowledge, I will be strength
I will be a pillar, I will not bend
I will be trust, and I will be hope
I will be a symbol – for I am the spirit of Change


Two Poems that I wrote for a song that our Band recorded for an NGO named Samarpan. The verses are in Hindi and I will be posting a translation in another post. But I hope you enjoy the poems(in English) and the music.

You can listen to the song at the link below,

Umang – The Spirit of Samarpan



Photo Source: http://www.deepintolove.com/

As I see the leaves fall, elegantly
Dancing their way down
Onto a solitary trail of stone
Away from the holy crown
Into a haze of emotions I fall
Sinking like a dead weight
Into infinite depths of reminiscences
Of friendship, love and fate

Not a single moment passes
Without the echoes of distant voices
In forgotten dreams and lucid memories
Singing odes of forced choices
A single tear trickles down
The placid face of the happy clown
Lost in life the invisible man
Cherishing the feeling, when he can

Silhouetted against the dim light
The ancient saint whispers
Go on child; move on, it’s time
Before reality disappears
Watery eyed, standing numb
I’m awaken from my reverie
Staring deep into the fiery sun, waiting,
To be released from this misery

The autumn light reflects gold
In the somnolent eyes of the sun
Speaks of hope, to rise;
fight back and gracefully burn.
The phoenix sores in the distant skies
Singing songs of freedom
Of life and love it gives us hope
And the wonderful times to come.

Hope, The Trojan Horse


Photo Source: http://www.wikipaintings.org/en/giovanni-domenico-tiepolo/the-procession-of-the-trojan-horse-in-troy-1773

The thing about Hope is, you never know when it is a good thing and when it is not. The line between the two is so thin that we often fail to realize when we have crossed over to the other side.

It is a defense mechanism, hope, against denial. It is like an antibiotic, where dead viruses are injected into the body so that the immune system could easily fight them off and have a good sparring session before the real thing.

But, that is where we go wrong. We place too much trust in Hope. Like the Trojan horse of the Greeks  that led to the fall of great city of Troy, Hope sneaks in and opens the gate for an army of other Trojans to creep in, at the dead of night, bringing us down on our knees in the end.

How I Could Write Poetry ?


Photo Source: http://www.aacc.edu/creativewriting/default.cfm

I could write poetry because,
I was just a child in the skin of a man
who struggled to find his place in this world
I had tried to fit in, I really tried,
but the bullies got the best of me in this place

I could write poetry because,
I had found a friend in nature,
when there were none other to sit beside
I had learnt every lesson it had to offer
in the time I had and all the time I could borrow

I could write poetry because,
I had seen empty pages abandoned
and I could not bear the sight of their sorrow
I had tried to fill them up with words
and hoped that would make them feel better

I could write poetry because,
I had seen Life through my eyes,
and through the eyes of a thousand others
I had listened to each with all my heart,
and felt the pain behind every unsaid word

I could write poetry because,
I had accepted the state of my loneliness,
and made peace with all of my insecurities
I had learnt to close my eyes when in doubt
and escape  to a world of infinite possibilities


If I wake up tomorrow and cannot write anymore, what becomes of me? If I sit in front of my PC and stare blankly at the blinking cursor, hoping that it will come back to me some day, but it doesn’t, what then? What if suddenly, the written words do not make any sense, whatsoever? What if my first book stays unfinished, even before I had started writing it?

Will I be, ‘That poor guy who lost his voice’?  or Will I be remembered as, ‘That Guy, who could have done something good, What a waste he stopped’?

Maybe, or maybe not.

I would like to think I will be a happy man, who has no regrets to rant about, anymore.



Photo Source: http://altered-states.net/barry/newsletter155/

I stood there stripped naked, staring at my reflection jeering back at me, mocking my existence; the cold wind like knife against my bare skin. It was dark and lonely. I panicked and closed my eyes, praying I was safe. Someone tugged me from behind. I turned to find failure looking at me. He talked to me, tried to comfort me and as he did that I drifted peacefully into the lullabies of my miseries.

I fell.

The wind was hitting hard against my skin, tossing me around like an empty can that was sucked, crushed and thrown like it had never belonged. As I was falling, hope found me. I tried to hold onto her clinging on for dear life. But, no matter how hard she tried I kept slipping away. I was falling and with me she was too. So I stared back into her reassuring eyes one last time and smiled.

I let go.

With a deafening crash I hit hopelessness, drowning into its abyss, carrying the weight of my life. I tried to breathe, but, something was choking me. Was it guilt or was it shame? Was it self-pity or was it pain? I guess I could never find out. I was a coward who had quit.

I gave in.

There was a momentary emptiness, like a vacuum, in my head. The pain in my lungs was sharp as a shiver ran down my spine. “Maybe this is an epiphany”, I thought as I opened my eyes against the blinding white light. Everything was blurry, but I could see someone or something standing over me. Slowly as my vision cleared I saw two tender eyes staring right into my soul. It was magical. As I lay there looking into those mystical eyes, I felt the last traces of disappointment draining out. It felt as if I had never let go of hope.

All was well.

He picked me up and took me in. He cared for me and nourished me. In his backyard I learnt to walk again; on his shoulders I learnt to fly again. In his arms I found strength and in his presence I could live again.

I was reborn.

I was growing up again. It was a new life, a new adventure. In this journey I was reunited with innocence and introduced to joy. Together we played the game of happiness and learnt the melodies of laughter. We listened to great tales of imagination and when we were tired, we rested under the canopy of trust.

I could smile.

Adolescence found me in my journey and together as brothers, we pursued love. Love, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. In her presence I felt safe, felt alive. I was complete. I was whole.

I had found meaning.

I never realized that time was running away. In the shadows, fate had been conspiring against me the whole time. My past had come to take me back. I should have fought back, but I didn’t. Words failed me and so did courage. Like a traitor I betrayed myself. I lost my love, just gave her away.

I failed.

Friendship came to my rescue, to help me out, to save me, but I was consumed. Spite, jealousy and self-pity were my new company. I was beyond repair. The more I thought about it, I realized that this was meant to be. There never was any help. There never was any hope. There was no love and nor was there innocence. It was all a fiction written by a ghost. It was a drug that had been holding me down. It had always been a part of the plot and I should have realized it. It seemed so obvious now, so predictable.

I had lost.


A silver bullet and the golden sun,

A shivering hand on the icy gun,

Pleading eyes and a beating heart

Lying still on the crimson earth

The Unfortunate Rejects


Photo Source: http://www.layoutsparks.com/pictures/heartbroken-0

Who we were, and what we are,
Who’ll we be, and what become of us?
The broken of heart,
The unfortunate rejects
Is this it?
The end I mean;
Is it done?
Or do we still carry this curse?

Trust we did,
Was that our mistake?
Love  we had,
was that the crime?
Hope we held,
and faith we cherished,
Sadly, we could never draw the line

Now we are, like broken mirrors
Waiting for time,
To heal us, and fix us whole
Sculptures of ice,
Frozen inside
We are,
but love’s unfortunate rejects


Be The Change


Photo Source: http://www.yoganonymous.com/back-to-school-seven-ways-to-meditate-celebrate-life-as-a-family/

In this world cloaked in darkness, let there be light
In the skies of freedom, let us take this flight
In this battle against tyranny, together let us fight
In the hearts of the young, this fire let us ignite
Let us stand together, hold our hands and march
Let us dream a world of hope, let us keep a watch
Let us free the little birds of dreams from their cage
Let us be the guide, let us be the change

I am a Poet and This is My Story


Photo Source: http://main.nc.us/openstudio/gregoryeanes/pages/Poet.htm

I am a poet and this is my story

An essence of existence;
a silent observer of the night
A shadow that flickers in the dark,
fleetingly imitating life

Ephemeral in presence,
I write my story tonight,
before fading away, silently,
Into a world filled with light

I am a poet and this is my story

I am you, I am them,
and still, I am I
A memory, a thought;
Subconscious of form,
As dreamt by  your mind

I am right,I am wrong;
a dreamer, a lover;
melancholy and forlorn;
damaged and torn
I am hope;  a believer

I am this, I am that;
An ideal, an idol
a reflection of perception,
a by-product of creation
I am invisible.

I am a poet and this is my story

Words are my enemy,
they are my friend,
my strength, my weakness
they help me comprehend

They are my feelings,
they are my thoughts
insignificant, inconsequential
They are all I’ve got

They break me , they make me,
bring it together, bring it all down
They are my voice, my silence,
my strength, when no one’s around

I am a poet and this is my story

I write for sorrow, I write for pain
I write to express, I write to paint,
I write to listen, I write to explain
I write to live with no refrain

I write for you ,I write for me,
I write for the rocks, I write for the trees
I write for the sky, I write for the breeze
I write for this world,
because I want to be free.

 I am a poet and this is my story