Life is but a Journey

फलक के पार आज हम चले,

जहाँ संतरी है आसमां,

हवाएँ चड़ी है परवां,

सभी दिशाएँ है समान,

बेफिक्र चले हैं आज हम,

हौले से बुझती ये रात,

दोस्तों का है साथ,

गालियों में भी है मीठी एक बात,

फलक के पार आज हम चले,

लम्बी सड़क लेकिन हौंसले बुलंद,

पाक निगाहों से हर राह मनपसंद,

ज़िन्दगी एक कविता, हर सफ़र एक छंद, 

बेफिक्र चले हैं आज हम,

आँखों में चमक दिल में मस्ती,

जहाँ ख़ुशी वही हमारी बस्ती,

मस्तमौले हम, यही हमारी हस्ती! 

(Written on the way to Nandi Hills, a serene hilltop 50 kms from Bangalore)

The Darkness Beckons

Your bad is my good. Your crimes are my refuge. Your evil is my self. I am, YOU!  not quite, I am a part of you. The one augmented and demonic facet of you that you keep hidden from the prying eyes of the world.

I am darkness.  Absolute. Pristine. Complete. 

You are in denial if you think I do not reside within your heart! I do. It has been my abode since the first time someone bullied you or teased or insulted you and you could do nothing about it. Remember the surge of fury that raged you? Remember the frustration and anger at your inability to take revenge? It was me, whispering softy to you to fight back.

But you pushed me aside, shunned me away as life’s brighter shades enchanted you. I watched, patiently, as the colors went out and then even the stark black and white gave way to a muddy hue of gray.

I looked on as you battled the intricacies of life, baffled and hurt at your inability again. Inability to drive things the way you see fit. I was there when your bubble of confidence burst. And only when you had to accept that sometimes, no matter what you do, you cant have your way did you remember me again!

I was the shoulder you cried on. The pillar of strength that you rebuilt yourself on. I was the one who gave you focus. I was the one who made you appreciate the clarity within chaos. Every time you hated the past, every tear you shed, every wrong you did, every penance that you paid for made you stronger. All this while it was me who pushed you in the corner, I kept pushing till finally you started pushing back. And while I saw a phoenix rise from the ashes, I leaned back to watch over you again. 

I am darkness. Incessant. Omnipresent. Pure.

All I ask for is acceptance!

Crossroad

Standing at this crossroad,

Am clueless of the path,

That brought me here,

And also of the one,

I should take.

Standing at this crossroad,

Am filled with regret,

For the wrong turns taken,

And those turns,

That I failed to take.

Standing at this crossroad,

I look at the paths ahead,

All dusty and desolate,

Not a soul in sight,

With wisdom to partake.

Standing at this crossroad,

Realization hits me,

I am truly alone,

The ambiguous cloud that's future,

Is mine to make.

Some free time, some creativity, some friends, some tweets and a short story!

• Me: The moonless night drew on.Long and bitter.The wordless screams of some night prowler being the music.He thought of her and smiled. Facing the intricasies of life, he buckled under the torrents that embellished him. Yet, got up and whispered her name.
• Zain: The cut on his neck was deep, blood oozing; but stitches he didn't want, Because he knew he might entwine & choke himself to death.
• Me: T'was beautiful, almost perfectly circular drops of blood oozed in an intricate pattern on the rug. She smiled at her creation.
• Zain: The drops made no sound & in the silence was inflicting pain.His eyes now closed; the present troubled him not, the past amused him.
• Pranay: The bottom was not visible. The top was fast disappearing. With all the time in the world to think, he wondered. He hit the ground.
• Me: Time and again he died. Always brutally. Always painfully. Always she watched him die,silent and quiet;in all the alter-realities.
• Zain: Suddenly he wakes up, there's light, there's hope, there's SHE ! There's no wound, there's no blood, there's no pain & suddenly he wakes up.
• Me: But he'd rather be asleep in the limbo he'd so carefully crafted around himself.For there whether he lived or died,no one cared.
• Zain: In the limbo that he'd so carefully crafted,his baptism seemed unholy. Sinful it was,cz it was SHE who baptized him, 'SIN', herself.
• Me: Was he a vermin?A resident of hell?Or an offspring of the holy grove?Named SIN but wasn't the forbidden fruit in the garden of EDEN?

*To be continued*

(@retardosupremo, @AlexZainDer, @gunrxerk )