Horror stories!

Vanish behind that curtain,
Run up those stairs…
It’s the time for scary stories
Look, who’s creeping there!

Finely woven as threads of silk,
These stories are set to amaze.
Transport you to another world they do,
Your deepest fears they raise!

Forget ghosts and haunting poltergeists,
Leave the psychotic killers behind.
Even animals their farms shan’t leave,
Just open up your mind…

Let loose those fears of loneliness,
Watch your pride take centre stage.
Notice your hungry eyes lust upon someone,
Don’t bother with the moral parade.

What then will happen to that mask of yours?
Who’d want to see your face?
Find the truth about your crumbling flesh,
Awaiting time’s decay…

Horror stories aren’t made of evil ghosts,
Nor they are of spirits unkind,
Horror stories are just a human condition,
Escaping the human mind…

Living the dream

What is our constant need to live a lie?
To live the dream that others seek
To cloak our sorrows in a lucid smile
To deny ourselves our very lives

'He lived the dream' they proudly said
Yet they coveted his every breath
A happy face he forever portrayed
Damning them all to death

This man they thought ‘he has it all’
They followed his every move
A stagger and they brought him down with a thud
His life was theirs to bleed

'He made his money from lies' they said
'He cheated on his wife'
'Oh look at his many flaws' they laughed
'He was never so perfect indeed'

They laughed him off, their ex-hero
The spoils were theirs to lavish
Another hero will soon ascend
It’s all about the better trick

Alas, then comes along an honest soul
Confused like the few before
'This is not my dream' he said
'I want not a billion dollars nor bars of gold'

He wished to live his life his way
To see the world anew
To think his own and make his place
His terms were disapproved

‘Rebel, hunt him down!’ they screamed
Yet each his courage sought
They wondered how he broke free
When all of them could not

Hope floats

A destitute past 18 in the train
She’s got her wares to sell
A few toys and a plastic dream
To escape the nightmare in which she dwells
She wails and bargains a price
While she soothes her baby ill

He is all of four with flowing nose
No thought for his tattered clothes
He bears a perturbing smell
His hair’s in curls matted with dirt
His nails covered with grime
Yet each day he learns a new nursery rhyme

To dust my life is shattered
The young mother thinks
Tough my life is, so be it
But I'll never let him sink
Her stubborn hope holds her on
Her sleeping baby and a rattling sound

Kids!

Fold a napkin - you’ve got a train
A floating cloud - a bunny makes
A starry night - a set stage
And you’ll never know what else they’ll make!

We too were them not so long ago
Our wheels did spin and our wings did soar
Across the river and above the sky
Another dream we all lived by

Then one day we thought it cool to grow
To hold the brief case and drive to and fro
All the money would buy so much
We could party, there would be no homework

Now grown up, that kid waits alone
In a dim lit corner within our soul
He rises up with every moon
And makes you think, why did I grow up so soon?

An amazing insanity

There is something amazing about the insanity of faith. An insanity about those who follow their heart, their dreams knowing fully well that it will be easier to do what others do, to follow the oft tread path, to simply comply and conform. Yet they go against the tide, work against the grain and simply step out and excel.
They don’t run the world and they don’t care who does. They are out of it, apart from it and walk this earth exploring things anew. They don’t set trends for others to follow, neither do they wait on accolades, commendations or prizes. They do what they do only because it is all that they know how to.

I stand in awe of them, inspired and overwhelmed. I thank them for who they are, shakti, hozefa and all who are unlike others.

Who am I, really?

Of late with work pressures mounting and quality ready for its untimely decline I wonder who am I? Am I fine with letting go of the quality that I've been boasting about for most of my working life - all of 3 years and joining the ranks of corporate conformity - 'Client ko jo chahiye, dedo.' Easier said than done if you are the proud owner of an ego with a conscience to boot. Then there are those times when 'enough' is well past at 6 p.m. and you are still at work past 12 watching a good concept float down the drain... Ah the vagaries of 21st century work!

I find myself hunting my phone book, looking out for numbers, for people who I can talk to, people who would have something nice to say. No, not the rant I hate my effing workplace, the point is that everyone does. Just about a good day, a stray dog, a hi I missed you the other day or lets meet up but alas no one would remain awake at this ungodly hour. Just the few weird men at dadar station who despite all their good intentions just seem up to no good past 12 in the a.m. staring at a lone copywriter with her red bag, lost yet awake waiting for the rattling approach of the last train. When did I, a dreamer get here, I will never know. But someday, it would be a different train, a different plane, someday soon.

Wandering thoughts

United we stand, divided we fall…

Yet another lie to rest us all

False pretenses, hidden facades

Heroes found amongst unknown faces

Stories live, as the fires burn

Millions watch unconcerned

The press hums to the beat

As the unclaimed lay on the street

Jarred lives, riddled with bullet holes

Breaking families remain un-consoled

Homage paid, candles lit

Forgotten dead, mere graves to dig

In fear we all run and hide

An effort to avoid that sad demise

Far from that burning train

Away from that shady lane

Sad still remains the fact

Death always finds its way back

Still fear they choose over a fight

To die as victims not warriors bright