Child Labour

Ring ring the poor girl dies

Surprise me if an onlooker tries

Death as if the lil one fell asleep

Right where her broom used to sweep

Would someone embrace her now

In life not but in her last vow

So little but wanted to see it clean

Yet the stains on her clothes go unseen

Don’t be mistaken by the innocence

In her sleep, death, might you sense

Ring ring the poor girl dies

Surprise me if an onlooker tries

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Love

Love for a lifetime is not essential if you had a single day to feel love of a lifetime

A Mere Smile

What knowledge would teach
about this swelling beauty
that makes a gaze pure
over lips cascading slow
A mere smile, a lover’s paradise
Nothing exists beyond or before
a dying oldman’s ‘cherish’
Swiging along the swinging chair
A mere smile, a lover’s paradise
Not age nor prudence
and all books in the study,
with sweet tales of ecstacy
could meet the horizons of
A mere smile, a lover’s paradise
Hushed serenity that jolts,
running inside, coupling
joy with dancing happiness,
an achievement a trophy,
A mere smile, a lover’s paradise

A Quick Note!

Music danced over snow coloured skin of her cheeks. Those eyes, as of a wolf, staring into the horizon upon a prey faraway from her devouring canines. Such thoughts humble a wolf and then follows a look of innocence. Eyes blinking over lips, pink as smudges of twilight embracing the falling sun, forcing you to believe in one longing sight. A sight that makes you trade your very existence for it.

Words from Prison

Dear,

This writing shall not replace the cold slabs under my stiff buttocks though it won’t make my indifference colder. Here we have a competition between stone and a man’s perseverance. You must have heard about ice over oceans which gets harder against harsh winters. These slabs are water and I’m the ice. I don’t know when this winter of my confinement will end but I won’t break until the end. This irks them the most. They are mere officials who follow commands. Hard working young men, trying to break me everyday but failing. I hate to see them exhausted and angered when they throw me in this isolated cell for revolting with my silence. They are not at fault. They exist in the same whirlpool that keeps me confined and makes them watch over me, where in the vortex I dance with the victim.

Are you the victim, love of my life? I might be a loathed rapist but the implications have made me a thinker and transformed thought into word. What a wonderful experience it is to be disgusted in courts and public and papers as a perpetuator of beastiality. Prison is the only place that harbours beasts and these inmates respect me in the most heinous ways. I don’t stay with them because I’m not one of them but they don’t know. No one knows that but me and you darling. I can taste blood in the corners of my mouth from yesterday’s punch by the prison warden. My bones creak under the flurry of batons. But I sit alone, in the calm,  memorising these words to write them on a paper until I’m provided with one. I see you in the dark. I see ‘Me’. You are the best con of my life but I’m the artist this world doesn’t dare to see.  I’m coming! And I would love to see the look in your eyes when you see me. You won’t be scared I know, but the look of defeat in your eyes and impatience for the next plan to throw me back would be my ecstasy. I’m coming! Alive? I don’t know but life has never been a medium for me. Just a life imprisonment more and I will be there. You know what I would have become by then. You out of all the people know that well. Convey it to whom it concerns. Prepare yourself before I put these words on the first paper I find. Prepare yourself for I’m coming!
Yours

A letter!

Dear Loser

I have not lived in reveries since you left, yet there have been instances when I think of the time when your presence danced around me. I could have felt you for life if you would have been a bit more manly when we parted. Let me tell you that this letter is not to remind me of a desolated state that you left me in, neither does it entreat you to come back to me. These things don’t mean much to me now. Continue reading A letter!

Thought 

I have met women and seen them in wondrous joys and bursts of romance, some in the veils of shyness covered by a thick line of dust. I have met men who deserve to be called men with their fine composure of manliness, yet I have seen few weeping like a nursed child.I gave myself in to all and they were scared. They are all scared. We are all scared.
There’s a woman who breaks herself free from the bounds of society but cannot break free from the bounds of her heart even if she transforms her body. Continue reading Thought