Best Among the Rest

The best of minds may not be slated on the first bench,
just like the best criminals are not found in a cornered prison,
the best of musicians might be busking under a dirty bridge,
the best of writers may have a weak pen,
the best director could be well walking around with a handycam,
the best of hope may fall in a beggar's bowl
the best of footballer may not have a boot to spare,
the best of sages may be in the deepest cave,
the best of all singers may be hiding in his bathroom,
the best of teacher could be the one using the least of rod and more of eyes,
the best of trancriber might be sleeping while the audio loads on,
the best of lawyer may not have swindled many,
the best of driver may not have driven downhill,
the best of GOD may not have seen Earth at all,
the best of artist may not even know his masterpiece,
the best of love may not have touched you yet,
the best of confusion may be created out of calm,
the best of friend may not be in the crowd,
the best of words may be waiting for silence to occur,
the best of food may not conquer your hunger,
the best of nectar might not have been in those bosom,
the best of engineers may not be a foreign stickler,
the best of Indians might have not taken birth in India,
the best of doctor might be drinking well water,
the best of snaps might have never seen the studio's darkness,
the best of questions may not require the best of answers,

the best of best may not be best anymore, any less!

Palette of mystery

There is something about butterflies that fascinates everyone. It must be its distinguishable color in general or may be, a mystique attached to its carefree mooch around the greens. The butterfly, for one,s seems so without a job in hand, living life to the fullest. That must be the first intrigue to any grown up, but what about kids? Why do they find it irresistible? What is their share of pursuit? To a child, what gathers his attention is not the mundane exemptions allotted to butterfly, for him, it's simply the roaming and the variety of distinct color which does the cupid act. Learning color and its name can't get funnier for a tod that is full of questions and unanswered triggers. It simply doesn't fit hold in a child's psyche that how such a cute, timid creature could be blessed with exuberance of color on its exteriors. It appeals to the nascent mind of the kid and he endures on to a ceaseless and relentless endeavor. In the end, the butterfly flies away, mocking the human child's petulance, but at least teaching him a gradual lesson in life, too.

Now, the child has grown into a man and he no longer runs after this seductive insect anymore but he has learned the tricks of life. He learns that life sometime masquerade itself as a butterfly and makes us trail it like a caboose. At the end of the day, the color are learned and well known and the lesson learned that its butterfly's destiny to be free and drool around flowers and its man's destiny to try to find a space for him in corner for home sake. He learns that it's all karma and lot of drama too, that butterfly goes through a prolonged metamorphosis that seems so tedious and pyrrhic in nature, but eventually the beauty enters out of cocoon. Similarly life too has to drill itself out of a tenuous practicality and then reward itself with betterment. Butterflies are one of the earliest teachers for a child who learns his green from other color, from looking around his presence and sensing the depravity of his ambience.

The Group that is 'WE'

we don't have a history
we don't have a name
we are shroud in mystery
we are full of shame
taken in and thrown off
into holding rain
we are the thorn of loneliness
we are called insane
but one thing that stays on
is the taste of life
and no one else knows it good
than me and my friends
against we stand the norms
against the useless sermons
united we always stood
like a pillar untamed
we don't have a history
we don't have a name.

An old friend

I remember a friend of mine
who used to be close to my eyes
always in a turmoil of rage and courage
in between the line of love and hate
he had a guile that spoke long tales
stories of freedom, race, color and pale
a bit of his life was gloomy at night
wondering of thoughts why ain't i right?
a bit of his reality was hard to sigh
kissing the corners unseen in day
his ideas were great, but his words did stray
in contempt of his failure, he made winning a way
to reach avenues withheld from his gaze
then he was bubble of innocence
trickled by fate and set up straight,
too fast for a race and too slow for a stroll
but he remained in my books of brain for long
along with his grit, guts and game
sailing with a glare only a good friend can play!

Free Spirit

I know I'm going to die a loser's death,

that won't change the stretch of my deeds

this may not create a wave of change

but it will surely make you free.

I and my friends are getting together

no storm can stir their feet

they are moving with their heads high

with a passion of greatness indeed.

They too are lost and wish to decide,

the world they are living in

whether its wrong or is it cursed

and make some changes in its front.

Our beginning stone is free Tibet

for we know its a hard task

it will take eon to fulfill.

But we'll wait with our hopes alight.

We need to wake up to a ugly face

sooner or later, no power was all just; will never be

this power is ruthless, it won't stagger a bit

in strangulating your aspirations, your dreams and freedom.

Let's march on with precious self and thoughts

to defeat this monstrous beast!

Hopefull

I ain't no killing no one,

I ain't destroying lives,

All I'm doing is trying my best,

To listen to the words of my mind.

Pens down to paint the picture of words

and poems arise from crumbled dust

I don't care for the richness or lure

definite to time, illogical views.

World is going to end, it always do

Sometime sooner, sometimes doom

Whatever in between has to come and go.

Kissed and spat on the face of truth

Love do occur in the mist of vague thoughts

Unexplained reason and unexplained words.

Terrible is the loser of faith

Loser of faith and loser of mate.

Friends creep to the ending line

And show the duality of unkind wine

Dwindling hope leaves me insane

And hope is the last straw to abandon.

A steeping stone to a revolution

I know I am going to die a loser's death ,
that won't change the stretch of my deeds.
This may not create a wave of change,
but it will surely make you free.
I and my friends are getting together
no storm can stir their feets.
They are moving with their heads high
with a passion of greatness indeed.
They too are lost and wish to decide
the world they are living in.
Whether its wrong or is it cursed
and make some changes in font
our beginning stone is free Tibet
for we know its a hard task.
It will take aeon to fulfill
but we'll wait with our hopes alight
we need to wake up to a ugly face
sooner or later, no power was all just
will never be.
This power is ruthless, it won't stagger a bit
in strangulating your aspirations, your dreams and freedom
lets march on with precious self and thoughts
to defeat this monstrous beast!

My Rendezvous with Reason

The best part about thinking is that there is no boundary, no scrutiny and no reprisal of any sort. The one thing that connects all living things is its undeniable spirit of thinking, making use of a flow that has no course to turn, no route to follow. We are present and accorded with certain level of familiarity because of our connectivity to losing history. History is debatable and ensures high drama and even melancholy, nonetheless. History is full of personalities so diverse and so magnetic that we often end up cursing the timing of our existence. These greats are not great because they are oblivious of our judgment. They are handed superiority because they conquered their own space of time and measures.

And who wouldn't like to cross the Rubicon and defy the threshold of time. Who wouldn't wish to sit calm down and have a rendezvous with some of the finest figures we know and would like to know better?

There are three eminent figures I would like to have a chat with. These are Rasputin, Jesus Christ and Mohammad. The reason for the choice of each of this personality is interesting because all of the personalities are cloud in a distinct fog of vagueness and ambiguity. I can't judge any of these figures without getting in to the skin of their exterior and internal turbulence. They all faced a unique distraught in their later life, a mist so thin to overcome. The reason why I have chosen these three fine individual is not answerable because the choice was limited to three. Or else there would have been many a great names attached too. Anyways, each personality here is diverse and each is endowed with a prodigious quality of sustaining against odds.

The first one is Rasputin; I want this man on my dinner arrangement because of the sheer clout that this man wore that commanded reasoning but no virtual singular answer. I would like to interrogate how he could manage with such peculiar subtlety when it was confounded that he was satanic at one point of time. May be, his political conquest doesn't interest me much as much as his sexual prowess and masculine endowment. I understand the basic fact that this inquisition raises the question of vulgarity but that's what legends are made of, I guess. I would ask him what made him go so easy even with a blessed nun and don't ask about what he could do with a damsel in tow! He was a monk, at least that's what everyone else believed. He was precarious, no doubt, he was hardly gentle. But I would like to ask him how he could foresee the monarch even through the thick blizzards of Siberia. I would like to ask him whether he was really in love with Queen Alexandria. I would like to question every aspect of his being, every facets of his personality which is still debatable to open table. There is no doubt that Rasputin was the foremost in the annals of history when it turned towards the twentieth century, to make a long lasting change on not only Russia but eventually to the world through the face of concluding World Wars. He can never be called a good man and thankfully, he never wanted to be called that way by the coming generation. He was out there just to overcome his guilt of not being able to overcome the temptation of sin by overwhelmingly embracing it more and more. He was nothing more than a black robed monk when he set his foot onto the soil of St. Petersburg. He was not a healer of any kind, though he made some of his protégés deem him that way. My chat will be full discomforting inquiries that would embarrass him but I'm sure he would be able to face off such travesty with ease, given his repertoire of staying calm even while facing the eyes of death. If legends are to be believed, it got so difficult of assassinate him that even poison embedded in cake couldn't muster itself against a soulless monk like him. The British agents couldn't give an exact explanation as to why this attempt got distraught! He was killed at last, they say, by drowning in a river, and in spite of the cold icy water, when they retrieved the body; they found the body, to their awe, with hands stuck out at the ice, as if trying to overcome the hatchet of death. It would be quite a site to see those looming eyes while facing my stringent queries!

The second personality on my list is Jesus Christ. The man whose birth defined time and chronicles is sure to be exuding some charm of enigmatic coruscation. My first question to this bright soul would be how did you gathered your trust in the Almighty and faced such brutality. I can't imagine the pangs and stigmata of being on the other side of rope and asking the mass to come over to your side. I'm still ill-informed in trying to contemplate it either as wisdom or coincidence. The very picture of this man on a cross is exhilarating and reminds of sacrifice for unknown and even unjust. Jesus Christ was literally the most extraordinary thing to happen to humanity. He was nonetheless a loser then when he was along with hardly two dozen of faithful and thinking of overruling statistics. He carried the faith of not only humans but even God, I guess. So that would surely make this conversation a lot more intriguing and enlightening.

The third target is Prophet Mohammed and this man, a merchant by profession could easily go down as the most unassuming person ever. An uneducated man with hardly a knack of eloquence, no man management skill of any sort could move seep into the psyche of every human being ever born on Arabian Desert and then slowly moving to the other parts of the globe with incessant success. This man is a phoenix of medieval world. He may be controversial but still glitters bright among others.

Search

I'm in search of a person,

I won't ask her to be good to me

Though I would like her to be talking

For words is all I have, to share

I don't garb with richness or with wealth

My life hasn't borne the fruit of bliss

And she must know this quite well

I'm running away from reality

And her dream must keep me in it

She don't have to be beautiful

She don't have to be great

All she has to be is true

And smile and cry, at least.