raat hui to ose padi,
din aaya to kesar bikhra.
baadal ghire to kahin,
aag sulagi to kahin raakh hui.
Ek chaadar tab bhi thi, ek chaadar aaj bhi hai!
bheege patthar pe jaise malmal ke nishaan,
behte paani mein bahe hue din ke paigaam,
ek shyam kuch jaani pehchaani, to kuch anjaan si bhi hai,
kuch khele hum the kal, kuch khelein aaj bhi hain!
maana bisri baaton se bas panne' bhara karte hain,
kuch likha, kuch nahi, socha sab magar,
tha yakeen ki badle panne, to badlein yaadein,
yaad aaya phir likhne waale, kahaan padha karte hain.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The last snapshot!
A labyrinth of seduction, a fable dream.
I saw you grip a hand, seemed like a part of me.
A gust blew the present, future smeared through a trickling brow.
The moment I had was enough. Moments we had, not.
I don't want to die, for martyrs rot in heaven.
I don't need to gaze for I can see you,
I have got a bullet on my eye!
Fogging on an invisible canvas, departing breaths exhaled past.
And then there was no pain, just a silence louder than the voices last.
I had a bullet in my eye!
I saw you grip a hand, seemed like a part of me.
A gust blew the present, future smeared through a trickling brow.
The moment I had was enough. Moments we had, not.
I don't want to die, for martyrs rot in heaven.
I don't need to gaze for I can see you,
I have got a bullet on my eye!
Fogging on an invisible canvas, departing breaths exhaled past.
And then there was no pain, just a silence louder than the voices last.
I had a bullet in my eye!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
I am Sand!
I am Sand.
You fall, I rise.
Hold me while you can. Shrug off, and I won't stay.
Wash over me, may be I'll give you a little.
If you got hope, I'll make you a castle.
Your mind on my face, all you need is a stick to claim.
I am Sand.
You fall, I rise.
Hold me while you can. Shrug off, and I won't stay.
Wash over me, may be I'll give you a little.
If you got hope, I'll make you a castle.
Your mind on my face, all you need is a stick to claim.
I am Sand.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Extra and Ordinary!
O' my world, you spun again.
On wheels, but the spokes were mine.
Splattered mud on those who thought,
nothing on those who'd never mind.
A pair of red flip-flops just crossed the street.
Oh, yes! they did.
I lit a cigar. I had to. May be I didn't.
Of what remained was enough,
the poetry of nature is seldom found in ink.
So I sat there. And they sat there.
And we sat there.
None raised a brow, she was one of us.
all looked within, none like her.
She saw me is what each thought,
but she saw me. I know she did!
On wheels, but the spokes were mine.
Splattered mud on those who thought,
nothing on those who'd never mind.
A pair of red flip-flops just crossed the street.
Oh, yes! they did.
I lit a cigar. I had to. May be I didn't.
Of what remained was enough,
the poetry of nature is seldom found in ink.
So I sat there. And they sat there.
And we sat there.
None raised a brow, she was one of us.
all looked within, none like her.
She saw me is what each thought,
but she saw me. I know she did!
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
From the other side
You stepped on a road with hurdles seemingly insurmountable,
Beyond the horizons of the places you had ever lived before.
No footsteps to follow and running before time to curve your dreams ahead.
In times when all the bridges seemed lifeless and any light proved like a glitter of hope.
Sugar starved blood boiled and cooled on days alike; a hunger then unsatisfied paved the way.
For a grass that was greener, a world brighter, you climbed the walls, on foot, on hands, on nails.
Faith restored peace on occasions rare, and meanings found their depths through strangest of thoughts.
You lit the steps on the pathway, with candles against blowing winds on nights cold and mild.
The foundations have been laid, and the thorn picked feet don’t hurt anymore,
When this skin peels off the hands that were meant to be, like the Phoenix emerges,
A new mind, body and soul.
Odds will stack against you again, and you shall smile, for you carved through iron with bare hands,
to reach this mine.
And in the darkness that surrounds you there, you would glow, for you never found gold.
You created it!!
Run like the wind, and fall when you do, like you were meant to fly. When the objects disappear under a fading eye,
glance at what seemed like roadblocks, now pebbles blown by the air under your wings.
And when the crispness in the air fills every pore on your body, close your eyes to see the light.
Flashes will cease to exist in obscurity, as history ties itself, every second finding its place in time.
And this would remind you of the destiny you were destined to meet, forever and ever.
And for that, I salute you!
Beyond the horizons of the places you had ever lived before.
No footsteps to follow and running before time to curve your dreams ahead.
In times when all the bridges seemed lifeless and any light proved like a glitter of hope.
Sugar starved blood boiled and cooled on days alike; a hunger then unsatisfied paved the way.
For a grass that was greener, a world brighter, you climbed the walls, on foot, on hands, on nails.
Faith restored peace on occasions rare, and meanings found their depths through strangest of thoughts.
You lit the steps on the pathway, with candles against blowing winds on nights cold and mild.
The foundations have been laid, and the thorn picked feet don’t hurt anymore,
When this skin peels off the hands that were meant to be, like the Phoenix emerges,
A new mind, body and soul.
Odds will stack against you again, and you shall smile, for you carved through iron with bare hands,
to reach this mine.
And in the darkness that surrounds you there, you would glow, for you never found gold.
You created it!!
Run like the wind, and fall when you do, like you were meant to fly. When the objects disappear under a fading eye,
glance at what seemed like roadblocks, now pebbles blown by the air under your wings.
And when the crispness in the air fills every pore on your body, close your eyes to see the light.
Flashes will cease to exist in obscurity, as history ties itself, every second finding its place in time.
And this would remind you of the destiny you were destined to meet, forever and ever.
And for that, I salute you!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Random-Just like the cloud cover over Houston tonight! :D
I will talk when am eighty.
For now, let my boots speak.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fallacy of one sided love is,
you follow someone who does not.
And if they do,
there is an overwhelming feeling of a loss of purpose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Purpose is a virtue of the fed,
hunger needs no motivation.
For now, let my boots speak.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fallacy of one sided love is,
you follow someone who does not.
And if they do,
there is an overwhelming feeling of a loss of purpose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Purpose is a virtue of the fed,
hunger needs no motivation.
Only if I were born in 18XX.....................
Oh! The stone rolls down the mound,
from where it lay before we met, profound.
Now I wonder if it all be the same,
if not the two engulfed in this rolling scheme.
No reason why you did it, Loner boy!
For pleasure, hate, despair, or all belie.
No answer in its fate shall lie,
that caused the blossoming petals to die.
-Sharad K Raj
from where it lay before we met, profound.
Now I wonder if it all be the same,
if not the two engulfed in this rolling scheme.
No reason why you did it, Loner boy!
For pleasure, hate, despair, or all belie.
No answer in its fate shall lie,
that caused the blossoming petals to die.
-Sharad K Raj
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Wall
You know how tough it is to love a wall?
I have done it, and it is worth the fall.
Brick by brick, you asssess, would you do so,
if ground was flat , and all you did was crawl.
First touch is always cold, your fingers feel the obvious,
but all is not the same, if you pay attention,
the wall seeps in places, giggles through its subtle cracks.
Apart it may be; sand and gravel, but when together,
it holds them, in summer, winter or fall.
As a mirror, it reflects, as wood, it absorbs.
Kids scribble, old lean, young smash and lovers beat,
as she embraces your glories like her very own.
Ever wondered, why everything's loved from the outside,
while she draws an exception, as she bruises on the front,
in seasons four.
So, tell me if it is tough to love a wall.
Omnipresence of some is endearing, of some ignored,
but you shall be loved, because I see what you hold.
May be not for me, are concealed those thoughts,
but if thought is all that matters, I hear what was never told.
She may change colors, may turn around the corners,
but when all is washed, you will be bared, and chip by chip,
vulnerability restored.
You are beautiful in every single way, now naked to the bone,
For your depth is not in bricks, nor in the ceilings false.
It's the fear that makes you perfect, makes you the wall!
So tell if it is tough to love a wall!
I have done it, and it is worth the fall.
Brick by brick, you asssess, would you do so,
if ground was flat , and all you did was crawl.
First touch is always cold, your fingers feel the obvious,
but all is not the same, if you pay attention,
the wall seeps in places, giggles through its subtle cracks.
Apart it may be; sand and gravel, but when together,
it holds them, in summer, winter or fall.
As a mirror, it reflects, as wood, it absorbs.
Kids scribble, old lean, young smash and lovers beat,
as she embraces your glories like her very own.
Ever wondered, why everything's loved from the outside,
while she draws an exception, as she bruises on the front,
in seasons four.
So, tell me if it is tough to love a wall.
Omnipresence of some is endearing, of some ignored,
but you shall be loved, because I see what you hold.
May be not for me, are concealed those thoughts,
but if thought is all that matters, I hear what was never told.
She may change colors, may turn around the corners,
but when all is washed, you will be bared, and chip by chip,
vulnerability restored.
You are beautiful in every single way, now naked to the bone,
For your depth is not in bricks, nor in the ceilings false.
It's the fear that makes you perfect, makes you the wall!
So tell if it is tough to love a wall!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
<---------------------------------->
This is the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
He personalized Mandela while the world FISH,
and read playboy neath a cross in his dorm.
The sun set on him,
while the rest heard a cuckoo at dawn.
And he chased the winds in his trunks,
snorkels on, in the eye of a storm.
He could only see while the world saw.
mounting a cantilever suspended midway,
he went up when they all settled down.
And this is the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
Trying for a date,
funerals he attended in white,
often asking for a hand to ballet,
searching for a pianist as the kin mourned.
He spent time discussing history with the Math professor,
while his mates chased their humps for the night,
once drunk, he gave the nuns, furtive glances,
all this, on the night of his prom.
Had to be; the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
Soaking in the dry breeze by the sea,
he scrutinized the summer chill.
Wondered how the sea approached during low tide,
and how people swam in Dolphin infested waters.
Procrastinate his then hectic Sunday schedule,
only to admire the snow melting off the peaks in December.
He often questioned Da Vinci's theory of evolution,
seldom, if Alexander's Monalisa was actually a woman.
They say he agreed to Laden's globalization,
in hindsight, was it such a bad suggestion?
Pay attention. Think terrorism.
They say he lived it out, while the world lived in,
Was this a curse or a distant hand bestowed up on him,
poor us, we smirked at the Earthified alien.
This is the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
Absurdity struck him in racing pawns,
so he took a deviation that was perfect,
and sarcasm saw the world in his innocent charm.
Alas, wise men draw parallel, too bad, only by retrospection,
It had to be no other way, considering,
this is the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
He personalized Mandela while the world FISH,
and read playboy neath a cross in his dorm.
The sun set on him,
while the rest heard a cuckoo at dawn.
And he chased the winds in his trunks,
snorkels on, in the eye of a storm.
He could only see while the world saw.
mounting a cantilever suspended midway,
he went up when they all settled down.
And this is the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
Trying for a date,
funerals he attended in white,
often asking for a hand to ballet,
searching for a pianist as the kin mourned.
He spent time discussing history with the Math professor,
while his mates chased their humps for the night,
once drunk, he gave the nuns, furtive glances,
all this, on the night of his prom.
Had to be; the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
Soaking in the dry breeze by the sea,
he scrutinized the summer chill.
Wondered how the sea approached during low tide,
and how people swam in Dolphin infested waters.
Procrastinate his then hectic Sunday schedule,
only to admire the snow melting off the peaks in December.
He often questioned Da Vinci's theory of evolution,
seldom, if Alexander's Monalisa was actually a woman.
They say he agreed to Laden's globalization,
in hindsight, was it such a bad suggestion?
Pay attention. Think terrorism.
They say he lived it out, while the world lived in,
Was this a curse or a distant hand bestowed up on him,
poor us, we smirked at the Earthified alien.
This is the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
Absurdity struck him in racing pawns,
so he took a deviation that was perfect,
and sarcasm saw the world in his innocent charm.
Alas, wise men draw parallel, too bad, only by retrospection,
It had to be no other way, considering,
this is the story of a man who felt the seasons wrong.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Bipolar Vision
A perfect circle is either a great beginning or a very bad ending,
normalcy prevails over tangents unlimited,
on every direction without a seam.
Sidelines seldom prove to be guiders, blamed to confine.
Limitless could be smothering, if its just space that all you seek.
A smile unleashes, when a right hand's in a right,
yet amazement rides the brow, at a wrong in wrong's delight.
Extremes sway on a path alike, conjoining, only to depart yet again,
salt is all that trickles, embodying everything that's bitter or sweet.
No pendulum swings preferentially, every saw is what you will see.
Not everything that shines is silver,
it could be gold, if not bronze you see.
If I could sell myself, I would not be worth it at all.
Buy me, if I come for free.
normalcy prevails over tangents unlimited,
on every direction without a seam.
Sidelines seldom prove to be guiders, blamed to confine.
Limitless could be smothering, if its just space that all you seek.
A smile unleashes, when a right hand's in a right,
yet amazement rides the brow, at a wrong in wrong's delight.
Extremes sway on a path alike, conjoining, only to depart yet again,
salt is all that trickles, embodying everything that's bitter or sweet.
No pendulum swings preferentially, every saw is what you will see.
Not everything that shines is silver,
it could be gold, if not bronze you see.
If I could sell myself, I would not be worth it at all.
Buy me, if I come for free.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Ohhhhhhhhhh PT!
This post is a dedication to all my friends and many other students that I may not know of, who are struggling to get their OPTs. If it is any respite, with just about a few months to go, many more of us are surely gonna join this wagon. With two of my room-mates also involved in this struggle to get work authorization, the cunning writer in me needs to go no further than Boston to seek a few more examples, and there you have it, yet another post. Through this post though, I want to convey that I shall pray for the people that I know of, and send out a few anonymous requests, for there is no shortage of takers. It's also a request to all the readers of this post to wish good luck to our budding desis. When things work out eventually, we are all gonna laugh it off some time in the future, then why not try it now. Hope this brings a smile on your face, which most often is 'optional'. For once, the choice is yours.....Peace!
I thought my life took a turn,
banks on the road, banks by my side, secured
that it was time to let the rubber burn, rest assured.
A card in my pocket, jacketed heart, all hands off guard.
Rickety Honda gone long, my Jag was on the road again,
even a blind soul could dig it; my life was on the fast lane.
I thought I had hit the freeway, so I took the GPS off,
and just before she died, she uttered slyly : "exit right!"
Now I am back on the road again, with directions all,
with nowhere to go, on roads to take me where I want.
Shaking my head, I stare at the map again,
even before I could realize that I was lost.
Looking back is never easy, so I took the rear view mirrors down,
like begging to a beggar for a quarter, life's made me a clown.
I never asked for a red carpet underneath my feet, only ground,
then you tied my legs and asked me to clap,
only on my hands when I walked around.
My teacher said in school, that I had a long way to go,
only little stood between me and the elusive dream,
my choices, a piece of paper, and my fire within.
I chose it, racked my brains, got my offer-e- joinin',
I burnt, ash is what's left of my competition,
I stomped the paper then, and it has come to haunt.
I hate it, when she is so god damn right, her taunt!
My vivacious self through a boulevard of flowered streets,
I was made to stretch out my arms, to hunt for my charms,
and just when I thought a petal came down to peck me on the cheek,
I found a thorn with no rose on.
Now this is a situation like never before,
Like I know what's 911, but don't have a phone to call,
I know what needs to be done, just don't ask me how.
Walking on the street, a poet saw my mind on my face,
he stooped low, slid his glasses on to his nose, to say,
"You know how to shoot a rifle, just don't know how to take an aim!"
They call it 'Optional' , and you 'Practically Train' for it all,
Now the 'Option' ain't there no more,
and here comes the buzzer: duty's call.
With nowhere to look, I look up to see who sees it all,
"I wanna go to Vermont, but couldn't you wait for the fall?"
I thought my life took a turn,
banks on the road, banks by my side, secured
that it was time to let the rubber burn, rest assured.
A card in my pocket, jacketed heart, all hands off guard.
Rickety Honda gone long, my Jag was on the road again,
even a blind soul could dig it; my life was on the fast lane.
I thought I had hit the freeway, so I took the GPS off,
and just before she died, she uttered slyly : "exit right!"
Now I am back on the road again, with directions all,
with nowhere to go, on roads to take me where I want.
Shaking my head, I stare at the map again,
even before I could realize that I was lost.
Looking back is never easy, so I took the rear view mirrors down,
like begging to a beggar for a quarter, life's made me a clown.
I never asked for a red carpet underneath my feet, only ground,
then you tied my legs and asked me to clap,
only on my hands when I walked around.
My teacher said in school, that I had a long way to go,
only little stood between me and the elusive dream,
my choices, a piece of paper, and my fire within.
I chose it, racked my brains, got my offer-e- joinin',
I burnt, ash is what's left of my competition,
I stomped the paper then, and it has come to haunt.
I hate it, when she is so god damn right, her taunt!
My vivacious self through a boulevard of flowered streets,
I was made to stretch out my arms, to hunt for my charms,
and just when I thought a petal came down to peck me on the cheek,
I found a thorn with no rose on.
Now this is a situation like never before,
Like I know what's 911, but don't have a phone to call,
I know what needs to be done, just don't ask me how.
Walking on the street, a poet saw my mind on my face,
he stooped low, slid his glasses on to his nose, to say,
"You know how to shoot a rifle, just don't know how to take an aim!"
They call it 'Optional' , and you 'Practically Train' for it all,
Now the 'Option' ain't there no more,
and here comes the buzzer: duty's call.
With nowhere to look, I look up to see who sees it all,
"I wanna go to Vermont, but couldn't you wait for the fall?"
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Savage Mountain?
This is the fastest post that I have written so far. It took me about 20 minutes to compose. I guess it would seem obvious to you once you browse through. Don't know why, but I think am going to remember this post for quite some time.
Cold tar, of a combination bizarre,
in shades of Grey, intermittently black.Cold tar, of a combination bizarre,
Displaying the moods of nature, of terrains, of paths of cry.
Ten feet of width, and people pass, with little regard,for what lies around. Prayers; subtle, fearing a shroud.
like splattered bursts of civilization,
proofs of a unified individualism,
disparate yet bonded, in a manner vague.Of jewels against a green slumber,
like gems on a big fat belly,
reflections of what lies above,twinkling in the distance, quiet and naive.
Paths, of a combination bizarre,
now extinct, like wrinkles on an aging face,
sword-marks, a blueprint: narrating footsteps,
exaggerated by the moon, pacified by the Sun's galore
to reach out to its remains, to heal its self.
Little do they realize, amidst their honey dreams,
After a gruesome day, its the right time to sleep.
Pain, of a combination bizarre,
swaying by his ridges, she whispers in to his ears,
may be an anecdote, a few resilient words,
while he sits there triumphant, bruised yet amused.
Emotions of the inexpressible, an occasional slide,
as he tries to shrug it off, all this, bearing the human load.
Wise men say that I am closer to the heavens,
I thank the gods for the absence of the 'human touch'.
Sharad Kanwar Raj
September 21, 2008
September 21, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
To really love a woman!
To really love a woman
Just once you let her know, and then step aside,
Load the reel and leave her to let her feel
She may act confused, will not accept
even though its natural to be bemused.
If you can bear around to watch and hear
when she lurks around to seek a logical reason.
Explaining all this while; her situation
and makes you feel like you really stand a chance.
You know that you really love 'a woman'.
To really love a woman
To understand her - you ain't gotta know it deep inside
as impossible as it may seem, there's always more, though, out of sight.
Hear every curse - in multilingual words
N' take away the handle - when she wants to fly
Then when you find yourself uttering apologies, lips down,
lyin' helpless with folded hands in her arms
You know you really love a woman
When you love a woman you don't tell her
that she's really wanted? Tactical blunder.
When you love a woman you tell her that she may be the one
she needs somebody to assure her
that your misery is gonna last forever
cos she wants to be your only comforter
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?
To really love a woman
Let her hold you, by the collar
till she knows that you can't take it anymore
Then wait until she sets back your tie,
and confirms the fear of your unborn children in your eyes
You know you really love a woman
Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman? You got to tell me
Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman?
If you have ever loved yourself,
how can you ever really love a woman?
Just once you let her know, and then step aside,
Load the reel and leave her to let her feel
She may act confused, will not accept
even though its natural to be bemused.
If you can bear around to watch and hear
when she lurks around to seek a logical reason.
Explaining all this while; her situation
and makes you feel like you really stand a chance.
You know that you really love 'a woman'.
To really love a woman
To understand her - you ain't gotta know it deep inside
as impossible as it may seem, there's always more, though, out of sight.
Hear every curse - in multilingual words
N' take away the handle - when she wants to fly
Then when you find yourself uttering apologies, lips down,
lyin' helpless with folded hands in her arms
You know you really love a woman
When you love a woman you don't tell her
that she's really wanted? Tactical blunder.
When you love a woman you tell her that she may be the one
she needs somebody to assure her
that your misery is gonna last forever
cos she wants to be your only comforter
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?
To really love a woman
Let her hold you, by the collar
till she knows that you can't take it anymore
Then wait until she sets back your tie,
and confirms the fear of your unborn children in your eyes
You know you really love a woman
Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman? You got to tell me
Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman?
If you have ever loved yourself,
how can you ever really love a woman?
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Fictitious friction!
Sand embraced your velvet feet,
as you lifted your wriggly skirt.
Wave by wave, you cut, to enter the ocean,
like glitters on a colorful sheet.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Sticking lips on the remains of your lipstick,
coffee never tasted so brewed ever before.
Like a fireplace concealed with in me,
winters never seemed to matter anymore.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
You stood by the pavement, while I parked the car,
gazing with an assuring smile, as I rolled up the glass.
And now there is no glow, just a few lights surround,
with a diminishing warmth, a cold seat, I drive around.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
We sought each others' attentions,
with gestures frivolous, garish actions,
exchanging glances in a crowd of thousands,
eyes stuck like magnets, creating their own lines of sight.
Polarity's reversed, friends reckon,
three feet of distance or one street across; ignorance's dawned,
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Sitting on a couch for one, with a bottle of wine,
sipping to eternity, raising toasts to cloud nine.
going red, beating thud, smiling to your name,
engulfed in a sound of whispers, both, silly and lame.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
I hope my words still ring like a melody in your head,
that my absence reminds you of the dreams that we bred.
Do you turn around in sleep to hear things long unspoken?
Tell me that you smile and cry in a moment of two emotions.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Now I remind myself to breathe,
to live off a breath, that was once taken.
Give a meaning to my strides,
to assert a purpose, not long back broken.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Sharad Kanwar Raj
August 27, 2008
as you lifted your wriggly skirt.
Wave by wave, you cut, to enter the ocean,
like glitters on a colorful sheet.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Sticking lips on the remains of your lipstick,
coffee never tasted so brewed ever before.
Like a fireplace concealed with in me,
winters never seemed to matter anymore.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
You stood by the pavement, while I parked the car,
gazing with an assuring smile, as I rolled up the glass.
And now there is no glow, just a few lights surround,
with a diminishing warmth, a cold seat, I drive around.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
We sought each others' attentions,
with gestures frivolous, garish actions,
exchanging glances in a crowd of thousands,
eyes stuck like magnets, creating their own lines of sight.
Polarity's reversed, friends reckon,
three feet of distance or one street across; ignorance's dawned,
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Sitting on a couch for one, with a bottle of wine,
sipping to eternity, raising toasts to cloud nine.
going red, beating thud, smiling to your name,
engulfed in a sound of whispers, both, silly and lame.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
I hope my words still ring like a melody in your head,
that my absence reminds you of the dreams that we bred.
Do you turn around in sleep to hear things long unspoken?
Tell me that you smile and cry in a moment of two emotions.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Now I remind myself to breathe,
to live off a breath, that was once taken.
Give a meaning to my strides,
to assert a purpose, not long back broken.
There was a time when we were all greased up,
and now all that there is, is friction.
Sharad Kanwar Raj
August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
And when the lights go out!
Walking past the solo neon light,
casting suave shadows on the cobblestones,
breathing against the sound of silence,
puffs of smoke on a cold winter night.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Lane by lane, marking your footsteps,
following the scent of your body,
leather on staddles, leaning against poles,
glancing eyes, seeking a moment's loneliness.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Let you shiver in my presence,
let the fog form formations in your mind,
while you wrap around your hands,
feeling the chill of an evil around.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Silver spreads across your face,
as it beams neath the moonlight,
like splitting into halves; the night.
Lines drooping on your face,
you know the moon's fading.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Your English walk, ain't there anymore,
make-up's on the floor again, like you care,
vanishing panache, attitude; verve no more,
trembling, like a leaf, curling even more.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Sweating on snow, gulping fear,
pushed in to the blackness, you are.
Growing still, waiting for the inevitable,
you know it, you know it all.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
I wish I could hold it back; the desire,
now it speaks for me, simply taken over.
Giving in; playing in to the hands of the devil, I am.
You have played it enough, the table's turned.
And when the lights go out...........................
Sharad Kanwar Raj
August 26th, 2008
casting suave shadows on the cobblestones,
breathing against the sound of silence,
puffs of smoke on a cold winter night.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Lane by lane, marking your footsteps,
following the scent of your body,
leather on staddles, leaning against poles,
glancing eyes, seeking a moment's loneliness.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Let you shiver in my presence,
let the fog form formations in your mind,
while you wrap around your hands,
feeling the chill of an evil around.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Silver spreads across your face,
as it beams neath the moonlight,
like splitting into halves; the night.
Lines drooping on your face,
you know the moon's fading.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Your English walk, ain't there anymore,
make-up's on the floor again, like you care,
vanishing panache, attitude; verve no more,
trembling, like a leaf, curling even more.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
Sweating on snow, gulping fear,
pushed in to the blackness, you are.
Growing still, waiting for the inevitable,
you know it, you know it all.
And when the lights go out, I will seize you.
I wish I could hold it back; the desire,
now it speaks for me, simply taken over.
Giving in; playing in to the hands of the devil, I am.
You have played it enough, the table's turned.
And when the lights go out...........................
Sharad Kanwar Raj
August 26th, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
A look down the Aorta!
For people who know me well, are aware that I am passionately in love with Mussoorie. I just penned a few lines some time back, but in between applying for jobs, which I did for the most part of today, I did something that kept me going through the usual company profiles; completing these lines. Though this could go on and on, I am too excited right now to publish this. Considering that I am running a slight temperature today, I am happy with today's efforts, in terms of my work and more so, for churning out some nice lines. Hope you all like it!
I can feel the sun, heating up the floor underneath my feet!
Soft warm winds with rays fighting the printed linen, to seep.
Trees on toes, in vain; not tall enough in standing!
Streets lengthened by a red lining, shadows straightening!
May be this is what is called 'lining up the broadway"!
To me, just another day in good old Mussoorie, quaint and gay.
The Quran's being opened yet again, enchanted in reverence.
Agarbattis fill the air with the ever so recognizable fragrance!
A sound that needs no voice, a smell little insecure.
The morning namaaz in sync with the temple prayer!
Allah meets Ram, 6000 feet above the ground.
Sherpas; steel bodies, benign expressions, circling town.
Breathing beedis. True to its last stretch, a constant grin.
NewYork, Paris, Mumbai,Tokyo? Gun hill chalna hai saahab?
Winding paths, known yet unknown.
Daily nuances, mundane chores, still cause a rush of blood.
As I stroll down, steps beg to speed, eyes popped out,
Looking to see, seeking solace, for once the future is a reality.
Turn after turn, familiarity strikes, anticipation satiated.
Panditji's grocery store, Omi's sweets. I can guess it all!
A sense of security prevails, my hills intact.
People love change, I am in love with the unchanged.
I follow water, down stream, trickling as it does.
Only it shares my exuberance, my passion, my love.
We communicate with our characteristic giggling,
holding virtual hands, it dodges its bumps, while I evade mine.
New waters, old friends, race to the finish this is, with two winners.
Eggs buoyant on boiling water, topped with salt and pepper when done,
Corn, coated in lime, honey and spices, freshly charcoaled, blackened.
I scuffle my coat, for a 2 rupee coin, Sun's beaming on Doon Valley.
Got to hurry up! For I know I have to bargain, before I catch a glimpse.
Telescopes don't rent out cheap, on a fine bright Summer morning.
Bauji, calls out the rifle shooting vendor. Haanji sir, yells the horselender.
Authoritative in my voice, I reply with a chosen dismissive response, local.
Persistence vanishes in to the thin air. The rest, as they say, is history.
I move on, with my hands in my pockets, city walk, amused, triumphant.
I realize relativity. No trace of speed of light around, but for my thoughts.
Engaging me in a seamless motion; stretching perspectives, contracting times.
The will to see life in a second, and all you have is a bunch of emotions.
I assort them, frantically. Time's of essence, yet another life's to follow.
Stopping intermittently, smiling profusely, childishly tapping the barricades,
I retrace my steps to 116 Landour bazaar, my ancestral home.
Bowing with folded hands against every alternate shop, is Kawarraj's puttar!
Sharing second glances, second greetings, but rejuvinated warmth.
Tandoor awaits at its harshest temperatures, to be fed yet again,
hands clapping against it, flour's been cast into a holy shape yet again.
I totter my way up the steps, comforting my demanding stomach.
Engulfed in an aroma of maa ki daal, yelling "Beeji, Rajma chaul banaye ne ?"
I can feel the sun, heating up the floor underneath my feet!
Soft warm winds with rays fighting the printed linen, to seep.
Trees on toes, in vain; not tall enough in standing!
Streets lengthened by a red lining, shadows straightening!
May be this is what is called 'lining up the broadway"!
To me, just another day in good old Mussoorie, quaint and gay.
The Quran's being opened yet again, enchanted in reverence.
Agarbattis fill the air with the ever so recognizable fragrance!
A sound that needs no voice, a smell little insecure.
The morning namaaz in sync with the temple prayer!
Allah meets Ram, 6000 feet above the ground.
Sherpas; steel bodies, benign expressions, circling town.
Breathing beedis. True to its last stretch, a constant grin.
NewYork, Paris, Mumbai,Tokyo? Gun hill chalna hai saahab?
Winding paths, known yet unknown.
Daily nuances, mundane chores, still cause a rush of blood.
As I stroll down, steps beg to speed, eyes popped out,
Looking to see, seeking solace, for once the future is a reality.
Turn after turn, familiarity strikes, anticipation satiated.
Panditji's grocery store, Omi's sweets. I can guess it all!
A sense of security prevails, my hills intact.
People love change, I am in love with the unchanged.
I follow water, down stream, trickling as it does.
Only it shares my exuberance, my passion, my love.
We communicate with our characteristic giggling,
holding virtual hands, it dodges its bumps, while I evade mine.
New waters, old friends, race to the finish this is, with two winners.
Eggs buoyant on boiling water, topped with salt and pepper when done,
Corn, coated in lime, honey and spices, freshly charcoaled, blackened.
I scuffle my coat, for a 2 rupee coin, Sun's beaming on Doon Valley.
Got to hurry up! For I know I have to bargain, before I catch a glimpse.
Telescopes don't rent out cheap, on a fine bright Summer morning.
Bauji, calls out the rifle shooting vendor. Haanji sir, yells the horselender.
Authoritative in my voice, I reply with a chosen dismissive response, local.
Persistence vanishes in to the thin air. The rest, as they say, is history.
I move on, with my hands in my pockets, city walk, amused, triumphant.
I realize relativity. No trace of speed of light around, but for my thoughts.
Engaging me in a seamless motion; stretching perspectives, contracting times.
The will to see life in a second, and all you have is a bunch of emotions.
I assort them, frantically. Time's of essence, yet another life's to follow.
Stopping intermittently, smiling profusely, childishly tapping the barricades,
I retrace my steps to 116 Landour bazaar, my ancestral home.
Bowing with folded hands against every alternate shop, is Kawarraj's puttar!
Sharing second glances, second greetings, but rejuvinated warmth.
Tandoor awaits at its harshest temperatures, to be fed yet again,
hands clapping against it, flour's been cast into a holy shape yet again.
I totter my way up the steps, comforting my demanding stomach.
Engulfed in an aroma of maa ki daal, yelling "Beeji, Rajma chaul banaye ne ?"
Monday, August 11, 2008
'Shot' of glory!
I think we all know of the news about a fairly simple bloke winning the first ever individual gold medal for India. Indeed, a moment to be very happy! Congrats and thanks, Abhinav!
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
What you reap is what you sow- It's true!
I agree with the title to a great extent when we talk of the current state of terror in India.In the wake of the current bombings, and the subsequent advent of these so called Indian Mujahideens, who have claimed the responsibility for the same, it may mark the beginning of a new face of reckless killings. I think the outside hand can only fan the proceedings, and glorify these misguided youth as martyrs. We may need bofors on our borders, but we definitely need some compassion with in our territories. I don't think this post is complete as I would like to add on to the ideas that I have tried to express..Let's see if I actually manage to add a few lines later.
Why blame the gun, when we supply the bullets!
Why blame the dead, when we didn't spare the coffins.
Outside hands, with strings attached; operating puppets!
On a podium of their extinct families, showcasing talents.
Let a few more scream their last,shed blood in indispensable blasts.
Let a few more perish, while you count your votes!
Spare none; send out your hounds, to immoral grounds.
Let them have a feast with cops, in government rounds.
Post the bombings,I know you invented a few terrorists.Kill them.
Suleimaan may be 12, Aashif 13. Did I mention they are Indians?
Nevermind! Threat's a threat, more so, if it gets you a medal.
Wipe them all off, before 'they' get you.
So what if you are oblivious to who 'they' are.
Rage demands no logic, mob's uniquely cogent.
Your sword demands blood, and that it shall have!
Did you rape, loot, floor a dozen?
Hurry up, don't you wanna join the CM's kaizen!
Gandhian state, Gandhian ideas, with essential mutations.
Respond, to whistles from both sides on the border.
You count the heads, while diplomacy tackles humanity.
You shall have your share, like it was taken.
Do as is told, oblige to the call of the Satan!
This game's fun. A Colosseum, you provide, we execute.
We scar, you train. Favor returned.
Poverty's rampant, trendy is unemployment.
Life's priceless! Guess what, it earns you a few cents.
I will do my time in hell. For you, let me ensure the the same.
Sharad K Raj,
August 6th, 2008
Why blame the gun, when we supply the bullets!
Why blame the dead, when we didn't spare the coffins.
Outside hands, with strings attached; operating puppets!
On a podium of their extinct families, showcasing talents.
Let a few more scream their last,shed blood in indispensable blasts.
Let a few more perish, while you count your votes!
Spare none; send out your hounds, to immoral grounds.
Let them have a feast with cops, in government rounds.
Post the bombings,I know you invented a few terrorists.Kill them.
Suleimaan may be 12, Aashif 13. Did I mention they are Indians?
Nevermind! Threat's a threat, more so, if it gets you a medal.
Wipe them all off, before 'they' get you.
So what if you are oblivious to who 'they' are.
Rage demands no logic, mob's uniquely cogent.
Your sword demands blood, and that it shall have!
Did you rape, loot, floor a dozen?
Hurry up, don't you wanna join the CM's kaizen!
Gandhian state, Gandhian ideas, with essential mutations.
Respond, to whistles from both sides on the border.
You count the heads, while diplomacy tackles humanity.
You shall have your share, like it was taken.
Do as is told, oblige to the call of the Satan!
This game's fun. A Colosseum, you provide, we execute.
We scar, you train. Favor returned.
Poverty's rampant, trendy is unemployment.
Life's priceless! Guess what, it earns you a few cents.
I will do my time in hell. For you, let me ensure the the same.
Sharad K Raj,
August 6th, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Paradoxically receptive nature of humans!
One moment, we gaze up, wondering why it should ever pour,
The very next, we sail out our boats in a puddle of mud!
-Sharad
August 5th, 2008
The very next, we sail out our boats in a puddle of mud!
-Sharad
August 5th, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
An incredible song!
As I stepped into my lab today, as a part of my daily routine; I turned on my radio and started listening to a nice Indian radio channel. I came across this song that I had heard quite some time back but I could not get my hands on to its cover, and I don't know what to say, I am just speechless. Its a beautiful rendition of Kabir's poetry, sung by Abida. All I can say is that you have to listen to it. I am very moved by the simplicity of the song backed up by the powerful voice of Abida. This definitely made my day. The lyrics are kind of tough to get, and I am trying my best to find them on google. I would really appreciate it, if anyone out there could help me with the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
