Monthly Archives: June 2011

The Death Of A Legend


Perched upon a golden throne,

I will die with my scepter and the crown of a king.

A prophet, a revolutionary, a shepherd and a guide,

My heart will be preserved in the hourglass of eternity.

And my soul will live on forever,

Dancing upon the thunder of immortality.

My tomb will be a temple,

A shrine of my glory—

Where my followers will burn reverential incense,

And my enemies will lick the floor with their tongues.

My blood will rain down from golden clouds,

And the world will be drenched in the sea of my being.

My flesh will be a monument, a sculpture, a symbol,

An artwork testifying the power of dreams.

My face will shine with the splendor of the Sun,

Enveloping eternity with it’s warmth.

And my voice will reverberate in the multiverse —

Singing, shouting, screaming my name.

The day of my death will be a festival, a celebration.

And the streets will flood with people awed by my magnificence.

The skies will echo with hymns narrating my eminence,

And the chant of my name will be upon every human tongue.

‘Coz when I will die, perched upon my golden throne,

I will be a God. 

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Classroom Epicness


It’s eleven thirty in the morning but the heat wave is already unbearable.

All the water bottles have long been emptied in playful fights and the lunch boxes were finished by nine thirty itself. But starvation and dehydration are unlikely to hold us down; it’s rare that our classroom gets the privilege to be free of any teacher.

I am in the corner seat- it’s my favorite of them all. It grants me the advantage of being hidden from the prying eyes of outsiders (especially teachers)  while I am still able to enjoy the cool breeze wafting in from the window in front. (Which, in Indian summers, has the same effect as an oasis in the Saharan desert.)

Along with pseudo-invisibility, it also provides me with a magnificent view of the whole classroom, which is the best entertainment to keep your mind off your parched throat.

It has been around five minutes since the period started and all the children are just beginning to abandon their seats, ready to create a ruckus.

As usual, it starts with a mild chatter- people talking  about crushes and fresh break-ups.

But things begin to heat up when the volume of laughter rises. They may laugh at something humorous, but usually it’s mindless fun and too much of dopamine.

Heck, now my corner seat seems more of a liability and I discard it to make a grand entrance into the fun with ‘Bad Romance’- my favorite. The song is catchy and my voice is good, so it’s not long before the rest of the class unconsciously joins in.

Then someone murmurs about how Eminem is better than Lady GaGa and thus starts our customary  debate, with me reciting her long list of achievements and he babbling something about his bald rapper. Finally I make him stop by bursting into a singing-fit; it’s ‘Judas’ this time.

Some girl challenges me to dance on a table while singing the masterpiece. “What’s the big deal?” I say.

But the table’s wobbly and tall things like me fall hard; it’s not long before I regret opening my big mouth.

I somehow manage to survive the hard labour, thanks to my sensational singing and elegant dance moves. (Sarcasm intended)

All the fun is killed as the ringing bell indicates the end of the period while the Sociology teacher makes me get down from the desk.

We somehow manage to stay alive while she tortures us with her mundane lecture by cribbing in chits and escaping from planet boredom with the excuse of refilling our bottles  from the water cooler.

At last the period ends and we were able to breathe oxygen again.

This time we decide to play ‘Roadies’- a game which borrows (rather steals)  it’s name from a popular reality show. Although the game is an invention of our own but it provides the same thrill (and drama) as the actual show.

It starts with the distribution of chits upon which everyone writes controversial questions…anonymously.

One by one the questions are read- some are cute (Why are you so sweet?), some are embarrassing (Do you still love your ex?) and others are simply ugly (Is your boyfriend gay?).

But whatever witty questions others may write, my question has to be the highlight (Would you castrate your husband if he rapes someone else?).

The game finally comes to an end along with the day and all I am thinking to myself is WHY!

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A Phoenix Reborn


Naked and cold

I lay on the ground.

Dark, black tears

from my eyes roll down.

I look into the mirror,

A stranger stares.

I try to find me,

But I am not there.

I cry in horror,

in agony and disgust.

Oh why did I ever

gave into lust?

I go outside

into the terrace,

I shout and I weep,

My life’s such a menace.

The city lights

in front of my eyes,

seem like hell fire

Inviting me to die.

I stretch my arms,

And I twirl around.

I jump and I dance,

to the city’s sound.

I dance in regret,

I am lit with fire.

In me burned

the sins of desire.

I apologise to love,

And to my babies unborn.

I slept for money,

A sin I now scorn.

I collapse on the ground,

And finally I die.

No one cares,

And No one cries.

But look into the ashes

A phoenix arises.

With a pure soul

I am reborn again!

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Flight Towards Freedom


Fear, rejection and silent screams;

they seek approval and freedom dreams.

Mask, diamonds and fancy dress;

their soul chokes under the glittery mess.

Joy, happiness, for them they beg;

they all are slaves with chained legs.

Tired, defeated, they give in,

but I do not, for this is a sin.

Revolt, rebellion and my war cry;

I take off my clothes, my soul won’t die.

Hated, scorned, I am loathed,

but they are blind, they are clothed.

Liberty, freedom, my limit is the sky;

With my wings outstretched I soar high.

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The Battle For Happiness


It’s a claustrophobic Night with a suffocated Air.

The wind howls outside in agony and pain

as the silver arrows of the Moon slit through it’s throat.

It’s colorless blood rains down upon the barren Earth,

awakening the monsters of my fear and insecurity.

Equipped with swords and shields of bones

they march towards me, chanting a spell of terror.

The bed on which I lay is like a prison;

A cage of torture and insanity.

It’s cold and I am alone here, except for those monsters

who haunt me with visions of grief and agony.

I close my eyes to make them go away,

but their screams still reverberate in my head.

My kaa wanders in the mines of eternity,

looking for the ore of solace and courage.

It finds the valor which it seeks in my touch,

in my love and affection for my soul.

The sparks of my orgasm light a fire in the altar of joy,

at the ruins of my temple of happiness.

It’s glimmer reveals the armor and the sword,

with which I combat those beasts of horror.

There are many wounds and numerous falls,

but I pick myself up again and fight

until they are buried in their graves once more.

The dark veil on the sky above

is soon burnt away by a radiant Sun.

The puddles from the rain before

disappear into vapors of illusion.

They wait for Night to descend again

and the thunder of the clouds to roar.

And when that time will finally arrive,

those vapors will turn into the elixir of life,

Pulling the dead out of their graves.

And once more I will put on my armor 

and take my sword out of it’s sheath.

The clashes of blades will echo in the rain as I battle for my happy dream.

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This is another one of those raw, nonrhythmic, non-rhyming poems that I am currently writing. This poem has a grotesque feel to it and it’s about how I struggle with my insecurities everyday and how my love for myself forces me to fight on no matter what.

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Memory Of You


I remember the days we were together,

our beautiful bond was to last forever,

or so we thought, but that was not to be.

We don’t talk anymore, I don’t even look at you.

My rose of love has transformed into thorns,

the pleasant memories we shared have now turned painful.

Sometimes we gaze into each other’s lives

through panoramic, tainted windows.

But when our eyes meet I pull the curtains

to hide your face and my pain.

We shared our first kiss and many more sacred moments,

but now we bear our pain alone.

I have started my life anew, without you.

I know you want my friendship back,

but frankly speaking, I don’t care.

You were just a crucial chapter in my lifestory;

And although it’s all over, you will always be

something that I will cherish 

until the memories of my life fade away.

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That Sacred Slut


That Sacred Slut

“Slut!” they scream from behind her back

as she hurries down the hallway with quivering legs.

Filthy stares penetrate her clothes

as she tries to escape those groping hands.

She prays for wings to escape this hell

but wings are for angels, not for whores.

Dark tears that run down her cheeks,

moan for help from the hundreds present.

But no soul dares to spoil the show,

each of them bound to the chains of the crowd.

The scars from the intimate night before

now burn with the embers of shame and regret.

The illusion of love had been broken

and truth stared back like a face in the mirror.

It was pure lust that had driven his passion

and she was just a girl in his list to bed.

Now gossips have made him into a legend,

and she has been transformed into a hideous whore.

But neither the daggers of betrayal nor of shame

pierced her heart as deep as his hand on her waist.

And then as if possesed by Goddess insane

her hand flung out of control;

and all she remembered after that was

a scar on his face and silence.

The staring eyes were shut forever

and the groping hands were tied.

The filthy whore had now transformed

into that Sacred Slut Divine.

Inspired by Lady GaGa’s song ‘Government Hooker’.

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