Hanging from a Bridge

It should've been a good day.
Good enough to make my feet sway.
I still found a way, like a midge,
To see a man hanging from a bridge.
In search of a church, I left my berth.
My stature smirched and mind disturbed.
Driving on a broken road in a stolen Ford,
With a swollen load on my molten soul,
To say amen every now and then
And find my way to heaven.

Halfway into the journey, my ride gave up.
"My belly is burning", she made up.
She kicked, jerked and spurted to a stop,
While I clicked, worked and blurted a sob.
Wearing Benetton outside a Sheraton,
My menacing eye looking for a Samaritan,
I stopped an old man in a three-wheeled cab
And offered to gab if he downed his meter tab.
Voila! He went blah blah in his rickshaw.
With my clenched jaw, I heard all of his flaws.

Riding every explosion under me, controlling every emotion in me,
The rickshaw motioned towards a commotion on the way, slowly.
“Come, let’s check this out”, said my main man, the chauffeur.
Surrounded by curious loafers, I became alert and walked over,
To a bridge. A green stream with silver bream flowed under it.
My accomplice pulled me towards the edge
To show an old man hanging to his death.
A sketch of the wretch is etched in my head.
More haunting was the crowd gathered.
Mocking, watching and yawning; not bothered.


The neck was bent in an awkward angle,
Tangled in a rope, hanging with no hope.
Like a puffed up stuffed doll with cuffed head.
Before I knew it, I was back in my taxi,
dizzy, but ready to resume my journey.
“He looked old, like me. Neglected by this society.
What would happen to me?”, my cabby asked rhetorically.
I was muted by the reality of the event surreal,
Amazed by the world full of stories unreal, we’ll never feel,
anything, if we can’t taste it in our own meal.



I don’t know his name or if he was sane,
what was his shame, or who was to blame.
I didn’t see the hole that made him sink,
That made him think of crossing the brink.
There was nobody I could see, that cried for him.
No family to carry his body or sing a grim hymn.
I wish I knew him better; his story,
His life, his testimony, his strife.
I don’t know his pain or the loss he incurred,
All I can do is keep him alive in my words.

Event Horizon

Dr. Owen Miller is pushing for an unmanned space mission that NASA is uninclined to support. He travels to India where he meets Manu Sharma, who seems to be the right solution.

Together, they work towards sending a new electric unmanned vehicle to probe an unknown space body, which is hovering over a black hole situated near the Sun.

When Owen disappears mysteriously, Manu is left alone to prepare everyone for a dystopian future.

Ben and his father Philip have been kidnapped by Manu and placed in an underground bunker. In the midst of introspection, futuristic technology, and social commentary they notice a new society filling up the bunker.

Asha, a mysterious girl who has known Owen since she was a child, enters the bunker and changes everything.

Will Manu be able to save the world? Who are Phil, Ben, and Asha? And why are they important?

To find out, navigate through the most realistic Sci-Fi ever that has plausible futuristic technologies, a huge premise and a philosophical AI that spits slam poetry.

Choice

The choice of no choice, is the world we live in.

Shall I hold my poise or shall I make noise while swimmin’?

Shall we sing “Rain rain go away” or “Showers of blessing”?

Can we be ignorant or shall we follow the news depressing?

Do we go up or do we run out? Shall we shout help or shall we quell pout?

What’s important and what’s not? Should we food hunt or build a big yacht?

Shall we mourn the dead or shall we save the dying?

Shall I leave my bed or take up flying?

How can I enjoy this weather and drink hot tea on my balcony?

When we together are responsible for this brutality.

Is it really God’s fury or our work in a quarry?

Can we blame the seas or shall we frame the dead trees?

It’s either corruption or religious division,

Genocide or population explosion,

Cash cow or bash now, brainwash or hogwash,

Eat or be eaten, beat or be beaten, cheat or be cheated.

We can act or we can watch. We can speak or we can listen. Be loved or be hated.

Have tact or be a blotch. Be bleak or you can glisten. Be love or be hate.

You can have a drive or you can be driven. You can forgive or be forgiven.

Choose anything and you’ll see, the choice of no choice, is the world we live in.

Dream

                                                                DREAM

I used to walk every day, sculpting myself night and day.

It was art, like a potter with clay, or a Shakespearean soliloquy.

On these walks, I pondered my life choices,

Visualized my success as the world rejoices.

But my sounds were plagued by white noises,

My dreams were crushed by so many voices.

Why do I bear this pain in my brain in vain?

I abstain from my dreams, even if they’re ingrained.

I am numbed by my situation. It feels like a concussion.

I built my body for cremation even though I am your creation.

My hair is too long, my habits are wrong, my senses are gone.

If I am a sprinter, can I run a marathon? My life, you pawn.

My legs are cramping, I don’t stop walking, I start running.

When I reach my destination, I stop losing and start winning.

You don’t know me, you never will, if my obedience, is this drill.

With this weight on my head, I will run uphill, till I stand still.

I see so much on these walks. Leaves fall,

ragdolls, gold coins hidden by grasses tall.

I see railway tracks, never used, just existing.

My life in cracks, on a road, never taken, yet persisting.

I see my neighbor across the road, weary and old.

With long hair, old clothes and a look that shows he’s bored.

He walks like me, jobless and carefree, limping with cramps or a bad knee.

He recognizes my face and waves at me, tears flow, as I wave back at me.

Happy

I should be happy, I should be asleep,
But in the stillness of the night, I hear someone weep.
I know I am great, or so I am told,
I remember being funny, I think I was bold.
I have been treated badly, even with disdain;
But that’s not the reason I feel pain.
I still am funny, I still do laugh,
It’s an illusion, in it, there’s no heart;


It’s so late at night, I can see a new sun,
My head is too groggy to think of a pun.
Once my throat was dry from talking uncut,
Now my mouth stinks from remaining shut.
I was once in love with my sleep, why didn’t it last forever?
I know not why our relationship is severed, we are not together.
I guess it was a war between me and everyone,
I lost my smile, I guess I lost a ton.


It’s gone on too long, I am inured,
Everybody is happy, they say I am cured.
The greatest privilege is to love and care,
I have seen emptiness, I wish I could share.
I have more than many, my needs are met,
I have nothing, nothing I wanted to get.
My pillow is drenched, it’s not sweat,
I knew I heard someone weep, my eyes are wet.

Rebel

So, you think you're a rebel?
Are you really? Or do you want to be visible?
Is it because you think everyone hates you?
No they don't; They just don't patronize you.
Is it because you think everyone loves you?
No they don't; Otherwise you won't feel like you.
Is it because you think they want to be you?
No they don't; Nobody can be you.

So, you think you're a rebel?
Or are you scared of being one among the pebbles?
Is it because everyone is conspiring against you?
Or is it because you aren't getting the respect due?
You really must think you're important,
why else would you get so despondent?
What have you achieved with your own might?
Have you gone through fire to become a light?

So, you think you're a rebel?
Do you listen to punk rock or heavy metal?
Have you broken a few trivial rules?
Or have you stolen inexpensive jewels?
Rebels will never be criminals,
maybe a musician, poet or something abysmal.
They do no wrong except follow their heart.
You are a rebel if you make your own pie chart.

Nothing

“Become something first”, is all I got when I asked anything.

Where’s the fun in becoming something when you can be nothing.

Life is a prelude to our real lives, which is eternal,

Why waste it on a desire so useless and carnal.

Take the path less traveled by is what they say,

That should be the mantra to success they pray.

In this race to become something they forget,

Doesn’t everyone want to be first? I bet.

Everybody idolizes a hero, who wants a cipher?

Ask a hero how he feels, always under pressure.

If making something of yourself is all that matters,

Then how foolish of God to give us life, who leave his earth in tatters.

Heroes are the supermodels of this world,

Good to see from far but still a part of a herd.

“Become something first”, is all I got when I asked anything.

I said, “I become infallible if I know I am nothing.”

“I want to be like water, pushed around by the stones,

But reach my destination with the same taste.

They spit me, waste me and throw me,

But they can’t live without me.”

How good would it be to be free?

Enjoy all the small things like air, water and tree.

Life is to be lived without any pressure or gain,

When I was made, I was something, do I need to prove it again?