The saint in the Rikshaw:

I had read somewhere a long time ago that there were saints everywhere and they appeared as and when they were needed. They live amongst us, protecting us, helping us in our everyday struggle with life. When we give up hope, they appear out of nowhere to motivate us not to give up our fight against life. And for long I have believed them to be angels working with us to make our lives easier. And for ever, I have placed them at par with Gods.

And so it has been that whenever I have been troubled, a stranger has come up to hold me. The past few days, I have been bothered about how the office space. I have been bothered about the evil that men do to project the good in them. I have been swallowed by sycophancy, I have been devoured by debauchery, I have been troubled by the troublemakers. And in this troubled mind, I hail a riksaw, almost when I had given up hope of finding one.

Give a damn someone...

It's been five years since I have been writing. And I have been getting better by the day. One of the abilities that I have been especially proud of has been my ability to rhyme. I might not be as good as Eminem but I am still better than most of the others. And my verses however silly have been able to bring a smile to the lips of people I have written them for.

I recently decided to put up  my verses online where not just the incumbents but everyone would be able to enjoy them. And surprise! No one seems to be interested. It takes more effort than writing about a recipe, writing a peom. With all the rhymes, working together to bring meaning to the fore, the abstract materializing into emotions and feelings, the real essence of poetry emerges from the corners of the words.

A worthy Life

Many fathers have died before us,

One day we will die as well.

But have we made our lives worth,

Only our deeds will tell.

Live for the own self,

But work not for this self.

Make life good and better,

For everyone, self and latter.

Words for me:

He says..write some happy words,

Write about the green grass and birds.

Not always about being sad,

Or just about being raving mad.

She says.. write me a happy verse,

Not ways about ghosts or a curse.

Write about the blue sky wide,

Or a wonderful fantasy ride.

In the middle:

I stand taller than,
Most of the men around can.
But not tall enough,
To be the tall and handsome stuff.

In the middle, I stand,
Trying magic without a wand.
Never high, never low,
Never hollow, but still shallow.

Sleepless:

Dark indeed is the night,