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,

The Ballad of Phoney Gray: First Step

Born out on the dull blue floor,
Growing slowly on chips and more.
Was born he shiny, painfully lone,
packed in the box, which would be home.

This is the ballad of Phoney Gray,
Made of metal, born in a tray,
This is the ballad of Phoney Gray,
Silent as is or talking through a ray.

Nahin

Rikshaw hai jo rukta nahin,
Bus hai jo dikhta nahin,
Paer hain jo chalte nahin,
Manzil hai jo aati nahin.

Dost hain jo milte nahin,
Dushman hain jo pighalte nahin,
Pyar hai jo khilta nahin,
Tanhai hai jo jaati nahin.

Rain

As the sky readies for the battle of the sun,
A battle which has already been won,
The shining star has to retreat behind,
As the darkness covers, leading the wind.

As the drops gather in force,
The earth below moves from bad to worse.
The great humans left to stare,
Attacked by surprise, from the force nowhere.

Yeh Zindagi

Kadvahat ki zaroorat nahin, par phir bhi peeta hoon,
Zindagi se darr lagta hai, par phir bhi jeeta hoon.

Manzilen dhoondata raha zindagi bhar, par
ab toh bus raaston se pyar hai, zindagi se darr.

Badi Kashmakash hai yeh zindagi ajeeb,
iss se ladho, jhagdo, jeetoge nahin, rahoge garib.

The Lady Fair

Every day, in my sleep,

I see this fair lady weep.

Her eyes worn, her gaze far away,

The gentle breeze making her sway.

Lady, why won’t you talk to me,

Tell me what troubles you see.

That you have to weep so sour,

Why can’t you just sleep when it’s four?

Sit

The class was packed tight,
And the teacher was always right.
“Students, lets gather some wit
Open your books, pay attention and Sit”

In the bus, the crowd was a throng,
You’d get bashed even if not wrong.
With life risked, I nearly seat with true grit,
“This is a reserved seat, don’t you dare sit”

The top of the hill

They talk about life, they talk about love,
They talk about death, the what and the how.
They talk about hate, they talk about fate,
They talk about everything, at any rate.

They teach you to live, they teach you to be happy,
They teach you culture, they teach you to be preppy.
They teach you to read, they teach you to write,
They reach you what’s wrong, they teach you what’s right.

The visitor:

To the tune she danced, the rivers tree
The flute made her feel, high and free
The notes floated, swimming in the air,
Happily touching everyone, fair and square.

An unwilling listener that shepherd had the day,
Visible to no one, hiding in natures sway,
Impressed he listened, bound by the spell
The music made him feel, earth he should dwell.