You took their lands; you took their dignity; you thought not twice when you took their lives.
You hurled bombs on them; you torched their homes; you killed them with mines besides poisoning their airs.
You didn’t spare little kids, nor innocent civilians; you raped their sisters; you raped their wives.
Doesn’t unbearable remorse penetrate your hearts as much as your bullets pierced through theirs?
Life’s good, but not always. Cruel are its uncertainties.
Life’s good, but not to all. It attacks us, like a praying mantis.
It burns many dreams, and many goals,
and continues its game with unsuspecting souls.
PS: My thoughts and prayers are with the 45 helpless people who lost their lives in the recent bus accident at Mahbubnagar.
I look into a mirror; I see my past.
I notice that time has flown really fast.
The present me can do more than what the past me could.
This progress makes me grateful, for life is good.
Soft, silky, separate strands.
On touching, they come with the hands.
Makes men sad from the heart’s bottom-
this chronic, inherited, human autumn.
Broken brakes and tired tyres.
The thrill of speed the heart desires;
But a thinking brain under the skull one requires;
for some burnt rubbers can lead to burning pyres.
Reminiscences of school days and an update of the present.
A review of what went last week and plans for the coming one.
On the terrace, we discuss all these, while peeps at us the crescent.
It’s just the place where we talk about everything under the sun.
We chop them, crop them, and kick them around like hell,
yet they silently bear it all like they were cast under a spell.
They sacrifice themselves-sometimes in full, sometimes half.
Like sadists we read them, and have a hearty laugh.
As is the parents’ duty to educate the kid,
So is the kid’s to take care of them in old age.
Ever grateful for the sacrifices my folks did,
I now begin my journey on this repayment stage.
One set of shapes do I change to another.
Most I got from others, while just one from my mother.
All these I do, for not everyone knows everything.
I embark on a literary flight on this conversion wing.
A language or skill or science or art.
Learn it well with all your heart.
For it’s when you’re open to learn
That you eject ignorance and let it burn.