Thursday, December 2, 2010

Her Symphony

Has to be a place,
There, lie the memories,
Where, every single tear,
Within, the voice of her,
Echoes, of the tragedy,
Truth, in comfort with,
Lies, her silky smooth skin,
Scarred, rests in fear,
Sister, don’t you leave me,
Why, once the memories,
Lived, haunts me,
Still, shadows of her,
The, reality of my world,
Blurs, through the gaps,
Seeps, every single possibility,
Unnerving, back my senses,
Forcing, why don’t you leave me,
Sister, has to be a way,
There, together we may,
Where, under the oak tree,
Sit, our own world of innocence,
Within, reach for you again,
Sister, into the final leap,
Plunge, is still and silent,
Backdrop, the symphony plays,
And, the same memory,
Replay, again and again,
Recreates, my life never means,
Still, evaporates into the darkness,
Days, my hand overlaps her,
When, she sits close to me,
Forever, the truth is,
Ached, heart drowns within,
The, never changes,
Truth, we shall be,
Sister, cry for me,
Never, the memories,
Will, the pain in me,
Resurrect, each and every shriek,
Recapture, the life through me,
Suffocate, to live,
Deserve, rot for eternity,

2nd line onwards- first word of each and every line can be replaced by the 1st word following it.each and every 1st word can also stand on its own for each and every line of the poem. completely change the meaning of the poem according to the reader.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Heart Of A Butterfly

Your face shines upon the glory,
Of me as the light that signifies,
The morning and the night,
As a whole, divine and sacred,
Long dew is my love for you,
My feet numb, movements lethargic,
I proclaim for your sanctity,
I kiss you at the end of your face,
And the whole body flutters,
In hope of a new butterfly,
Crawling from your skin,
To my mouth and the cocoon,
Sapping us, bounded by love,
Beyond the faith of a human,
And beneath the darkness of sun,
My face disfigures, tries to create,
Into something you may like,
Importance of love as me to you,
Is all about you loving me back,
As the journey to a one way street,
Takes me back to where I started,
Love, transfigure for me into something divine,
In the shadows of peace and quiet,
Love, boundless shrieks and cries,
Love so powerful, voice magnifies,
Into a million pieces of souls,
Who crave for the heart to transfigure,
Love seems like a one way street,
May the journey begin from the other side,
Reach into my hands and flutter away,
Love so pure, its wings turn to ashes,
And rub your threads to my soul,
As the chest craves for a feel,
Heart may transfigure into a butterfly,
And shall flutter away tonight,
Heart so delicate of a human being,
May need someone to hold onto it,
For a while, habits die hard,
And heart flutters away, lose it tonight,
Love, so rich that it transfigures,
Wings of love like a butterfly,
Shall flutter away with a pair tonight.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Die Within The Confines

Weakness of a virgin,
Lost with its belongings,
Doesn’t lie in the overpowering,
Of the animal, which seeks,
Not the last of her shredded pieces,
But the innocence which writhes,
And squirms when solitude,
Never comes besides her again,
Life never means the same to her,
Agony and pain lost in the claws,
Of this unruly, heartless society,
Tied to a chair within the shadows,
She sits and ponders about,
The final hours before the light,
Within flickers and burns,
Speechless, lost out of words,
Society never meant to work,
Within the confines of the riches,
And the power lurks amongst the,
HUMANS who are CALLED as one,
As they were born from the womb,
Of a woman, penetrated to the,
Soul of a human, who was no less,
Than someone’s lover,
And no more than any other,
And she tries to sleep till,
The dawn comes up and the dusk,
Loses its work, but the eyes,
Were never meant to close,
In shame, in concern, scared,
That she may never wake again,
As a woman tonight died in her,
And so she lights a match stick,
And the whole room lights up,
Outlining her wet body,
Covered in blood and stains of,
Her enemy how cruelty could,
Survive on this treacherous earth,
Slowly the outline starts to fade,
And burn, and so a woman,
Once again lost among her,
World may think she is a coward,
Soul of a woman turns to dust,
No more than someone’s lover,
No less than any other.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Morning Smile

She ran past me,
Covered in drapes of,
Silver and green,
Lightning struck a chord,
With her beauty,
And blush rose upon my cheeks,
Like the flow of an endless creek,
Her shadow whiskered past me,
Every grain of her hair touching me,
Love like a knot where two ends meet,
I swept my eyes above the sea,
She came as a morning smile to me,
Hard to seek in a life of endless seas,
Trees, seas all the living beings,
Heart so stubborn never listens to me,
Her eyes twinkled, maybe,
Maybe for once she smiled at me,
Opportunities so least, in a life,
Full of your own makings,
Time too precious, meant to seize,
And so I ran past what felt like,
Every other human being in the crossing,
Twisted and tumbled in front of her knees,
“Definitely, for once she smiled at me,
And life seemed so glorious to me,
Moon took a sip of sanctity,
Her face shining with smoldering heat,
For me sun rose from her feet,
Scientists were never meant to please”
In my love, in my vocabulary,
This is the story of me not any other,
Human being, coz I took that plunge,
Love so profound that it overflowed,
From every pore of my skin,
“Definitely, in this life of mine,
And hers, she smiled for me,
And for once every single life,
Of my every single day,
I smiled every morning,
As she had a morning smile for me.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

God Never Existed

Versatility defined me from ages,
Progressing from a nonexistent,
Being to someone who existed,
Within the eyes of the people,
Who never got their turn in life,
But found hope and happiness in me,
So I reached far above the sea,
10000 miles of journey accomplished,
A feat that only sounded deceived,
In the eyes of the people who,
Never became what they wanted to be,
Who never actually wanted me to be,
An existing identity but lost within,
The soul and the depth of the sea,
And the oceans swept towards the sky,
And god never really existed within,
But was created by the people who,
Never actually existed but their existence,
Was lost within the crowd of shadows,
And so they hand over their hope,
And happiness to someone who could,
Not actually but certainly sweep over,
The grievances of the people who,
Actually dreamt each and every second,
What life certainly could have been,
If god really answered to their pleads,
I, never believed in the word “Almighty”,
So I never actually lost faith in him,
And it’s only when people loose,
Their faith in the existence of god,
Do they lie awake and go to sleep,
As the dreams seem so pleasing,
When lying awake never actually,
But certainly feels so far-fetched,
This life never actually belonged,
And I never wanted me to be,
What I really wanted to be,
When the “Almighty” was created,
Within the minds of the people,
To add the burden of blame on someone,
Who won’t answer to their pleads,
And I never actually believed in the “Almighty”,
So I never lost the faith in me.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Aches To Breathe

Blisters, turmoil’s and tragedies,
Heart forsaken aches to breathe,
Night dwells upon days shouldered,
Claws pierced and clambered beneath,
Chains, wrenches and a few barriers,
Tried to stop the sun in me from rising,
Mighty force of a determined living being,
Dream so powerful, so majestic,
Hell bent wrinkles of earth creaked beneath,
And the earth divided into two pieces,
One where I dwelled, one which I reached,
Crossing miles and miles of barriers within,
Sun within me gleamed and shrieked,
And the pain toppled and tumbled,
Reached to the brim, but I was far,
From going back to my knees, on my feet,
I rose like a phoenix from my own ashes,
And I clambered and pierced my claws within,
Dream tied to a rope never loses its grip,
Like a soul of human being cannot be ripped,
Heart forsaken aches to breathe,
Endless road of a soulless human being,
Eventuality leads to a major calamity,
Disengaging, dislocating, disintegrating,
Heart never tends to seize actuality,
But lies to itself of an incomplete dream,
That never actually existed but ended,
In a tragedy as the breathing,
Never actually unfortunately tends to seize,
Heart forsaken aches to breathe.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Our LOVE Is Here To Stay

Whisper a few words in my ears,
Fingers tingling of my feet,
Foot tapping music here to play,
Drunken people on the street,
And I grab a hand below me,
Sending shiver down my spine,
Our love is here to stay,
And baby you ever smell the same,
Eyes of mysteries and shadows,
We dance till the night turns away,
And the air never felt the same,
Till it whiskered past your shoulders,
Tingling my senses in every way,
And baby our love is here to stay,
Words of love never felt the same,
Till they took a sip of your lips,
And drunkenness overshadowed my senses,
Two pairs of slippers left at the doorway,
Cold sleepy stone steps never felt this way,
And tonight our love is here to stay,
And the feelings felt for you my love,
Will never be felt for someone else again,
As there is no other woman on this earth,
Who makes me go nuts every second,
And I may never feel so insane again,
As madness was a habit never diagnosed,
And doctors said it’s too late my son,
Tonight your love is here to stay,
And the hospital left their belongings,
At the door way and danced away,
Into the night of dreams and love,
And love in this world is here to stay,
As hate may never feel the same again,
You and I shall live the dream again,
And baby our love is here to stay,
And people need some love,
To be the same like they always did,
This world may never feel the same again,
Baby, our love is here to stay.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Wishful Thinking

When did wishful thinking,
Become a memory of my dreams,
And the longing for the loved ones,
With time and grains on the surface,
Eventually and actually never seized,
But the space in between the surface,
Kept staring at me for eternity,
And the wishful thinking never did breathe,
But the whispers of dreams still haunt me,
When I sleep and the fear creeps over me,
And reverse psychology never worked,
Living a dream again never becomes reality,
And once destined, forever becomes a wish,
And the bridges of thinking collapse over it,
But the pain resurfaces never begs to seize,
Like a wound that never actually wants to heal,
But reminds me each and every day of failure,
Etched all over the surface of tranquility,
I wish someday the thinking would seize,
And dreams would break into a million pieces,
My reflection broken and buried million pieces,
Wishful thinking once becomes a reality,
And I may live that dream for a while now,
In reality after all I’m a human being,
And the heart beats never meant to please,
But crave for that wishful thinking all over again,
And the dreams are no more than reality,
And the reality is no more than an unseen dream,
But actually felt and lived in totality,
And the human heart was never meant to please,
And the shattering of dreams may never seize,
And the human heart was never created,
To live in peace.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Parallel Lines

I wrote a few verses for you, baby,
Poked a few pencils in my eyes,
It never rhymed the way it used to,
Our love was like two parallel lines,
We scribbled a few triangles,
And we scribbled a few squares,
But our heart never had a circle,
What went around never came back,
So the feeling of sadness swept over me,
Took a pencil, poked a few holes in a paper,
And the lines rhymed for the first time,
Miseries and tragedies are a poet’s soul mate,
And the parallel lines meet for the first time,
And the theories of maths went haywire that time,
Poked a few holes in a few scientists tonight,
So they dropped their lab coats and sheets,
Picked up a broken pencil and scribbled,
A few theories tonight,
That rhymed for the first time,
And the whole world witnessed the power,
Of rhymes and verses for the first time,
When I poked a few holes in the sky,
And the earth and sky meet for the first time,
Amalgamation was beautiful from naked eyes,
But the shallow people left a few blotches,
On the skin of the clear sky,
But I remained unperturbed and woken,
And my eyes never slept for the first time,
And drew a probability and a possibility,
That merged together and created hope,
For the first time and so everyone rejoiced,
And I felt miserable for the first time,
As each and every person thought he was a poet,
And so the poets took the path,
Of the parallel lines.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

My Beginning

Her chest heaving and the morning dew,
Sliding from her cheek to her neck,
And the sun setting in the midst,
Too afraid of the glare of her,
And in the spur of the moment,
I kissed her below the morning sunless sky,
And the whole world glowed along,
To play a song of love for me and her,
And the sun and moon arms together,
Watched me and her from behind,
In jealousy that they may never meet again,
And their love won’t be as pure as ours,
Outmatching the clear blue sky long time back,
When I kissed her and she shying away,
Blushing away towards the night sky,
And I stood at the edge of the peak behind,
Shouting to the nature and the trees and sky,
That I may never be the same again ever,
In this life of mine and she may never be,
Away from me as I need a heart to stay alive.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Imperfect Love

And the show may not halt in between,
And I may remain as an unseen dream,
As the life once lived cannot be relived,
Make a memory of a few bamboo sticks,
Lovers and dreams and tragedies,
Flex and drift shall survive the scene,
Memories once woven of golden seams,
Rings and kisses of all the possibilities,
Glimpse of a beauty, weakening of the knees,
Memories once painted on the walls of dreams,
Little red bird on the window pane shall sing,
Whirlpool of emotions and I May not blink,
Bird may fly away towards the rainbow scene,
Life once lived like a bunch of bees in sync,
And I may not be more than what I am,
And may be more than what I have been,
And for her may be a few bamboo sticks may lean,
As she outsmarts the beauty of a perfect scene,
And I may be the imperfect beauty within,
As the life once seen cannot be relived,
And I may be more than a dream when she sees,
As there are far less possibilities of me being alone,
In this crowded city of scenes and dreams,
And I may blush her chin with a kiss of my lips,
And the little red bird within me shall sing,
As the life lived without her was never lived,
And I may sacrifice a thousand rainbow scenes,
And live a life of imperfectness with her life within.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

The Sound Of Silence

When a smile crossed my mind,
I plucked a leaf from a tree,
And so the flower lost its zest,
But the guilt never crossed my mind,
When I ripped the soul of a tree,
As nature don’t mean a thing to me,
Burning a few trees won’t create a scene,
Too many of them are occupying the ground,
Forest lost forever without any sound,
Thousands of forests still left to blink,
Of an eye and the nature disappears,
And so will the humanity one day,
As cutting a few hearts of a few trees,
And drilling a few holes won’t make a scene,
Something that we create, that we cherish,
Nature shall either protect or shall perish,
Plucking a few forests crossed my mind,
Built a concrete wall hid the sun behind,
As the glare of sun was disturbing my senses,
And so I hammered a few nails on my grave,
Built a zoo for the left over’s, and a few fences,
And burned my own miseries with a few trees,
As something that is created has to perish,
Built a bonfire of it, celebrate and cherish,
And so the day I died striped and naked,
Only a white satin left to cover my soul,
As there were no more trees to burn and breathe,
My soul burned to the ground of soulless sheet,
And so dig a few holes and rip a tree apart,
Plucking a few flowers and leaves isn’t that hard,
Find a few forests and burn them to the ground,
And one day nature shall not make any sound.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Death And Tragedies

Meteors and planets all over my face,
Hovering and colliding under my deep,
Dark nose as if an ongoing race,
And the world seems so far fetched,
When I’m one of a kind in this pity race,
Of animals and human beings,
Six strings attached don’t make for a rope,
I’m that fear in your eyes when you sleep,
And the dreams vaporize as if never existed,
Souls burnt together never rest in peace,
And the pity humans shall beg for mercy,
When the sun and the moon inside of me,
Collide and vaporize, dissolve and solve,
Heart like a dark well of hollow and screams,
And the devil sings the song of death,
And tragedies as this world is no more than,
A dustbin lying in an alley full of torn clothes,
And shit and this world may be smoldered,
Some day when the devil shall take the podium,
And sing a song of death and tragedies,
As this world once created by the almighty,
Seems like a scenery behind a window pane,
Full of broken glasses and shards of screams,
If bad was good this world would have seemed,
Perfect to me, as the God once called as,
The almighty, is now resting in peace,
And this world is no less than a death,
And no more than a tragedy to me,
And some day the devil may burn down this place,
And sing a song of death and tragedies.

Monday, June 14, 2010

A Poem

When my left hand wrote a poem for me,
Right hand glared at it in jealousy,
He tried to lift a pen and a paper,
Doesn’t look so hard as it seems,
Scribbled and tumbled for a while,
But never lost its path, never wavered,
Losing and disappointment,
Feelings and thoughts from inside ate her,
Rain and sun all the weathers came along,
Birds of spring stopped to sing a song,
In the mean time left hand rested in peace,
Joys and pride of winning never seized,
And so the left hand slept out of sight,
Right hand could write only a few lines,
Looked at the reflection of its empty hands,
Dropped down broken hearted wept and cried,
Reflection of a car speeding before my eyes,
No matter how much dense dark clouds try to hide,
Burnished and lustrous sun never forgets to rise,
And so I held my right hand close to my heart,
No matter how treacherous the journey is,
My thoughts and words never lost their path,
I know my left hand was once a part of me,
A poem once written so calm and serene,
Writing with my right hand,
Doesn’t seem so hard to me,
And whenever I waver, beg and crumble,
A poem of my life gives me the time to think.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Droplets On My Shoulder

Deeds of your own mischief’s,
Is nothing but a transparent lie,
And it might start to rain outside,
But droplets won’t fall from the sky,
And I might not see your face again tonight,
As there are better things to do in life,
And I might watch a rain drop slide,
From my window pane towards my eyes,
And people below me shall think,
That I might cry but the chances are none,
And I might light up the sky tonight,
As there are better things to do in life,
And I might just turn off the light,
Sit back and watch as meteors collide,
And if the world would end tonight,
I might just see a snail crawl out of sight,
As there are better things to do in life,
But I might still see your face in those droplets,
As it slides from my window pane to my eyes,
And I might just feel you for some time,
Even if it’s an illusion I might not feel better,
But who wants to do better things in life,
When you know that I might rather live a lie,
Then watch you sit around, flicker and die,
And I might say your name aloud,
Towards this deep hollow sky,
As the echo of your name,
Might rain a few droplets on my shoulders,
And I might just sit there for a while,
As you are much better than this life,
And I might just live you tonight.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

9.46 Seconds

Sometimes I just don’t understand the difference between life and dreams. I’m a regular person like any other loner walking down the street with no aim in life. Walking just for the sake of walking and checking my watch once in a while, not because I’m getting late, just getting used to the fact that I have been walking all morning and its 6 in the evening. Sun is trying to find its way between all the concrete poles trying to outsmart each other. People are walking past me, some in a hurry, some just plain tired from the day’s work, and some just dreaming or you can say stuck somewhere. This is Mumbai. City of dreams and misfortunes and fortunes brought together into a perfect synchronization where everything looks bright and shiny. Of course the bright and shiny part can be considered for a few exceptions. Otherwise it’s just a route straight to hell. See, you change a city to chase after your dreams. Just changing the city doesn’t mean you are getting closer to your destiny. In Mumbai each and every human has dreamt, dreamt big, some have promised their families, some have just come out of pure rage and revenge. “Someday I’m going to show everyone what a big bunch of losers they are when I will be famous” well I say open a food stall and find a corner as you are going nowhere brother for the rest of your life.
I sell fruits and vegetables. So I was walking from morning till evening just for the sake of walking. No, I was not. In Mumbai you don’t walk, you scramble for a place where you can stand on one of your toes. If you are lucky you will get to stick both of your toes while standing in a train. Mumbai I strictly say is not a city where you want to check your luck. Main road just outside chatrapati shivaji terminal till the market near dadar station, that’s my area. From morning 9 till evening 6, that’s my timing.

Place of birth: Chamrola, Bijnor, Uttar Pradesh, India.

Dream: To become famous.

Current status: fruit and vegetable seller.

Timing: 9 to 6

If ever there was a book written on how to dream big and end up becoming nothing 10 million people in Mumbai will raise their hands to write one.

Well me?

I have a plan.

Not like one of those plans that they show in movies in which the hero devices a plan that sounds ridiculous to everyone but what the heck it’s a movie, right?
It’s not a plan it’s more like my last option, my last hope.
Area: chatrapati shivaji terminal to dadar station.

Distance: 10 km

Rounds per day: 4

Some of the fruit and vegetable sellers don’t even cover an area of more than 2kms while most of them stay where they are from morning till evening.

Me, I have been covering an average of 40 to 45 km for the past 4 years.

Four years back when I completed my 5th anniversary of living in Mumbai I stumbled upon a plan. A woman was purchasing fruits from me when suddenly a guy comes, snatches her purse and starts to run as if his ass was on fire.
So I start to run after him and hell I ran like no human being could in this damn city. At the age of 25 I will become a legend.

I became a legend.

100 metres sprint past record: 9.58 seconds

“Fruit seller from India breaks world record”

My timing: 9.46 seconds

When it comes to chasing your dream you don’t walk, you have to run for it, grab it, whisk past it. It doesn’t matter from which city or town or a village you come from, or changing cities, what matters is how fast you run for your dream.

I was a fruit seller.

Tonight I stand before the sea. I think it’s trying to tell me something.
Tonight I became a legend.

I don’t know what I will be in the next 10 years. Whether I will be able to run this fast? All I know is that in those 9.46 seconds I ran from Chatrapati Shivaji terminal to Dadar station. I felt like I was home.

A legend.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Someday You And Me

This room is too full of people,
It’s suffocating me from inside,
Clutching onto my throat,
Illusion of the sun and stars,
I think the sun lost its panache,
Long time back when the,
Hatching of the eggs,
Didn’t make any sense to me,
Life is nothing but a deep,
Black hole full of possibilities,
Someday I will submerge myself,
Half naked, stripped apart in it,
And see the underwater world,
So calm and serene,
And I may begin thinking,
What would the tiny fish do?
When the big bad shark,
Ate all of her family,
And was left all alone,
With no room to breathe,
And I may whisper to the tiny fish,
Revenge is a deep black hole,
Full of endless possibilities,
You may either submerge in it,
Blindly or rather swim in it,
As life is a deep blue ocean,
Of endless depths and dreams,
You are no less than a shark,
Someday you may grow,
Bigger than it may seem,
And I shall grow fins and wings,
That day and swim in my dreams,
Fly to the surface of the moon,
And sit beside a crater for a while,
And begin to think,
What would have Neil Armstrong done?
If he would have fallen in it,
Life is a black hole of possibilities,
And 40 years later,
I would have seen his hand,
Reaching the end of his journey,
And I would have lend a helping hand,
Welcome my friend to a world,
Where someday you and I,
Shall sit back and think,
What a rush of a journey life is.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Tied A Bucket To My Neck

I have no faith in human kind,
So I tied a bucket to each of their necks,
And threw them in a well,
I have no faith in my friends,
So I made a wise decision for each of them,
Told them there is life after death,
Tied a bucket to each of their necks,
And threw all of them in a well,
I didn’t have any faith in god,
So I cursed him every day of my life,
And tied a bucket to his neck,
Lord have mercy on his soul,
And so I threw him in a well,
And finally the day arrived,
When there was no room left in the well,
And no entity left to tie a neck,
And so I dwelled myself in loneliness,
Tied a bucket to my own neck,
And drowned myself in my own miseries,
What a fool I made of myself.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Loved Once

Wake up every day from a dream,
Where bodies of my loved ones,
Covered in white sheet laying besides me,
Like an outburst of screams,
Streams of blood trickling down my feet,
I beg and ponder with patience,
The reason behind the casualties,
Of my loved ones blood streaked,
Reeking with vengeance I submerge,
Myself into my own past memories,
Figuring out a way to forget,
What murder actually means,
If the definition itself is erased,
A word is nothing but a lost entity,
I don’t need a stone for a heart,
To murder the dear ones close to me,
As the bleeding heart aches of revenge,
I just gave a reason to my heart to beat,
Like a million wretched pieces,
Never again did my miseries ever bother me,
As the pain once resurfaced,
At the shore of my sea,
Is like a wave tethered to the beginning,
Never shall be able to experience its ending,
And I may never be able to actually,
Forget what murder really means,
In the end you close the eyes of a dead person,
I took care of both the proceedings,
As the loved ones I lost that day,
Didn’t mean more than a feather to me,
Who lost its path in the midst of winds,
No more than wretched souls to me,
I had lost someone long time back,
I just paid homage to it.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Pocket Full Of Memories

I took a peak in my pocket,
Found a key, a ring and a locket,
Shoved inside the farthest of corners,
Nudging me, trying to remind me,
What I was in the beginning,
And where I lost myself, find me,
Unbind me from all the inhibitions,
Hide me inside your tresses reflecting moon,
Sun, and all the stars, and from all the,
Messes, that reflected pain inside of me,
Tie me, slap me, stab me, and wake me up,
Remind me what a waste life is,
Is, was, has been, and ever will be,
She is the reason why my pockets are never empty,
Can be, could be, but will never be,
I will save that glint of gold inside of me,
And reach into my pockets whenever,
I feel the longing and the craving,
To see her face again reflecting in my eyes,
At last she is sitting beside me,
Fly, free, is what I pray for,
Try, cry, but I will never, ever again be,
As the pockets once filled with memories,
Cannot be forever and ever emptied.

Thursday, May 6, 2010


Nina and I went to the same classes each day. Each day, every day, missing not even a single day. We didn’t talk much. No, we were not in love. We were just distracted by our own thoughts. I don’t know what she thought of me, but I was dead straight from the beginning. I wanted to kill her. Beat her down to death. I wanted to taste her pain, listen to her screams slowly echoing from her fragile body.
Since my childhood years, we have been in the same class. I always came second because of her. I worked my ass off day and night. She had an advantage over me. Scientists call it as eidetic or photogenic memory. Why should she have an advantage over me? She is no less different than me. She is a human being. I am a human being.
You don’t know what pain is. You don’t know what it’s like to always come second.

2 days later

A boy was found dead inside his house garage. Police officials said that the body of the 15 year old boy was found in 7 different corners of the garage. That was no ordinary garage that morning. It was turned into a slaughter house. What was more astonishing for the police officials was that the killer was sitting right besides the boy when the boy’s family came home and his dad opened the garage door to park his white Mitsubishi. Police records further identified that the killer was none other than her classmate named Nina.

Interview recorded by the psychologist Dr. Edward merman.

Dr. Edward: Hello Nina, how are you feeling today?

Nina: Peachy.

Dr. Edward: You two were good friends right?

Nina: oh yes we were such good friends that I slaughtered his body into 7 pieces.

Dr. Edward: True. But what was the motive behind this rage?

Nina: Motive was to kill him. In which I’m sure everybody knows I succeeded.

Dr. Edward: Let me rephrase my question again Nina. Why did you kill your friend?

Nina: if I wouldn’t have killed him, he would have killed me. Nice and simple.

Dr. Edward: How can you come up with such a conclusion?

Nina: You didn’t see the hate in his eyes for me. I did. He always came second. He wanted to come first.

Dr. Edward: So you are telling me it was a case of self-defence rather than murder.

Nina: You don’t get it doc. It was a case of my wants. My needs. Don’t you get it doc? I never came second. He wanted to kill me.


He wanted to come first. He wanted to kill me first and then for once in his life beat me. But you know doc how life is. You wanted to become a surgeon but you didn’t have enough shit in you to become one. So you had to compromise in your life. I never compromise. I have a photogenic memory. I remember each and every reaction on his face when he used to look at me for the past 8 years. It never changed. Until two days back. There was no rage on his face, no hatred on his face. It was calm, as if finally after so many years he had found a way to beat me. Two conclusions either he could work harder and beat me which was next to impossible or he could kill me. If he killed me first than that means finally he beat me. He comes first and I come second.
You call yourself as a psychologist? I read his face. I remembered each and every first look on his face when he saw me. Recorded it, saved it, analysed it. I always knew this day was going to come. It came. It went. I came first.

Dr. Edward: oh my girl you have no idea what have you done. You have ruined your life.

Nina: Don’t be so melodramatic doc. I always knew what was going to happen. So save the pity emotions for your family. I’m not your whiny daughter.

Dr. Edward: what are going to do now Nina?

Nina: I killed that son of a bitch before he could. What am I going to do now? I’m going to spend the rest of my life in jail. I never compromise. I never fail.

But the question remains what you are going to do with your shitty life doc.

Dr. Edward ordered the guards waiting outside his cabin to take Nina away.

There was no nervousness on her face. While walking she turned back and said calmly,” see you next time doc. I will be back soon. Sooner than you think. Till then keep your eyes on the price doc or the doc next door might take it away.”

A Day In The Lives

Hello Mr. Stevens how was your day,
Stranded in the middle of the street,
Your mind virtually looks astray,
Draped in covers of silk and satin,
Perched on the highest of trees,
You wreck havoc and commotion,
Four wheeled red colored beauty,
Comes into the picture,
“No need to panic ladies and gentleman,
We will save this tiny creature,”
And so they marched above the creaky branches,
Avalanche of leaves falling in slow motion,
Hurry up warriors, take your positions,
And so the kitty cat shivered and purred,
Flew for a while above the blue skies,
Eyes following each and every motion,
Landed at its free will just besides the safety net,
Making a fool of the red colored beasts,
Whisked past all the on looking commuters,
And so they laughed and they cried together,
And spread the tales of the little kitty cat in whispers,
And the moon came along in celebration,
Behind the ever growing tree in slow motion,
And the night started to fall near the stranded streets,
Where once people rejoiced for what,
Can be called as nothing but an ordinary day,
Gave them a reason to smile again,
Not for a long time but just for a day,
Felt love for each other and the kitty cat,
Who once climbed the highest of the peaks,
And went astray, one day.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Happy Ness In Bits And Pieces

Happyness regurgitating from every pore,
Of your skin like a dam full of freshness,
Sensation of pure water on your cheeks,
Meets between your eye and your lips,
Like a shadow of an unseen dream,
Gleaming sun rays on the helm,
Of an early morning rainbow scene,
You are a book of unfortunate events,
I’m a mistake of all your sins,
Glass once full, spilling from the brim,
Taste of your lips on the golden seam,
Like a poison slowly arresting all my senses,
You are the shadow in dense dark forests,
I’m the sun creeping behind the horizon,
I long and crave as time passes by,
I beg and pray as destiny separates me from you,
I hold onto that gleaming thread,
As darkness resurfaces over me,
I will hold onto your hand when my time will arrive,
As there is no heavenly way to die,
Than in the arms of your love,
When she caresses your hair assuring,
Hold onto me and everything will be all right.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Footmarks On A Beach

Each time she left a footmark,
On the white sandy beaches,
Thousands of waves crashing each time,
Tried to erase the markings,
Left on its white sandy belongings,
Were left in vain and misery,
As she had trespassed that very same route,
All her life in happiness and pain,
Engraved her signature as time,
Seeped through the sand dunes,
And defined all her life in a few footsteps,
Living all alone by herself all these days,
And then came the day,
When she never actually did come again,
But found a boy at the edge of the bay,
And she touched her palms with his,
And nervousness and sense of reality,
Seeped through the sand dunes of time,
And she never actually did go again,
But created her own beach in a world,
Where she felt love and pain again,
But this time loneliness never recognised her,
And so she and him left their markings,
And erased them on their own again,
In hope of coming each day,
And creating a new footsteps of their own,
As time slowly trickled through the sand dunes,
And she felt that she is at last,
Home again.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Joy Called Life

Time talks to me sometimes,
In close whispers,
You are running out of me son,
I cant wait for you anymore,
If only i had some time,
Life like a rainbow of memories,
Paint a picture of your dreams,
Colors start to slowly fade around,
Reality seems so far fetched to me,
Like a soul waiting for its burial ground,
I know its hard to be at peace,
My mother always used to tell me,
Its hard to stay at the receiving end of time,
So sit back and breathe for a while,
Life will be one marathon of a journey,
So stand up and run while it lasts,
When droplets of hardwork,
Will trickle dow your freckled skin,
You will taste the joy of life in time,
Hold the hands of time in a tight grip,
And stare at the sky full of shining stars,
You will recognize a face,
Somewhere between the stars and your dreams,
Telling you what a journey life is,
I enjoyed mine,
Did you take the time out?
To enjoy yours,
Sit back and relax for a while my son,
Stand up and keep running,
Breathe the time of your life,
And you will taste the joy called life in time.

Friday, April 2, 2010

My Very First Tree

The day I climbed,
My life’s very first tree,
I sat on the edge of a branch,
Stole that very moment,
And savored it for a while,
Kept it in my blue jeans,
Staring at the world below me,
Sound of the birds chirping,
I felt like a king for some time,
The day I climbed,
My life’s very first tree,
The branch made a tiny creak,
And I hit the pavement in no time,
The very same day,
I earned my very first plaster,
My friends scribbling on it,
Till there was no room to write,
That very same moment,
Came after twenty years,
In my life,
I climbed a tree for my love,
This time holding the branch very tight,
And I drew that very same moment,
From the pit of my jeans,
Felt like it just happened a while back,
I jumped from the tree,
And landed silently besides her,
Filling her face with rage she said,
“You could have fractured your hand”
I returning her a faint smile,
Eyes gleaming I kissed her holding tight,
I whispered,” on the bright side,
I would have earned a brand new plaster,
And you could have scribbled all night”.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

I Killed A Baby

Sweet little child,
Innocent smile,
Shred you into pieces,
You are a pain to my eyes,
You whine and you cry,
All the time,
Let me hold your neck,
In my arms tonight,
Till you squabble and wriggle,
Let me suffocate you tonight,
Bury your disgusting body,
Under the hardwood floor,
Born on the darkest of nights,
You son of a whore,
Why don’t you just disappear?
Out of sight,
Sweet little child,
You are piece of my heart,
Why don’t I just pierce?
Shards of glasses,
In your eyes tonight,
We never wanted you,
He never wanted you,
Just an old piece of junk,
Why don’t you just,
Roll over and die tonight,
.45 I place on his temple,
Silent roar of gun in thin air,
I killed my fucking unwanted baby,

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

The Storyteller part 3

Chapter 6
My mother holding my hand close to her face was telling me something in close whispers. Even though the words were not clear, I could feel what she was trying to say. Old bastard who was once my dad had died two years back due to excessive alcohol drinking. There are two types of people in this world, the world in which I thrive. One are the kind of people who make their own life hell and the other are like my dad, they make sure that the people around them also have a taste of hell. I don’t know if heaven or hell even exists, all I know is that I have experienced hell, seen it in my mother’s eyes. In the beginning, after a long session of beating with my dad I used to cry my eyes out. Sitting in a corner, staring out of the window looking at all the other children playing, living their lives the way it was meant to be. At the age of twelve when children dream about becoming something in their lives, I wasn’t even sure that I would even survive till the age of eighteen. Here I am eighteen years old, lying in a bed for the past six years waiting for a miracle to happen in this life of mine. Sometimes I just think if I would have died the day I was born.
Lying here like a dead person waiting for my day to arrive. Heaven seems so far, so out of reach from where I stand. I always knew that life won’t be easy; god never said life would be easy. It’s just that I never thought life would be so dead.
What is connection between this life and the life I keep going back to in my dreams?
Angel hope looks a lot like my own town. The difference is that everyone is happy there. Our town used to glitter during festivals. Not all the time like angel hope but it had its fare share of sunny days. But our house was like a dark patch, always gloomy, full of sadness, like the ray of sun couldn’t reach the steps of our house. Life could have been better, much better if that old bastard would have died somehow. But past cannot be changed and the present is lying in a bed waiting for the future to die in slow gasps.
I wish I was dead mother, I wish I was dead.

Chapter 7
There was less of bloodshed in my stories if children were also listening. Angel hope was full of children so my stories were more heroic, of my triumph over the evil without any mass killings. A few minutes after my story ended it started to rain in fragments. The town had a very lavish guesthouse in the midest of the greenery. With the backdrop of rain and greenery merged together it looked like heaven. Reminded me of someone or something I couldn’t remember. For the past six years I have been dreaming the same dream again and again. As if I’m trapped in a loop. A boy lying in a bed unconscious and a lady which I can say is definitely her mother, coming everyday to visit him. Lot of times when I woke up from my dream there were tears below my eyes and my pillow was drenched with my tears. I have never seen this boy or this lady in my life.
Who are they? I have no idea. Then also they look so similar. I can see an image of my childhood in this boy. All the sufferings and pain etched in his eyes. The only difference is that he got his ticket to hell a lot quicker than me. I have never seen his father coming to visit him. I’m pretty sure that he will be a lot like my bastard of a father. But I have made sure my name is there in the reservation list when I knock on the doors of hell. I always used to tell my dad before I got beaten up to death that,” dad some things just don’t end the way you want them to”. There was sweat all over my face now and I think I was shivering. I can still feel the mark of those beatings under my skin. This time I went to sleep without any dreams interrupting my sleep but I was still murmuring in my sleep. I cannot get too close to the people of angel hope town. Love and affection are my enemies.
“Some things just don’t end the way you want them to dad”
Next morning I woke up abruptly, outside the guesthouse it sounded like as if the gates of hell had opened. Still not fully aware of what was going on outside I drew my red colored pajamas over my knees and opened the main door. For a second my eyes couldn’t adjust to so many colors in front of my vision. It was like thousands of rainbows had appeared out of nowhere. There was some kind of celebration going on and overnight they had built a huge funfair in the middle of the town. There was a lot of space in the middle of the town and so they had built lots of rides for children like merry-go-round, ferries wheel. At the entrance there was a huge board with words that were blurry to my vision from that distance. I kept walking towards the board as the words looked pretty similar to me. I went blank for a second and couldn’t believe my eyes what was written on that board. There was a small girl standing next to me and so I asked her what was written on the board to confirm my fears and she said, “Hello Mr. storyteller, your pajamas are red in color hehe.”
Kind of embarrassed a little I replied,” yes they are my dear child and don’t they look just smacking on me?”
The little girl now smiling which looked more like making fun of me said,” they would have looked better if they were not eating the dust on the floor.”
That’s what I was thinking that why suddenly my legs were feeling all airy and comfy. I said to myself that she is only a small girl and I can handle her. After all I’m “the storyteller” the messiah of this town, the soul warrior, god of all gods, ruler of this town to which my inner dad suddenly replied,” cut the crap you asshole, you are no more than a piece of shit, you son of a bitch who looked like my wife until I beat the crap out of her ugly face haha”.
My face was all red with rage and so I mouthed off, “why don’t you go fuck yourself old fuck, oh I forgot you don’t have a body you piece of fuck”.
Don’t know how but I had said these words pretty aloud to the small girl by mistake and the girl crying her eyes out ran towards her mother shouting,” mommy the storyteller is a freak help me”.
From a distance I could hear the little girl’s mother saying,” oh my poor baby, come to mommy. You are having bad dreams again about the boogey man.”
I heaved a sigh of relief and saw that the little girl’s mother was waving to me with a huge smile on her face. She pointed downwards indicating that my pajamas were down to which I gave her a wink. Her cheeks went all red in embarrassment and I started to walk back towards my cottage without looking back at the mother who I think was in awe of me.
Suddenly the purpose behind my visiting that place came back to me. I had completely forgotten about the board and the words written on it. At least the shock had succumbed in the mean time. My name was pasted in gigantic words on the entrance board.
“Welcome to angel hope town storyteller”
I could come up with only one explanation,” these people are nuts and I think I’m fucked. I should get the hell out of here as soon as my work is completed here.”
There are enough numbers of happy souls in this town to absorb.
“Happiness is what I look for; happiness is what I shall seek”

Chapter 8
After six long years finally my body showed some progress. At first the doctors were astonished to see that a coma patient could show some progress after so many years. Normally in such cases if coma patients don’t show any improvements within six weeks of their entering into the coma world, they inform the patient’s family that there is not much hope left. That day when my mother came to visit me she looked a lot younger. Now I know how smile can do wonders to a person’s face. My mother looked a lot like the person who used to caress me and wipe tears of my face few years back. When the doctor came back into the room my mom bombarded him with as many questions she could conceive during that period. Dr.churchill was taken aback a little bit but doctors usually know how to handle eccentric mothers and so without losing his composure he said,” Maam what your son has showed after so many years is no less than a miracle, but a lot of times patients tend to go back to the situation they were in before, so we have to keep monitoring his progress and then only we can conclude what lies in the future.
There were tears in my mother’s eyes and without even saying a single word she conveyed her thank you to the doctor. In a few days the storyteller will be able to absorb the required number of souls to achieve the final count. The count required to make us the gods of our own worlds. Till then I have to keep fighting and keep surviving for a few more days. What the doctors perceive as progress is nothing but the final spark before my life diminishes. They know the basic working of a normal human being. I was never normal. From the beginning my body structure was divided into two different parts. One life living in which I’m surviving right now and, the one that resides inside of me. Both of us have our own different worlds to thrive in. Both of us have our own stories to tell. Both of us are in a way, incomplete stories of our own lives. In a way, bounded by one single thread, thread that has the same purpose written all over it. That’s why both of us can contact each other only in our unconscious state. There are a number of restrictions in our ordinary world. You can only see your dreams but what humans don’t know is what they see, what they perceive in their dreams is the inner world that resides inside of them like a mirror. Everything in this world has two sides. If there is wrong then there is right, if there is good then there is evil, if there are bastard fathers then there exist loving mothers. A coin has two sides and so does the human soul. Living your dream for so many years again and again to the point where it is forced bounded to the real world by a chain. Till the point where your dreams falls on its knees and begs for mercy. Till the point where it’s hard to distinguish between reality and dreams.
“To the point where you are no less than a god and no more than a human being”
You shall be the god of your own world when reality turns into an illusion and dreams breach the barriers of human soul and start turning into reality. Once the gates are open all kinds of dreams will start overflowing to the other side like a dam broken. Patience is the key to your success. Control over every minute particle in your body till the point you are able to sense each and every sense, each and every heart beat, each and every pulse in your body.
What will happen when a human starts to use hundred percent of his brain?
In time you will come to know the epitome of a human body.
“In time when I shall myself be the almighty”
Storyteller keeps cribbing that he has to do all the dirty work while I just lie unconscious in bed doing nothing. But if didn’t have that much control over my brain he would have never existed in the first place. Storyteller would have been like one of those faint memories in my mind which would have in time disappeared forever. I was the one who resurrected hopes, wrote my dream on my wrist till the time the wound stopped to heal and the words were etched on my skin. Most of the people never live their dreams, feel it, try to touch get, get close to it. After some time they just lose hope cribbing over small things like disappointment, losing again and again they just quit. That’s the only difference between winners and losers. Losers they just quit. Me I have already mentioned that I was not born to lie in a bed all my life like a weight on my mother’s shoulders. Even for a second if I lose my concentration the thread is broken. Love and affection are the only two things that make people blind. They drift away from their dreams due to these very two reasons. Carrying the weight of their families and friends on their pity shoulders they crumble after some time. They are no more than a cockroach to me. I want to be remembered. I don’t want people to think of me as the boy who was beaten up by his father all his life and lived the rest of his life lying in a bed. I don’t want their pity. I just want one little thing from them without which they can live their lives the way they live now.







Sunday, February 28, 2010

The Storyteller Continues...

Chapter 6

My mother holding my hand close to her face was telling me something in close whispers. Even though the words were not clear, I could feel what she was trying to say. Old bastard who was once my dad had died two years back due to excessive alcohol drinking. There are two types of people in this world, the world in which I thrive. One are the kind of people who make their own life hell and the other are like my dad, they make sure that the people around them also have a taste of hell. I don’t know if heaven or hell even exists, all I know is that I have experienced hell, seen it in my mother’s eyes. In the beginning, after a long session of beating with my dad I used to cry my eyes out. Sitting in a corner, staring out of the window looking at all the other children playing, living their lives the way it was meant to be. At the age of twelve when children dream about becoming something in their lives, I wasn’t even sure that I would even survive till the age of eighteen. Here I am eighteen years old, lying in a bed for the past six years waiting for a miracle to happen in this life of mine. Sometimes I just think if I would have died the day I was born.
Lying here like a dead person waiting for my day to arrive. Heaven seems so far, so out of reach from where I stand. I always knew that life won’t be easy; god never said life would be easy. It’s just that I never thought life would be so dead.

What is connection between this life and the life I keep going back to in my dreams?

Angel hope looks a lot like my own town. The difference is that everyone is happy there. Our town used to glitter during festivals. Not all the time like angel hope but it had its fare share of sunny days. But our house was like a dark patch, always gloomy, full of sadness, like the ray of sun couldn’t reach the steps of our house. Life could have been better, much better if that old bastard would have died somehow. But past cannot be changed and the present is lying in a bed waiting for the future to die in slow gasps.

I wish I was dead mother, I wish I was dead.

Adventure Continues...

Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Storyteller

Chapter 1

They called me the Storyteller. In times of war when the thirst for blood never ceased and resurfaced every hour, it quenched only by the killing of an innocent under the once clear, now dark and gloomy sky. The sky somehow reflected the pain and misery permanently etched in the eyes of the downtrodden roaming the path of destruction. There was a town named Angel Hope found near the outskirts of the Bundhana district. I changed that place. I was more like a useless loner wandering in search for free food and alcohol to quench my thirst. Humans are born thirsty whether it’s for their mother’s milk till the time their wife leaves them for another rich “town treasurer” and their only companion is their ever ending bottle of whiskey. So I used to wander from one town to another scavenging for left over’s and in return fooling the town people by reciting to them all the never existing stories.
Now one thing I forgot to tell you all is that I was born a loser without any skills from the beginning. In the past I was called a loser but now things have changed and lying has earned me the tag of a “storyteller”. Now if you take a look at both the tags they both vomit the same meaning and that’s “good for nothing” but the latter has some benefits to it. My stories ranged from my heroic entry into a downtrodden and completely destroyed town to an epic battle full of flying bones and blood. There was a lot of blood and gore in my stories for some weird reason. Even though this story was situated during the ancient times, let me tell you there was nothing ancient about this place except for the fact that I was born on the wrong side of the earth.
According to the so-called town elderly our earth is divided into two parts- one above us and one below us. Nice and simple without any research work. Now you know from where I get all these story telling ideas from. And yes you guessed it right we were born on the side which was situated above otherwise we would have fallen into the unchartered universe. The first time I heard about this total bullshit at the age of ten I went into splits and started rolling in the dust. Now the town people found this as disrespectful and from then I was the “loser” of that town. That time intelligence was regarded as a bane. But times change and so did mine. I always possessed one valuable skill which I never used until the time came when I unleashed my powers. And that skill was storytelling. One story after another I wandered from town to town extracting so much lies from the pit of my brain that I was astonished by myself. I sometimes thought that was I the one after whom this term “lies” came into existence.
I knew there was something peculiar about this town called Angel Hope. As soon as I stepped on the surface of this town, I knew that destiny awaited me. That I was born for a bigger purpose. Angel Hope was once a town full of peace and happiness. It’s no more than a pile of dirt now. I never knew that I even possessed the skills of turning happiness into gloom. Now I know why the skies were always dark and gloomy. They were not reflecting the poor and the downtrodden, they were reflecting me. You have no idea how much burden there is on someone’s shoulder who has to always carry a umbrella with him coz the sky is always dark and gloomy coz of him. I think this town was situated on the side below us which was the reason why it was so different from the rest of the earth. I said to myself, “Son you did one heck of a job” and in return I replied to my inner self, “Oh dad you were the inspiration behind all this. Its coz of your kicking and punching training I gathered the courage to light our whole town on fire and then dance on the remaining ashes the very next morning.”
My inner dad replying back, “Aww, god damn son, give me a hug you evil sonofabitch.”
And I started giving myself a tight hug in mid-air trying to pat myself on the shoulders. So finally when my mind and my thoughts were at peace I started venturing into the place that changed the lives of the people of Angel Hope town forever.

Chapter 2
A guy with a huge smile as if pasted on his face permanently started to walk towards me and gradually his pace started to increase. By the looks of Angel Hope town it was how to say, unique, in a weird way. Even though the sun was still up (now overshadowed coz of my peculiar relations with the dude up-above they refer to as the ‘Almighty’) every freaking light was on inside every rainbow colored house. Now if the freaky looking houses with all the turned on lights glowing at full stream didn’t knock the living lights out of me, the hundred gleaming smiles staring at me as if I’m messiah who was sent here from holy heaven, punched me right in the face and I was down. And I have a certain level of expertise in this field of punching. All of them were smiling as if two people have hooked each side of their jaws to a tree, so now they are stuck for the rest of their lives with this no-good smile of theirs.
My inner dad keeps popping every now and then to shove a piece of his mind down my freaking mind and so he said, “Son, take a look at all these faces and remember your life was way better than theirs’. At least you didn’t have to laugh all day long.”
And I, as usual, drunk to the brim and half-naked replied in a cheeky way, “Oh dad I do remember, me and mom’s face looked just like those rainbow colored houses except for the fact that in the end your face surely would have given complex to those black bulls we had in our town. Why? Coz after burning down the whole town to smithereens I found your burnt head rolling down a hill.”
My inner dad now enjoying every word said, “Oh my God! Really? Don’t know why but I have this tendency to keep coming back with a bang. It’s that urge to survive that thrives within me, that motivates me to keep moving forward in life no matter how hard the circumstances are.”
I, now finally satisfied that as usual I was able to trap this son of a gun in my random babblings, replied back this time with confidence overflowing through me and said,” Dad, dad, dad, you sound like a person giving out some serious positive vibes. Even I was baffled for a second but I regained my composure. Thanks to you, I have a habit of losing my composure every now and then coz of those heavy punches piercing through my gut. Sure I found your decapitated head, and I still keep that in my rucksack like a memento, reminding me how a dad can ruin his son’s life like a stain that cannot be removed forever.”
Sorry for getting all serious back there with my inner bastard. So now where was I? Yup, so this guy with this ten inch smile of his for no reason started sprinting towards me as if his ass was on fire, but he was still happy. For one second I thought this is no hubbly-wubbly town, so let’s get the hell out of here before I end up like my dad roaming the whole world in the rucksack of a person who reminds me of myself but cannot outmatch the evil within me. But then I looked above at those dark and gloomy skies and thought, what the hell the holy almighty is with me. Time to test how faithful he is towards his angels or should I say a drunken angel with no wings to flap but enough shit on his shoulders to put even the almighty to shame.
At first I thought that this sprinter couldn’t judge time and distance. End result- he would at least break two or three of my bones or even more as drinking gallons of whiskey hadn’t contributed to the strengthening of my bones. And so I finally realized the meaning behind the saying “Lord holds the hand of the drunkards in hope of losing his focus for a second, in return achieving a reason behind all the natural calamities”.  I think I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m sure that that afternoon when the sun was in its full glory he was definitely not doing his job. Finally the town renowned sprinter with a screeching halt like a bullock cart stopped just inches from my nose. He backed a little bit, scanned me from top to bottom, took a long gulp of fresh air inside and screamed like a damsel in distress, only it was no shout for help.
Suddenly the whole town along with him, holding each other’s hands started singing a song whose words sounded a lot like an anthem for their town. There was no end to it, as the range of their voices kept increasing until the birds, at first enjoying but later flapping their wings as if it was the end of the world flew for their lives and never came back until there was only a rumble left of Angel Hope. They had even recorded this anthem of theirs and made sure that the song was played at least, infinite times in a day. So the song goes like this,

                                                          Welcome to Angel Hope,
                                                          O sweet child of lord,
                                                          We will pray for your well-being,
                                                          In times of love and war,
                                                          Hand over all your belongings,
                                                          To our ever so forgiving lord,
                                                          And he shall take care of your sins,
                                                          And rinse them in his bowl of thoughts,
                                                          He shall bring peace to the diseased,
                                                          Free him from his mutated form,
                                                          His heart of stone, he is forgiving,
                                                          He shall take care of the dead as well as living,
                                                           So raise the glass of purity in unison,
                                                           Your life is not yours anymore,
                                                           As it belongs to the mighty lord within.

Chapter 3

If one minute back I was drunk to the pit of my stomach, all the whiskey had drained as if completely vanished in thin air in the last one minute. It was like watching a lot of happy people at the same time and I assure you watching a town full of happy people is not a sight to see. Finally after a few minutes which felt like hours of hammering they finally stopped singing. To my astonishment the sprinter guy was still standing inches from my nose. Trying to catch his breath at the same time he started to speak happily,” hello, my dear friend, Welcome to Angel hope, a town where your smile never wavers from your face. A place where a man is not deprived of his dreams, but tied to his dream like a bond which cannot be broken till the time the soul separates from the body to catch hold of another dream from nature.”
               At that very moment I had a clear idea what my life would be like in the near future. This place was like a treasure box left open for some godly reason, which I finally came to know but that part will come later. I was born a loser; I will emerge as a ruler of this place. From a far distance I was hearing some snapping noises and finally when I came back to my senses I saw the sprinter guy snapping his fingers in front of my face. The sprinter guy said,” My dear friend are you all right? You look like as if your mind wandered someplace else.”
                                                                     According to me, if someone is friendly with you, be friendly with them, if someone is misbehaving with you, be friendly with them and if someone is trying to kill you, what are you waiting for, hold your rucksacks tight and run for your life. Me replying back with so much of happiness filled in my voice that even he was taken aback for a second, “Oh hello, my dear old friend, come here and give me a big old hug.”
 More happiness overflowing through him he said, “Your hug was full of warmth and happiness. Your heart is pure like water my dear friend.”
Every joint of my face aching due to its overuse in the last couple of minutes replying back,” my friend all I can say is that it’s not pure, it’s just the way god meant it to be, the way god had placed it in me the minute I was born. Like the heart of a new born child, untouched from all the evils of the world.”
Sprinter guy now astonished, staring at me in a manner people look at idols of almighty said,” Angel hope has been blessed with your presence, my dear friend what is your name?”
 I took one look above at the hovering black clouds over my head and my voice though steady and peaceful, with the overall scenario sounded, God like.
I’m just an ordinary human being but you may call me, the storyteller.

Chapter 4: 
Part I: What my eyes perceive
Sun was down by the time I met most of the people of angel hope and after having a lavish dinner they had started a bonfire right in the middle of the town. It was like a daily routine for them as the whole town had already gathered around the bonfire even before it hadn’t been started. Children clinging to their mothers were looking at the bonfire with awe. Some of the smaller ones were too scared to look at it and so their mothers were trying to calm them down by singing lullabies to them. One hard look at the people of the town and you were convinced that they were actually happy. The town was so similar and yet so different from other towns. In those days genuine happiness was hard to find. Either you were filthy rich which was the reason you were happy or you just pretended to be happy, kept you one step away from going insane. Outside world was corrupted, dirty as if something that cannot be corrected. Like a world constructed imperfect. Like a sampling this town was surviving in this puddle of mud. I was jealous, who wouldn’t be. And finally one thing that stood out from the rest was that this town called angel hope was shining. It’s like they say covering a light bulb with a black cloth doesn’t stop it from shining. Light penetrates through every one of those minute holes in that darkness and finds a way to shine. It was magical. For a second it all seemed so real.
And then it was gone.    
Part II: Genuine happiness
Lying in an 8 x 10ft room for seven years has its consequences. In the medical field, there are fixed views regarding this subject. Some say people in coma can hear things, that their mind can still perceive things, have an idea of what’s going on around them, but most of them say that there mind is unconscious as well.
        But from the other side of world where I’m living right now, the side where my mind is conscious, I can definitely hear people, sense their emotions. I have seen my mother come here every day in this same dingy room for the past seven years. I could feel her emotions for the first two years but after that all the feelings were suddenly gone. I think my mother had died from inside. Hope is something that keeps you alive from inside. That feeling called as hope had long vanished inside of my mother.
My whole life I have seen, been through a lot of bad things. Things you cannot even imagine. And I survived through all of them. That keeps me going, gives me that hope that this is like one of those phases which will pass someday. But I keep going back to this place called angel hope town. For the past seven years, every day I have stood outside the entrance of angel hope and then as soon as I took a step towards the town it vanished in thin air and I was back to this same old room.   
Today something different happened. After seven years finally I was able to step on the holy ground of angel hope town. A part of me always knew that there was a connection between the two worlds. That the only way to wake myself from the coma is to find answers in this other world. As soon as I returned from this other world I could feel something. After five years I could feel the emotions of my mother. As if something inside of her had also awakened. She was smiling. For the first time since I entered the coma I saw a smile on her face. It was indicating something, as if trying to tell me something. I have to keep going further. The answers to all the questions lies in this place called angel hope.   
                                             A story is never incomplete. There is always an ending to it. God knew my story was not yet complete.

Chapter 5
In those days theoretically coma was considered as an alternate world. A world built for the living of those souls whose purpose was not complete. There was one universal rule applied during those days which was,
“There is a god and he doesn’t consider unfinished souls”
It was small and simple and explained just one thing, incomplete souls were not accepted. There was numerous souls wandering and occupying the space of earth. Over the years the numbers of these souls has increased tremendously. If a soul is not complete it cannot be divided into the number of souls. If an incomplete soul is divided, the end result would be a number of incomplete souls occupying the space of earth and in time leading to a number of other incomplete souls.
Who was I?
I was one of those incomplete souls.
Where does my life begin?
In the real world I was an average human. People of my town said that I had a heart of gold. My father had a completely different idea. He thought,” so my son has a heart of gold. Good for him. Why not beat him down into a number of pieces and then sell him.”
And I thought why my soul was incomplete. So day in and day out he used to get drunk to the point that he forgot that his son is only twelve years old. That son of a bitch used to beat me till the time his hands started hurting and I was unconscious. There’s no fun in beating an unconscious person. There’s no screaming or yelling and so all the fun is just drained out. The similarity between my real world character and the alternate world ends here. I did enough good in my life to the point where god thought that he is ruining all the fun and so let’s put him to sleep. My alternate world character is a grown up whereas I’m only eighteen years old. It took me at least ten years of asskicking to finally go down. But I didn’t just give up. Six years have gone by and I’m still hanging there. Not to take revenge from dad but to fulfill my dream. To travel around the world carrying only a rucksack. I guess in the alternate world I’m actually living my dream. But there’s a difference between dreaming and actually living a dream. When I will fulfill my dream I won’t forget it the minute I woke up. It would remain embedded in my memory forever.
I have waited for six years. And finally I can see a ray of hope when I stepped on the foot of the angel hope town. I won’t give up now. Let’s see how far my legs can take me. But it would be a journey to remember. It’s time to go back to sleep in my conscious world. I have a whole town of people waiting for me.
Standing near the bonfire my voice boomed in the night air,” who would like to hear a story from the storyteller?”
All the hands were in the air as soon my question completed.
And so I exclaimed,” My dear friends.”
Let the adventure begin.
Adventure continues.......