Poetry, Quill


I often pour cranberry blend into a decanter and leave it for a couple of days to rot.

Until it turns rancid and all the sugar turns sour. To sip on it is an acquired taste, more like inhaling cigarette smoke.

And while I lay on my bed, with closed doors closed and lights off, with this secret recipe of mine, I wonder to myself-

Am I allowed to feel?

I do know you can trick people but not yourself and I do try- to be true to my conscience- and let this gloom envelope me. But I fail

I fail to feel

A deep heavy voice strikes the back of my head, “You can’t waste this opportunity. Not often does this mighty sadness descent upon you. Stop mourning and trying to feel and go and create. Mould this gloom into a poetry or something before it vanishes.”

A good businessman gives his clients what they desire the most and also makes sure that he pounces on every good opportunity. And poetry, and this word play.

Isn’t it but- Business.

And isn’t this what this generation of ours, this generation of half hearts and half smiles, truly desires? Talks of pain and narrations of sorrow that tells them you’re not alone.

So I throw my hand on the switch right above my bed. Pull out the chair, and the dusty diary from the right of the book shelf. And I take a quick glance on the screen of my phone- I click your tab to check if there’s any new message, I smile at nothing, have a good look of your face and re read our previous conversations- all this before my conscience catches me.

And by the time, conscience could react to this cold heart of mine, I already have used that glimpse of you as a source of rage, of fuel, just as this pen uses ink and have begun to write.

Poetry, Quill

Top Of The World

[Intro Speech]
Ambition is a scary thing, mate.
But let me tell you this, what’s real tough is not the journey…
Not at all. It’s what comes after that.
While you rush for your dreams, even the hate acts a fuel, pumping up your adrenaline. You get to convert every emotion, form pain to love, into a rush that makes you even more dedicated towards your goal.
But once you reach there… then what? You can’t rush no more… What to do with all the love and the hate? When you can’t ignore everything anymore? When you can’t just run to the top any longer, cause you’re already there. And then…

[Verse 1]
Then soon they’ll discuss you to the point of imprisonment
until you’re left with no choice but to reminiscent
of the times when you hadn’t yet lost your mind
tryna figuring out
who was up there against and who was standing on your side. And now
the expectations exponentially rise
so to cope up
I started bullying my mind
exploiting it in ways I shouldn’t do
but it helped me pull out rhymes I otherwise
wouldn’t be able to
jot down. It’s like,
snacking on valium every single night
giving rise to a pain that
acts like the price
that you pay to the critics in return for their smiles. But now
I just can’t let go of this dine
cause twenty-four seven I’d be hitting this vibe
lying bare on my bed
hallucinating the crimes
that I’d be committing
if I hadn’t got these rhymes.

[Background Speech]
Now speaking of crimes… it takes me back… back to you

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
Waiting for you…

[Verse 2]
And the Sixteenth of may
would have been our anniversary day
but we parted ways
September twenty seven was that day
and ever since I’m trying to reach you
got some words to say but
never had a chance so I put them in this verse to lay.

You were always full of whats and whys
complaining the grass looked greener on my side
but you had to get your perspective wide
to understand the pain I hide.
My life was almost a homicide
that time I was so traumatized
I needed your shoulder to cry
but you pulled your back on me that time.

And now I get it too,
It was fine if you really wanted to leave
but was there any need to prick the bubble
right in me ears and wake me up from my sleep
Cause we were still together holding hands
sitting across the sunset point, in my dreams.

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
Waiting for you…

[Verse 3]
Now I don’t get what am I supposed to be-
a soldier who never loses his composure?
who never blunts, neither lets out a grunt?
And I’m honestly sorry for blowing off once
Though it still was better than disappearing for months
And even knowing that I was mourning that time
for the losses I had
It still wasn’t a reason big enough for you to call me back.
Instead you gave it to your friend, who went on and on
confronting me for the man I was
But tell me one thing love, did she even have a clue
of what that sting was.
So take this is as a gentle knock, on the door of your brain
to never mock again, a pain that you haven’t endured

Though this is not what it is all about
cause I know I crossed my limits and
you know you went out of bounds
But now it just seems too heavy to be carried around
this ego thing is pulling both of us down
Let’s make things simpler just how they were
Let’s get back along, both of us together

Cause I know, even though we don’t see each other no more
Deep in your eyes, even when you smile, you wanna cry
What kind of being strong is this, when you can’t even laugh
I’ve let my guard down already, enough of it cherubie, come back.

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
Waiting for you…

Poetry, Quill

Cost You

Genre: Subtle Horrorcore

How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer
Cocked it, aimed it, shot me in the head
but smart enough not to leave any proof
for anyone to find it was you who got me dead.

I was lying there bare, and my brains fell out
picked it, pushed it back in and tried to crawl out
As I regained my conscience, it was crazy what I found
The scene was all clear and no blood was spilled around

Confused, I dazed tryna figure why my head would hurt
Only to realize the irony that curbed
That the bullet was just silence, and the pistol were your words.

Now as I walk along the streets, people confuse me with alive
Asking all their whys and how the grass looks greener on my side
Until I start to tear it all out, let out wild cries
Just run in my room turn the system onto max, in a hope to hide.

Sheets rolled all over, I sweat hurled in a corner
Where gloom looks at me like a coroner
I picture your face in it, and start throw fits
like a crazy addict, cutting but air with his wild violent hits.

But soon I grow weary and start to lose my breath
I feel your hand at my throat, choking me to death
The vision blurs down and it all gets dark
And glad I lay, with no more tries.
Seems a happy ending
But soon a stark streak of light enters my eyes
The sun is back up, got to get back on life.

As I plod to the shower, I wonder to myself
How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer.

Quill, Write Ups

And So I Conclude To You

There is a humongous possibility that you may criticize me, to the point of where we shall rather call it, crucify me for what I am about to utter. But I plead you to try and understand what I say before the rant is launched.

“I have seen all the works that are done under the sun. And, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. I communed with mine own heart, saying: “Lo, I am come to great estate”. And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in such wisdom is much grief, and he that increases knowledge, increases sorrow.”

With contemplation, we non arguably agree, wisdom is but the prime virtue. And in accordance with Ecbert, such wisdom brings much grief. This brings in the fact that this is rather a loop of grief and wisdom. Where attaining wisdom gives rise to grief but wisdom itself, on the first hand, stems of grief. Creating the eternal loop with no bars on increase in knowledge or pain.

But what I bring to you is a different tale. Where grief is spoken as pain and wisdom, after all, is the sum of emotional and intelligence quotient of a man.

As to what it appears, pain is in a symbiotic relationship with both the intelligence and emotional quotient of a human being. A relation where more is the pain fed, more does the value of quotients rise. But, what makes this relation agathokakological is that pain feeds but only on the human spirit. And by eating the spirit gradually it strengthens the emotional and intelligence quotient of the very body the same spirit resides in. Hitherto creating a scenario where your spirit is consumed by the pain you carry which in turn increases your ability to reason as well as to understand your emotions more efficiently.

To link it to the more common examples in our world, we are well aware of the many stories of how the greatest of men who walked upon the surface of this planet, from inventors, to artists, to investors, to athletes had one thing in common in all their stories- ceaseless suffering. But unlike the eternal loop we talked of, this truth fits into our reality as well for there is a bar up to which a man can live.

This creates a limit upon both the wisdom and grief of a man. This limit is what we call spirit. The day we cease is the day when our spirit runs out, when pain runs out of food to consume. This day our ability to develop our quotients ceases. Our wisdom, our knowledge stands stagnant at a point, out of pain to consume to grow further. And hence, when the heart and mind get stagnant and the spirit runs out it is then that the body stops to function any longer.

And so I conclude to you, suffering is imperative for great intelligence and emotion as well.

Quill, Uncategorized

“Upar di gur gur di annexe di bedhiyaan di moong di daal of di…”

Aa kuch Mantoiyat ladaein…
Aa kuch Mantoiyat sajaein…

“Upri di gur gur di annexe di be-dhiyan o mung di daal of di lalteen.”

“Upri di gur gur di annexe di be-dhiyana di mung di daal of di Pakistan gornament.”

“Upri di gur gur di annexe di be-dhiyana di mung di daal of di Toba Tek Singh gornament. .”

“Upri di gur gur di annexe di be-dhiyana di mung di daal of di laaltein.”

“Upri di gur gur di annexe di be-dhiyana di mung di daal of wahay Guru ji da Khalsa wahay Guru ji di fatah. Jo bolay so nahal sat sri akal!”

“Upri di gur gur di annexe di be-dhiyana mang di daal of di Toba Tek Singh and Pakistan!”

“Upri di gur gur di annexe di bedhiyana di moong di daal of di Pakistan and Hindustan of di durr phitey muhn”

Toba Tek Singh!!! Toba Tek Singh!!! Toba Tek Singh… Hindustan mein Toba Tek Singh… Pakistan mein Toba Tek Singh… Hindustan mein Pakistan… Pakistan mein Hindustan… Hindustan mein Hindustan… Pakistan mein Pakistan… Toba Tek Singh… Hindustan ya Pakistan?

Toba Tek Singh

Poetry, Quill

तुम, चाँद और चंद राज़

सरकते हुए टूटी खिड़की के बाजू से 
तुझे लोरी गुनगुनाते हुए सुनने 
चाँदनी आ पहुँची

अंदर झुकी तो देखा 
तू आँखें मूँद गोद में लिए 
बचपन का सर सहला रही थी

गाल तेरे कुछ नम थे 
और खयालों में तेरे मिट्टी

राज़ सारे जान 
भाग पड़ा इस ओर यह चाँद 
पर बोल पड़े इससे पहले कुछ
सत-रंगी हो गया आसमान

ख़ैर झट्ट से तुमने भी छिपा लिया बचपन 
ओढ़ कर ज़रूरतों का दुपट्टा

नज़रें पलटकर देखा तो रोज़गार की रेल चल गयी
मिलेंगे आज रात फिर बोलकर चांदनी ढल गयी

Poetry, Quill

The Peasant’s Sophie

Ahoy!!! hope you are all doing well. Today, your humble servant, presents forth you the first part of probably his longest poetry and the very first ballad… So, here it is… enjoy the first 2006 characters… 😉 

Once on an isle, made of Glee,
A peasant fell in love with a maiden,
Called Sophie.
They were young kids back then, immature and guile,
Yet pretentious of wisdom Sophie cried,
“What purpose do I fill of yours? Obsessed with my slender waist and lissom neck, or something else that you adore?”

“Nothing much superficially to be obsessed, just the tenderness you carry within besides the way you dress”
said the peasant with a wry smile and suddenly “pardon” surprised Sophie replied.

“Oh! You’ve heard already, what I said,
It’s just the novice way to address”
Hiding her lovely smile, beneath the protest “Aren’t you afraid of my family’s power” she said.

“Fear is relative term I think, and seeing your beauty it ought to sink.”
“How unabashed peasant you are… Feel the agitation of the hour.
You’re talking to the daughter of grantor, seeing you behavior he may begin a war.”

“A war killing innumerable for a spark of love. If the grantor pleases so, I’m afraid soon it will be a land of crows.”

P.S. : The title MAY be temporary, wait for the complete update and continue reading my first ballad.

Quill, Write Ups

Extra Limits???

Ola!!! Sorry for the late post guys… But, extremely dissatisfied by the LIMITS, I write this.

So what are limits? Why are we ‘The Middle Class’ always the ones who are show the limits? Who creates them? Why do we accept them?

Everyone wants to excel in life. Every parent wants their kid to excel. Or more prominently wants their kid to be financially stable or shall I venture to use the word Rich. 

But if we ask ourselves, how much are we doing to actually excel? What are we doing to excel? Are (for the parents) you believing in your kid? Are you giving 4-5 hours daily to sit and practice?

Do you think above the LIMITS? The limits which present forth us the Rich and Successful as godly figures, but the moment we start to think as them order us not to. For we, we can’t dream as them, we can’t think as them… Oh really!!! Then how do we expect to live as them.

We have to give in extra for everything… Extra passion, extra motivation, extra effort to counter the quotas, extra knowledge and indeed extra believe in our goals, in our views and ourselves at large.  

So when do you plan to start giving your extra???



As the petrified juvenile rose upon his toes and, ventured to peep through the keyhole, he watched with tears rolling down his chubby cheeks and inscrutable face, the ‘MAN of the Family’ beat his mother again. Submitting to the cruelty he rushed to the shore and questioned his God, “Oh! God, if mother’s placed even above you why doesn’t she get the powers at least similar to you? Why doesn’t she get at least half the respect given to you?” and added suddenly, “And please reply soon this time, she easily differentiates between the sea water and tears hid beneath the sand upon my face.”




“What is a suicide?” questioned the lecturer.

“A murder executed psychologically.” echoed a grave voice in the class.