Categories
Scribbles

Grow up, Grow old

Does growing up really means to grow old?
no- its nothing like what the adults foretold.
they tell you how to hit the club, get drunk, be cool,
they never tell you how they are making you a fool.
aren’t they selfish? pretending to play sane,
teach you how to act mature, never address the cost, the pain.
their love might be merely the quenching of thirst,
they notice that heart later, the buns and boobs first.
the preference here isn’t standards I guarantee,
they’d rather prefer to be asked about, tea or coffee.
the promises they make or break, nevertheless the same thing,
fingers snap out and grudges beam through their couple’s ring.
hustle and chase for making a future that makes you rich,
makes friends unfamiliar, makes your loyalties twitch.
you were five, and in retrospect, how happy you were,
better off without the complexity and chaos that you stir.
now what feels good and what makes sense diverges,
you surrender as your fantasies and desire urges.
lost yourself in the diplomatic acts,
insolently you spit out the figures and facts.
you grow up, old enough to loose your hue,
turn to your seniors, but they’ve lost themselves too.
they- all successful, bitter liquor filled cups,
the facade of sanity that tells you to grow up.
the twisted likes of money, nasty claws of lust,
your love gets tainted, you seize to be true and start to rust.
you look back at the child that smiles,”growing up must be cool?”
gatta console yourself and pretend you are fine,
so to keep your facade, you flaunt your ache, and make him a fool

Categories
Scribbles

Acquiesced

Best friends, young and naive .
the angel that he is,
adored in my rhymes forever
never in my memories.
In retrospect,
we talked for hours
but whose heart was it?
that flipped first !
from friendship to love,
I bet his !
I only remember flipping pages
perhaps that of my life
love? romance?…….no!
I stepped back
a shattered heart shatters all
at sight of which, we contrived
blame not him
he tried and tried
we are just friends
only friends
to this very thought of mine
so young and naive
I gave up, acquiesced everytime

Categories
Scribbles

She Slave

The moon quenched her sleep, it was a long long night,
she sat sailing, on her past memories that stir.
Her manner- quite and calm, though her inside took flight,
the uncanny of what made her happy, was what made her.

The hibiscus tucked safe within the web of its bushes,
the grass, it flaunted the kiss of fresh dew,
the sky belonged to the birds and busy dragonflies,
the taste of her freedom gave her eyes a pretty green hue.


Her face, though scarred, never knew the mundane,
her life, though hard, never whined about the pain.
she swayed her hands and played, like she would with a bracelet,
clashing of metal chains, she pretended were the bells of her anklet.

she owes to the chains that she snapped out of being reminiscent,
dug deep, into her skin, they were cuffed so tight,
her anklet ? her bracelet ? no!
they were thick shackles, and it was still a long long night.

Beyond the huge walls, she knew, lived a world, that lived free,
a world she knew, before she was cuffed and sold to slavery.
she was still young when her mother fixed her price,
oh! the life beyond the walls, wouldn’t it be nice ?

Someone twisted the keys, swept open the bars,
and yet again, it was just a lie.
there were more, just like her, pulled out of a dungeon,
and kicked underneath the earth, to sweat and die.

She walked to join a line,
that led to slaves digging a mine.
the one who held the keys appeared once again,
he striked random skins, a cruel whip in his hand .
he blew a whistle and the crowd began to chant and sing
“work, work, work and you’ll get a grave,
shot to death, if you’ll try to escape “