What was and What is

I have her in front of my eyes.
But still my eyes, in ambush, cries.
Because repeated trials of beholding her,
end in nothing else but unsuccessful tries.

What was and what is;
six years have made a dichotomy out of these.
Thought, I could hold her hand eternally then,
but the hold loosened because of an untimely breeze.

Cherished those moments when she was there.
I along with her were an inseparable pair.
The emotions were her, the expressions, mine.
Everywhere it was green, none of it bare.

I walk alone now with the horizon in sight.
A heart full of mixed emotions, I desperately fight.
To move ahead with time or hold it back;
as my search for her, still doesn't have the cover of the night.

I had wanted to paint my canvas with the colours of her dreams and care.
But still the canvas stands white with a shade very rare.
The brushes are still anew, as I tendered them since,
for my resolve to infuse life into it is still alive in my prayer.

I must and I will,
voids of her absence, fill.
Rest I will not before I enact the script,
of shared dreams and a shared will.

Being an Indian yet not being one

Is this the India I wanted to see,
when I was growing up with all the diversity in me?
To be pulled apart in different directions,
stabbing the soul or Indianness as I knew it to be.

I shouted to all my identities torn apart, "Let's save our soul!".
They replied back, "We are secondarily Indians, so why should we even play a role.".
The alien feeling of separatism was simmering in them,
like the hidden embers of burning coal.

My immortal Indianness has now been mortally injured,
by the splinters of caste, creed and religion, year after year it has endured.
The gangrene of difference has spread too far.
Is there a panacea that can have it cured?

Erased has been the history of ages we have shared.
When we had held hands and for each other cared.
When we showed the world how fulfilling it is to move in multitude
and in breaking us apart had nobody ever dared.

But now the world laughs at us with pity.
For the internecine show we have put up with amazing ingenuity.
With all the glory lost and years of history ignobled,
lost is the principal virtue of our Indianness - integrity.

The Redundant Tale...

It was a red dark world called the amniotic space,

which the two of them inhabited in an entangled way,

it was coexistence at its peaceful best,

and no one was a tad better than the other.

They still had darkness in their eyes,

their brains ignorant of what can happen,

unable to express themselves vocally,

it was the sense of touch they celebrated the most.

They were connected by the same cord of life,

the same food kept them alive and kicking,

they slept on the same soft bed everyday,

with the dream of emerging to see the light of the day ticking.

They both provided the same amount of joy to their creator,

and also the same amount of pain,

she tolerated their mischievous punches and kicks,

but never asked the question with why or who then.

Nine months of darkness was about to clear,

as the day of emergence arrived,

for one of them it was a dream come true,

and for the other a life ending sigh.

The one who lived basked in the glory of a won battle against destiny,

a battle to produce a boy child as against a girl child or an unbearable burden you may say,

the eternal tragedy you may call it, but what's the point,

you need a heart to let the tragedy sink in, but no feeling hearts are left you see.

Religion...

Religion is a dictator,
Extremism it practices,
Losing its practicality,
Inequality among communities it relishes.
Gory crusades it loves to fight,
Invoking hate in the form of a river of blood,
Ogling at peace with lewd infectious eyes,
Nemesis it has become even for the innocent heart.