The Walk Group

We walk daily, not all in slick shape; yet more committed, would be difficult to find - 

- We never miss out on the Saturday breakfast - we show no mercy, to the Bakras we're not kind.

 Walking at a leisurely pace, but discussions hot- ranging from politics, to the daily grind,  

Despite our expert insights and world class solutions, the world hasn't changed- never mind. 

To join our group, you need to know current affairs, or at least be willing to listen about present landscape,

The fees for joining - sponsoring a breakfast- from this there's no respite, you just cant escape.

You must have expertise, in laughing at jokes, that may verge towards being slightly off-veg,

You must post on the WA group item numbers, and be willing and ready to pull each others leg.  

The camaraderie is great, the bonding good, the walk is just a nice pretext, 

We help each other through thick and thin- are ready to put the friendships to test.

What common things we have, what brings us close, I sometimes wonder and secretly muse, 

A common thread running - we are not here for a reason - not looking for, each other to use.    

Chance has thrown us together, choice wants us to make it great,  

A simple bond of walking and talking, and making best of our common fate.

Kindling Hope

I've let down my parents, I've let down my friends,

I've let down this city - and so my story ends.

It's weighing on my mind, that I'm pulling them down,

From being an apple of the eyes, to just one in the town. 

I'm boxed in my hostel, I've been boxed in my pursuit,

To have fun in this city, instead of studies doesn't suit. 

I'm cut off from my family, no friends to boot,

The pain of alienation, both chronic and acute. 

Yet over the years I have, become numbed to the pain, 

My ability to self harm has grown, from a drizzle to a rain. 

Repetitive thoughts daily, are now things of the past,

I'm dying for some action, you better save me fast. 

Between the thought and the action, there lies a vast space, 

Show me the light at the end, and the darkest tunnels I'll wade.

Preface

Challenged by BookLeaf Publishing, to write for 21 days straight, 

I wrote on what was bothering me most - students and their fate. 

That some were saying silent goodbyes, without leaving a note,  

I had to give them a voice it seemed - so I passionately wrote.

 

I wrote about the dark underbelly,  seeking light where there was none, 

Most people shunned the heavier poems- and preferred instead the trivial one.  

At one time even I started thinking, that I'm obsessed with suicide, 

Then someone challenged, me to raise hope, so a different track I tried. 

That words I write can change the mood, spur people to act now,

Was transformative as I started to weave- poems of hope - and how!

The poem I pinned my hopes on, didn't really take off, didn't fly,  

I might have failed, but to stop now- there are Zero Reasons Why.

When I started to write, my mission was clear, to showcase my brilliance, my inimitable style, 

Now all I care is that at least a life is saved, so I can pause my outpourings, rest for a while.

Acknowledgements

Its customary to acknowledge, who helped along the way, 

Let me briefly list the names, of a few people if I may.

Kalpana my wife, who has been a solid support system,

Devansh my son, who beyond years exhibits wisdom.  

My Walk Group for its company, and listening to some poems too, 

To the one who calls me Shakespeare, our society secretary Siddhu. 

To Shukla ji and Piyush, who appreciate and sometimes recite,

To Yatindra who's based in the US, and provides feedback in the night. 

To Srishti, Padmini, Shreya, more than colleagues at work,  

To Asiya, Waheeda and others, who appreciate my quirk,

To Smriti who has recently connected, to Raj who I have known for long,

To the countless readers who read and like, not acknowledging them so wrong. 

The last one to deeply acknowledge, is surprisingly me, 

If I hadn't chosen this path, one less a poet there would be.

Flotsam and Jetsam

A compilation of debris, floating on the surface light,
The dark side pushed under, some day we'll have to make it right.
The mood is quiet and sombre, the topic self inflicted death,
I'm drowning in the sea of words, gasping for my breath.
 
A sea full of possibilities, some images, some truth,
Some words intended to pierce, others to heal and soothe.
Deliberately thrown from my unconscious, brimming to the top,
The theme will no longer be macabre, if the suicides stop.

I'm broken, shipwrecked, the Titanic has sunk,
They say if you are so sensitive, better be a monk.
The world of today is full, of suffering and despair,
I'm searching for my parts madly, so that I can fix and repair.  

14 lines are enough, to pour your heart out,
21 poems not enough, to lead to suicide's rout.

To The One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

'Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them as an artist',

Build to a predictable crescendo, and in the end add a twist.

The form is fixed at 14 lines, you can call it a sonnet, if you like,

Having mastered the art of suffering, you can now do stand ups and open mike.

 

Creativity entails respecting the bounds, and then stretching a little beyond,  

To see a thing from different Point Of Views - each time a new use is spawned. 

A simple pencil, in the Alternate Uses Test, can take many forms- become a magic wand, 

When you pen a few lines, daily with its help, with the reader you create an unbreakable bond. 

 

For 21 days, you vowed to write, as that much time, a habit takes,

Some were genuine masterpieces, others superficial and only fakes.

Today it reaches an anti climax, a poem that's about the journey itself, 

No standard topic to write about- no suicides, ChatGPT- nothing off the shelf. 

 

21 poems in 17 days, I've raced ahead of the proverbial curve, 

To have not mentioned you in these poems of love, I sure as hell have a lot of nerve.

Birthday Celebrations

Ganesha is a dear friend, so I wish Him on his B'day, rest of the year I have amnesia,

When I talk to Him, I'm praying, when He talks back, you think, I have schizophrenia.

Just like old friends, seldom need to talk, yet when they connect, all hell breaks loose, 

All year long, we may be busy in our lives, but Ganeshotsav is where, I let my hair loose.

More than a week full of revelry, bonding with dear friends, 

Sports day and cultural nights, I get emotional when it ends. 

Daily snacks and prasadam, not good for my diabetic health,

I won't trade this for anything, neither prosperity nor wealth. 

Fashion shows in Ganpati, Home minister and Tambola too, 

Bhajan Sandhya next to Bollywood night- most cheer, some boo!

With time tradition needs to keep pace, I can only talk, in a language I know, 

As long as He replies, to me now and then, my love for Him, will continue to grow. 

 

To top it all, the last day procession, is peaceful even, where there's Hinduphobia, 

Lets chant together, that He returns early next year- our beloved Ganpati, Bappa Moraya.