Crime Scene Investigation

Skipping meals in the mess, sleeping all day long,

Withdrawing in the hostel room, socializing seems so wrong.  

I can't concentrate on my studies, my marks have taken a nosedive,

I'm drowning myself in alcohol, hoping to stay, afloat and alive. 

'Let me not be a burden' , ' It would be great if I could sleep and never wake', 

I start distributing dear things to friends, Wills and deeds I start to make. 

'I feel ashamed' , 'I feel guilty', ' I feel hopeless' , ' I feel trapped',

After many agonizing nights, I'm peaceful, as if all things I have neatly wrapped. 

 

One moment I am sad and crying, the next I am angry as hell,

All day I worry or dwell on past, and miss some classes as well.  

If you observed closely enough, you'll see me twitching with pain, 

But you think of me as an attention hog, so you don't look again.  

That the situation has become unbearable, I've dropped enough hints, 

If you still allow me to die by suicide, all over my body would be your fingerprints.

From Ideas To Inaction

Be it a failure, or a rejection, when pain becomes too much,

How to escape this dismal life, I start thinking as such.

The pain can be even physical, like a chronic or terminal disease,

It could be a feeling that I am a burden, have to other people's pain ease.   

Be it a defeat or feeling entrapped, when the last sliver of hope is gone, 

I better give up and stop fighting - are the thoughts I feed to this powerless pawn.

There may be light at the end of the tunnel, I am myopic, and without glasses, 

The sweetness of life has been drained from me, what is left is dark molasses.

I can endure excruciating pain, can live for eons without hope, 

It's when they join hands to limit life, that I start searching for a rope. 

By nature impulsive and risk taking,  desensitized by friends dying left and right, 

I'm moving from ideas to action quickly, please remove all means from sight.

Just in time I remember, I'm connected with you and a purpose that is high, 

That you'll miss me when I'm gone, is reason enough, not to die.

Thwarted

The sense of autonomy, that I'm an author of my life,

When taken away, cuts deep like a knife.

All I do is governed, by parents, or society's diktat,  

I feel hopeless and constrained, like a blind maze's rat. 

 

The sense of mastery,  that I can make happen stuff,

When not exercised daily, makes me feel like a bluff. 

When I can't move forward, make progress at will,

I feel helpless, give up easily, don't go for the kill. 

The sense of relatedness, that I belong to this earth,

When not reciprocated by others- can kill all mirth.

When I'm isolated and alienated, without anyone to care, 

I feel worthless like crap, and in the dark abyss stare.     

Hopeless, helpless, worthless, you can easily write me off, 

Just satisfy my Basic Psychological Needs, and see how quickly I takeoff.

The Gen Z

They've grown up in the digital world, are difficult to wean, from the net,

To be 'woke', 'socially responsible', 'gender neutral', are their topics pet.  

Comfortable with @mentions and #tags, they carry activism on their sleeves, 

Fighting on-ground injustices and lies, with their snapchats and tweets.

 

The generation that talks openly, about periods and sex,

Throws away the cloak of mystery, is open to the max. 

They talk about their mental health, how they've been anxious and depressed,

Eager to take help when needed, not suffering by remaining stressed. 

Insecure about how they'll make a living, yet not caring two hoots.

Who they are underneath is important, than wearing ties and suits. 

Purpose and passion comes first, when they hustle its not for money, but love, 

They expect their employers to be values driven, and care about environment, over and above. 

 

Generations have come and gone, on the Gen Z our hopes we pin, 

We might have given up in despair, whereas they have just begun. 

 

Letting Them Play

Let the children play freely, no adults involved,

Toddlers hunting and gathering, that's how we evolved. 

Pretend play is good, rough-and-tumble even better, 

Both develop life skills, mental former, physical latter. 

 

Let them make the rules, let them falter and rise, 

Let them indulge because they want to, not for appreciation or prize. 

They'll slowly develop a sense, they have control over one's life,  

Wont feel pressured by parents, or the promises of the afterlife. 

Let them take risks, be there, to put them back on their feet,

Lets prepare both the road and the child- in this case lets halfway meet. 

They'll slowly get a sense, they can successfully wade through life,

Feeling supported by others, take both ups and downs in their stride.

If you insist, I'll let him play, away from my prying eyes, 

That he'll be happy, adjusted and resilient- better not be lies. 

Bidding Adieu

Celebrations galore, that come to a screeching halt, 

For a moment I feel human, then back to being robot.  

I go through the motions, the rest of the year,

The spring returns to feet, when Bappa's B'day is near. 

Dancing with joy, as we bring Him to home,

Establishing Him in the idol, taking Him on loan,

For 10 days He's ours, enough to make us get  attached,

On 11th day we have to part - He's in water dispatched. 

The one who comes, has to necessarily go, 

Even if He's mighty Ganesha- it has to be so. 

Some Gods may be immortal, He's like you and me,

On His departure I cry like a child, and He drowns in the sea.

Some think its a religious festival, others treat it as a social event,

To me its a spiritual awakening- that we are tenants whose tenure does end.

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. 

 

In The Spotlight

This city has slowly and steadily, become an epidemiological hotspot, 

Whether its Covid, Nipah or Dengue, I'll leave for you to spot.

The population dividend of youth, on which people had set hope high, 

Has suddenly backfired here, and from this viral disease now many people die.   

 

While in China its on decline, in the US its on rise, 

In India its difficult to measure, but this city has won the prize. 

It used to fluctuate seasonally, peaking in May/June time,

Now the peak has shifted to August, without reason or rhyme.

All we know for certain, its more fatal in boys than girls,

Many oysters broken/ left behind, in the search for the golden pearls.  

Some areas within the hotspot, are hotter and in red more, 

No wonder they are located, near institutes of legends yore. 

The Kashi of education, this city claims to be,

If we don't eradicate soon enough, the city of death it will truly be.  

Mark My Words

This journey may look difficult, but don't lose hope a bit,

Always live by the dictum - "Rest if you must, but don't quit".

You never know, what twists and turns, life has in its store,

If one door closes for you perchance, God will open another door. 

 

You may think you are a burden, without you your parents better off, 

Always remember, losing you means, a permanent pain, and not one-off.

You may feel a bit lonely at times, that nobody gives a damn or cares,

At those times remember, there's a poet out there, who gets you and your pain shares.

 

You may think you are living a nightmare, but this too shall pass,

Life is too precious to be thrown away, become steel, not brass. 

To be polished is to endure pain, but the results will dazzle all,

That you are a phoenix and can rise again- is not an order tall. 

Bookmark my words and read often, life is full of strife,

A timely recall, there's someone out there, may help save your life.

Peepli Live

This one died by hanging, this one by taking pills,

This one died because his dad, couldn't pay the bills.

This one went to the 7th floor, of the coaching institute, 

This one died as the monsoon, left his family destitute. 

This one hacked the spring-led fans, used the window sill, 

This one took paracetamol, in doses that can kill. 

This one died because of marks, this one due to love affair, 

This one died because he was caught, cheating, how he dare. 

This one happened to be successful, and completed suicide,

This one was pushed to the brim, couldn't parents wish abide. 

These ones may be triggered easily, and become copycats, 

But we won't mention helplines, only numbers and stats.

 

Media guidelines strictly prohibit, mentioning method, location, or giving a single cause,

Constantly bombarded by this insensitive coverage, how can we hope, to put this menace to pause? 

PS: This poem is deliberately written in a satirical and insensitive mode and is not intended to be the right way of reporting or talking about suicide. In case you or someone you know is triggered by thoughts of suicide after reading this, please know that help is available. You can find a list of helpline numbers here http://www.aasra.info/helpline.html

Instant Recharge

Instant friendship, instant divorce,

Love at first sight, not taking sweet course.  

We are used to gratification, at a button's click,

To wait for love to ripen, seems a concept sick. 

 

Infatuation steals the show, over companionate love,

The promise of an enduring bond, you can up your arse shove. 

Its boring, its common place, it lacks the thrill, 

Long term is for losers, not for ones who go for the kill. 

Instant deliveries and instant likes, 

Leave an instant review, if service is good or yikes.

Between the stimulus and response, lies our freedom- they say, 

But to react in time's more tempting - it keeps FOMO at bay.  

They say poetry is nothing, but emotions recollected in tranquility, 

No matter how mundane my day goes by, I recharge instantly- add a poem to kitty.

Boys Dont Cry

Boys will be boys, they need to goof around,

Need to let out some energy, to keep their mind sound. 

Over eons of evolution, they've become hunters who roam, 

Eventually need to step out, from the confines of their home. 

Girls will be girls, they need to gossip and talk, 

To be toiling in solitude, is a thought at which they balk.  

By nature they are less impulsive, or risk taking than the boys,

Are content with make-believe, and to play with dolls as toys.

 

Both are imprisoned now, but the girls for help reach out,

The girls may become more depressed, but the boys just grit it out.

Girls may cry a lot for help, by taking a jibe at their life, 

Boys just hide their tears, move on, and take life in its stride.  

 

After all, isn't it a basic tenet, that boys don't cry, 

To maintain that tough image, they have to be ready to die.

Using ChatGPT

Generative AI is fascinating, I can play all day along,  

Whether it has surpassed humans - not by a stretch long. 

I can give it a single prompt, and generate countless variations on a theme,

At a click of a button I can create, a comprehensible and rapid stream.

 

Words pregnant with meaning, that automatically rhyme,  

A few good turns of phrases - not using them a crime!

If I put my ego aside, forget the issue of authorship, 

I'll let the LLM write my poems, and limit to editing, in a blip. 

But how can I live with the issue, of biases and prejudice,

Maybe I too harbor deep inside, but on the surface I am nice. 

When my poems get poisoned, with what spews on the net,

I'm sure you'll find another outlet, that's more congenial- I can bet.

 

There's a lot of cacophony all around, its not easy figuring signal from the noise, 

You ask do I use ChatGPT, do I look stupid enough to lose my voice?

PS: None of my poems, including this one, except 1 or 2 where I explicitly mentioned, have been AI or ChatGPT assisted or created. 

To Be or Not to Be

To be or not to be, a doctor is the question,  

I need to follow my parents footsteps, is my solemn confession.

No one mentions the grueling residencies, its a noble profession, I'm told,

If I crack NEET in one of the n attempts, I would have hit pure and instant gold.

To be or not to be, an engineer is the question,

I'm good at maths, that seals the deal, where is the confusion? 

That I could have a love for science, prefer IISER over IITs,

Is something no one will ever understand, so let me focus on JEE please. 

To be or not to be, a non conformist is the question,  

If I wish to flourish and bloom, towards me I need to show compassion. 

Visit a career coach early, better yet focus only on what I love,

Success wont come easy here too, but I'll find happiness, over and above.

Even after getting your dream stream, life is not easy going to be,

At each step, life may still ask the question- to be or not to be.

Split And Cracked

A tough manager, by daytime, a sensitive poet by night, 

You may say my personality is split, but to me it seems alright. 

The dreams that haunt my nights, are executed and worked in day,

That I fulfill both roles well and fair, is something I daily pray.

 

There was a time, I used to run fast, now I prefer to dancing slow,

It may seem like I've given up, but I'm still not aiming low!

Success, money, fame and status, are things of past, now all beneath me, 

Being content and doing right, is all that matters, in the end, you see. 

 

Delivering impact, in daytime, applying balm, at night, 

I'm miles away from being burnt out - and yet I'm burning bright.

Whatever little, gets drained in a day, I regain, as dusk sets in,

Reinvigorated and recharged, re-humanized from within. 

 

My poems are not an outlet, to let out some steam,  

Through the cracks the moonlight enters, so that during the day I beam.

 

The Art of Saving Lives

Taking your own life, is not a sign of bravery, nor it is of cowardice,  

Its an act of desperation, a plea for help - that the world be a bit, gentle and nice.

We shouldn't glamorize, the fatal act, or shun the one, who the attempt did survive, 

We just need to be there, for them at that time, and gently need, to hope revive. 

In some rare cases, they make a snap decision, in most others, its rather well planned, 

A difference between life and death, a helpline that is, readily available and manned.  

Calling the helpline, is a last resort, its a desperate measure, a cry full of pain,

A timely response, a feeling of being heard, the tragedy averted, now interventions remain.

 

Its a myth to think, one who has made his mind, is beyond redemption, or is immune to cure,

All they seek in the moment, is a way out of their troubles, and someone who understands, and will reassure.

Willing to share their pain, empowering them to solve, their problems of life, and how to cope well, 

A good counselor, knows which parts to heal, and which parts to let buried, and on later dwell. 

There's a science to it, there's a method to it, but saving lives, at the end is an art, 

All it takes, is an empathetic ear, and a non judgmental, and caring heart.

Ab Tak 24...

What happens when you become, just an incremental number,

A stat that one dreads, and wants to hide, or keep in wraps and push under. 

When you are good with data, all you care, how it compares with the norms of this age,

Reducing the deaths takes a backseat, whats important is to ensure proper press coverage.

 

15 are due to studies, - just 2 due to a failed love affair,

4 due to family tensions- so how's the city to blame, is it fair?   

When lakhs of students descend each year, in this city to fulfill their sacred dreams,

Some collateral damage in this race to win, if within normal limits, is OK it seems. 

And then I'm sure there are some orgs, in the Rest of the Bharat, 

Who find relief and are actually happy, that this hasn't happened, under their Chhat. 

A confluence of students, in this mecca of sorts, is seen by many as a problem in itself,

To me it seems, a place where with efforts, we can finally ensure, no student dies by self. 

They left their child, in the warm protection, of a coaching institute and hostel / PG,

If a custodial death, happens on a regular basis, lets put behind bars, an entire industry, if need be. 

To Free or Not to Free?

I don't know why I bet on losing horses, get embroiled in a losing cause, 

That no one turned up for a free workshop, is reason enough to take a pause.

Was the content not good, or marketing not enough, or the facilitator not up to the mark? 

Or the topic of caring for a fellow aspirant, not relevant in this competitive landscape stark? 

You design a solution, put your heart and soul, expecting a natural product-market fit,

When you have zero takers, or have to pay for UX inputs, to stay on course, needs a lot of grit. 

The solution is good, users love it, now the million dollar question- whether to give it free?

When its free, its perceived cheap, and without value, and all expect a catch, somewhere, you see. 

 

Perhaps you'll ask, for money down the line,  your strategy in the long run based on freemium,

And charge a bomb, by up selling and cross selling, to give us an experience that's not shallow but premium. 

Perhaps you'll just give our data away, or bombard with ads that corrupt our mind,

Or perhaps you'll ask for a favor in return, and put us in a moral bind. 

You say that my products I should adequately price, neither too high nor too low, 

I'll keep it free, no matter what the price, take each day in its stride- burning nice and slow,

Upcoming 25th Year Reunion

Not all were dear friends, some were just incidental batch-mates,

And then there was that lonesome crush - with whom I never went for dates. 

The hostel and the department, were much more close knit, 

While the dep was divided by marks and grades, by wings the hostel was split. 

 

One part of me is quite excited, old memories and old friends, 

Another part is quite anxious, how I stack against those, who earn in lakhs of tens.

While branches separated earlier, now it would be wealth and lifestyle,

While some like me will board a train, others will fly business, and book a seat aisle.   

One part of me can't bear to wait, to once more hear foul words,

Another part dreads when they'll find out- I still write poems- about caged birds. 

A poet struggling in college times, a poet struggling now, 

I'm still the same old, same old dud, though they may have changed and how!

I'm sure when we meet, most of the talk, will be who we are and what we have done,  

That I've lived life on my terms and am happy - is a claim I can make - that is second to none. 

Owning Full Stack - Part 2

Identify the vulnerable students, screen them, teach warning signs,

Once the gatekeepers identify at-risk, guide them- its no rocket science.

Lets break the stigma of asking for help - that shows one's maturity,     

As soon as someone reaches out, provide immediate care and safety.  

 

Crisis diffused, gently handover, to psychiatric care, or as it be, therapy,

Provide hotlines, helplines, walk-ins, mobile vans; go all out to avert, this needless tragedy.

Heaven forbid, if something happens, don't just hush hush- but take care of friends and family,

They are vulnerable then, so reach out and placate, do whatever is needed- there is no universal remedy.

 

Reduce access to means, the fans containing springs, have their role to play,

But building resilience and teaching life skills, have better returns, If I may say. 

Don't forget to create an environment, where children feel supported and genuinely cared, 

If we had all made a concerted effort, even Yamaraj would not have, to so frequently visit dared.

 

Owning full stack is never easy, too much responsibility, and only oneself to blame, 

But if everyone can be a part of this mission, then on its success all can rejoice- and thats my aim. 

Wishes Granted. Amen.

The Djinn of Positive affirmation, granted Scott 3 wish, 

The first wish was plain and simple, to be served money in a dish. 

As luck would have, he bought 2 stocks, and both rallied up and on, 

Writing for 15 times in a day, worked well, so he carried on.   

The second wish he made, was to crack an exam called GMAT, 

He wished to achieve 94th percentile, but in mocks at 77th he sat.

Despite this setback, he continued to persevere, on his affirmation routine, 

When marks came out, his percentile matched, what his dream goal had been.

Emboldened and drunk on success, with experimentation done, 

He revealed his deepest wish- to become a cartoonist- a syndicated one!

Rejections followed galore, and then some lucky breaks, 

The rest they say is history,  and he's now on a roll without brakes. 

If you were granted 3 wishes,  you'll probably choose money. success and fame,

From today I'll start writing 15 times, that I'll live up to my #ZeroStudentSuicide claim.

Owning Full Stack

We'll just sensitize students, or faculty and wardens at max,

Help them identify the signs,  and then we can relax. 

We've done our job and duty, its now upto them,

If they didn't understand or take action, we're not to blame.

 

We'll just ascertain the risk, use tech to identify,  

Roll out assessments and screen, but not reach out and pacify.

We'll issue an alert, whenever we encounter a problem case, 

What happens to the client thereafter, we'll leave to God and fate.

 

We'll just diffuse the situation, do crisis management and leave, 

We'll just cool down the client, regular therapy not up our sleeve.

We'll contact the parents, or ambulance, as per the callers need,  

If they don't reach out in the first place, how are we responsible- is what we plead.

 

Prevention, detection and intervention is OK, no one wants to own full stack,   

How will they pass the buck otherwise,  how will they avoid the legal trap.  

The Beauty and The Beast

Smile so vibrant, like a 1000 watt bulb,

I'm momentarily blinded, turn into the monster Hulk.

Green with envy, that she chose hymn over me,  

Yet instantly calmed, when I hear the lullaby.

Eyes so sparkling, diamonds lose their sheen,

Piercing through me, what she's seeing I'm keen, 

Will she look at the beast, I become when she's gone,

Or will she be the compassionate monk, and see my beauty alone.  

Face so vivacious, its like a kaleidoscope, 

With her mercurial expressions, I can hardly cope. 

She rubs me accidentally, releases the Djinn from the lamp, 

Her only wish to be left alone, my eyes become damp. 

After years of suppression, today I am again bursting with rage,

Seeing your photo on the web, soothed this beast back into the cage.

Using the S word

Don't ask a young person, if he is planning to die,  

He'll ether skip the question, or intentionally lie. 

You'll have implanted the seeds, is the oft repeated harp, 

Don't you dare use the S word, is the advice sharp.

At worst you'd cause inception, they'll make fun at best,  

Lets live in collective denial, lets instead plan a fest. 

When children come in hordes, and see how happy others are, 

Their S wish will vanish, and this will solve the problem far. 

Why ask them this question, have they tried it in past?

It may trigger old memories, and precipitate the outcome fast. 

Why ask them if they have someone, they can call at 3 in the night,

It will make them feel lonesome, the phrasing doesn't seem right. 

Its ironical how the decision makers, at the S word balk, 

If we have to curb the menace of Suicide, lets normalize its talk. 

The Last Straw

Staying alone, with a history of self harm,

Hiding my diagnostic labels -  why keep the rumor mills warm, 

I'm a young boy, for whose studies, my father took a loan,  

I'm average on all fronts, and my dreams are but vaporized and gone.  

 

Moved to a new city, from being a topper to one amongst many,    

The marks shake my confidence, the voice says - you are no good any.

Misunderstandings creep up, with the girl on whom I have a crush, 

I feel trapped and hopeless - desire to escape, decide in a rush. 

 

I'm close with my sister, at 3 am I can call her up,  

I believe in a higher power, my time's still not up. 

I find joy when I study physics, I find meaning in my ordeal,

Only a few months left for the test, living till then no big deal. 

Irrespective of the risk factors, triggers or protection that might have I,

If you hadn't been the last straw on which I could lean, that day I would have been forced to die. 

The Child Unearthed

The child is bright, the father is proud,

The mother is worried, but finally comes around, 

If he becomes a doctor, or gets into the prestigious IITs,

They can bask in glory, and tease the son of Sharmajis. 

The child relocates, an industry springs up, 

All want a piece of him, the pressure builds up, 

Get into the best coaching, best hostel, best batch,

If you come out a topper, your fees will be refunded- no catch.  

The child performs well, his hopes soar high,

When marks take a dip, the end seems nigh,

Self worth gets linked to, success on a test, 

If he doesn't crack the exam, he'll always be second best.

 

Everyone sees in the child - a source of status, money or self worth,

Who sees the child in the child - and lets his innocence unearth.