To Report or Not To Report

Don't say it loud, keep it hush hush,

Let the moment pass quickly, under the carpet brush.

If the child utters abuse, pretend you didn't hear, 

Or else attend courts, for the rest of the year.

 

The law that was made, to keep safe the child,

To ensure they are protected, are not predated or profiled.

By mandating a mandatory reporting, disincentivizes the shrink,

They would rather look the other way, and invalidate in a blink.  

That a family member abused, is hard to admit, 

With your counselor playing blind, you are at the end of your wit.

No one wants to get involved, its better to turn deaf,

Max report to an NGO anonymously, be it Childline or UNICEF.

 

The child has opened up after fighting, loads of stigma and shame, 

If POCSO makes my life hell, and I ignore who's to blame.

Dead Poet Society

Poets are the Postal Service, that has long lost its raison d'etre, 

Some consider them as the harbingers, but they are on the wrong trajectory.

In the age of instant messaging and couriers, they simply limp along, 

They need to wake up from this slumber, they are on history's side that is wrong. 

Poets are the new Ponzi scheme, they write for and read each other, 

Each pushing the other in the community, to enlist another brother. 

Outside of the lit bubble, everyone looks down on the clowns,

They need to get rid of the grand delusions, and settle for the hand-me-downs. 

Poets are the Anna Hazare movement, that got hijacked and transformed, 

If you can't sell a poetry book, defect to a different genre, get reformed.  

Either remain true to your voice, or cop out to the market place,

Either way we lose a poet - either you are not read or lose your face. 

Why do I call myself a poet, when my poems don't sell,

I enjoy waking people from the dead, can't you now tell!

Poetry Therapy

Sometimes with my poems, my wounds I lick, 

Other times I nurture ulcers, pain gives me a kick. 

Sometimes I pour venom, that burns the page on which I write, 

Other times I become Neelkanth, making the world's wrongs right.  

They say poetry heals trauma - of world or myself - difficult to say, 

At the rate this balm is being applied, poetry is here with me to forever stay. 

Some use it as a vehicle, to regurgitate emotions and clarify thoughts,

To make some sense of madness, to forcefully fit and connect the dots. 

I write as a form of therapy, to soothe and heal the world, 

To create a caring universe, to weave magic with my word.

My therapy though is shock therapy, to shake you from your sleep,

My words should haunt and taunt you - pierce and puncture you deep.

 

Physician, heal thyself, is the retort you make,

I'll keep hurting with my poems- there's much at stake! 

 

Sailing Again?

You have been sailing for long, and the coast is now near,

You were headed somewhere else - you need to rest my dear.  

Would you still turn around, towards your true North Star,

And start again on a voyage, to the one calling from afar?

The island offers respite, maybe that's your destiny,

One can always twist the facts- go have a celebration mini.

But would you be able to sleep at night, peaceful and serene,

Knowing it wasn't your calling, someplace else you could've been?

Is it too late and risky, to start afresh?

Is abandoning the coast, a decision rash?

Isn't a bird in hand, better than two in the bush?

Can you set sail again, when shove comes to push? 

I've been lost at sea for years, I'm finally ready to anchor and dock,

But how can I make the wrong landing, won't my true destination mock?

The Dark Side

I like those narratives, simple and plain, 

Where on one hand there's hero, on another a villain.  

The hero I worship, can't have shades of gray, 

And I cant deal with the devil, come what may.

 

Who's hero, who's villain, its hard to say,

The hero's on my side, is what matters, If I may.    

The one on the other side, I'll paint in black,

How can the hero be bad, if he has my back?

We have a symbiotic relationship, he feeds on me,

Through him I get reflected- what I want to be.

A white light that dazzles, does nobody any good,

I am happy with the dark spots- they have test of time stood.  

My hero lets me down daily, for he's a mirror image of me, 

I'm stuck in this catch-22, maybe the villain will set me free.

 

This Diwali

This Diwali, light a candle,

Not because, it can darkness handle.

It burns fast, darkness will assert again,

When that happens, light another - simple and plain.

This Diwali, share some sweet,

To end bitterness, think on your feet.

Nothing can be sugary, all year through,

Be a source of sweetness, in the human zoo.

This Diwali, let the fireworks begin,

Not to dazzle neighbours, that would be a sin.

But to let others share, in your joy of living,

Gift the sparkle of laughter, in the spirit of giving.

This Diwali, invite a few friend,

Celebrations may get over, but memories never end.

Change Agent

How can you change opinions, when you take an adversarial stance?

Convincing someone of your truth, is not a battle, but a dance!

Two steps forward to mark progress, one step backwards to make peace, 

If you are obsessed with winning each round, you'll miss the forest for the trees.

 

How can you change opinions, when for you listening feels remote,

You demolish with cold logic, not caring about what they emote.

For you can always win an argument, but lose a loyal friend,  

How you reach a common ground for both, is what matters in the end. 

 

How can you change opinions, when you're cocksure of what you know,

If you can't unlearn and think again, your wisdom will never grow. 

Monkey see, monkey do, when you are open, they open up,  

You need to make space within, you can't pour in a filled cup. 

Why do you want to change opinions, and what do you want to change?

We can change the world- one person at a time, but not ourselves, I find funny and strange.