nasty life


The reasons were far-a-gone

As I held on to the little ones of destination and practice

I knew may be it wasn’t made for those lights to shine under the dark covers

I had made the provisions of decisions, of being in love

The lights were dimming under the thin cover of clouds

No matter how fast I ran the decision on the destination was going away

It was my heart which was struggling, the lone defense of love without my mind

Had I held the love for too long or was it still struggling with PANTING

Would you like to help out the reason, the mind asked fighting the lonesome battle

The strings of being with you are broken

Would it help for being alone on this journey?



It belonged to life

Life under those small roofs

Under the shadow of walkers, stoppers, and smokers

It resisted the shadows, dimming the lights of hope

Every time a shadow passed by, it quelled and cursed softly

It hurted those shadows with small hands and weapons of play

It didn’t knew that shadows were the hope which refracted the lights

nasty life

The Night Wanderers

The wonders of the world are made by men- who knew and felt love through hunger and pain.

The electricity was sparse it told about people and the livelihood for them; using either the flammable resources or generators. Though latter was only for people who felt the need of luxury at the minimal. As I sat there looking towards the long unfinished marvel of mankind.

I heard the song and saw the dark shadows of people along with the silent boats moving under the slow breeze. I think it was the songs which attracted the fishes but maybe it was life for this people- The cry for hunger. The grave poverty around this region where people saw death and life tied through one string of hunger. The moonlight was braving against the darkness providing the perfect symphony for the darkness to perform a duel. As the night passed the number boats floating in the shallow water of lake had increased, they were seen using small torches to keep away from crashing into one another. I had now moved down from the little shanty built beside the lake. The lake was dug by humans to feed the need of more than 10 villages nearby and 3 miles down the road you could still see a India and Bangladesh border.

As I got closer to the water it was an engulfing silence which haunted me. More than 20 boats in the lake and still it was as silent as the night not an insect sang. The silence was so defying that I could hear the far house where the cooker whistled. Suddenly a boat came ashore in front of me and two men got out along with small boy holding a neatly folded net. The small boy carried on without stopping for the men while they men tied their boat to a rock.

They hadn’t seen me till now but as they saw me, they lighted a small candle and kept in front of me.

It’s an old saying that men don’t understand words they understand the glass they hold.

They smiled through the candle light and offered me a glass, a stainless steel glass of drink. They laughed looking at me as I smelled it initially, “Don’t worry it’s just a wine.”

I asked them “Aren’t they afraid carrying such a small boat without safety equipments in such a huge lake. “

One of them who had finished his drink said “We have been doing this for all our lives. We live on this lake, the daily fishing we do is our daily food. Rest of which remains we sell in the market and earn. This is our cycle of life and we enjoy this part. We only live hand to mouth. The little guy who took the net had some fishes the mother will cook now and then they would eat.”

As I got lost in my thoughts of living under night sky, both of the men started talking about going back.  After which they washed the glasses with lake water and started untying the boat. They waved at me and went forwards towards their livelihood.


nasty life

The Little of Roads

The rain was lashing out towards the crawling morning crowd

Small humans held and despised by nature

As the car maneuvered through the heavy traffic of morning

I felt a soft desperate knock of help on my side window

The knock was more of a pleading for bit of help

As the direction of knock carried me out

Once I could fear her as only the red sari showed the eyes looking for the morning tea on roads

With her shivering hands she knocked again, curling her finger and spreading her palms

The rain was still lashing on her sari covered body

I searched of the switch to lower my window; the sight outside was too helpless

The cold droplets of rain still leaped on through the edges of window

I hadn’t decided what to give or what I was supposed to do

As I fumbled through my pocket the car behind me honked

Unpleasantly I didn’t have any cash

I had a jacket on the side seat, maybe it would be more than enough

As I gave it to her the relief in the eyes to protect her body could be seen in those eyes

Yes, maybe I did it.

I had just moved ahead but my side mirror told me maybe I saved a soul in this weather.



As I went through the last bit healing

I could feel the pain piercing through the narrow gaps cuts

It etched and felt the dying pain

The pain and seething for the things I could have done or places I could I lived

As I kept imagining the wounds on my body

I kept looking at the wounds which were healing

Maybe a human soul doesn’t need healing

It needs answer the question arising through combination expectations going through the life

A mind for most humans is like a panoramic view under the holocaust for the heart

Maybe the war of survival would go on in those minds of humans

Living with a smile and anger of a day