A question, never to be taken lightly.

Death

They say, there is pain in death
pain is before it; death is filled with peace
They say, there is fear in death
but fear is what the demon of death seeks

Death is what, but an inevitable decree
for the flesh and bone we host
death is something to be embraced
death is to be given a wholesome toast

We curse it, we fear it
we wish for it to delay
we are idiots, we are fools
we must forge the words of our grave

Reflect on how to live

meditate on what to try
but question has never been of living
the question is, "How to die?''

The eternal pain of the opportunity, when lost.

Opportunity Lost

It is regrettable loss
when the opportunity's lost
it is not about luck or a toss
but, when opportunity's lost
it's worse than the bite of the frost.

When it is served to you
like hot cake in the tray
but you doubt yourself
you doubt everything you may say,
everything you may do,
like everything you may look
you doubt everything with you,
your head spins and then shooks
you think of all of the moves,
you've see in movies and books.
You find it hard to say,
it's not as easy as it looks.

You come to senses with prying thoughts,
then you think of what you have lost,
"was the risk worth not taking?"
but till then, opportunity's lost.

How I fantasize sex would be.

To The God, We Speak

The silence that sends
the screams that call

the souls to bend,
as, in contentment, we fall.
In the flow of unknown, indefinitely we reach

to the god, we speak of.

To the god, we speak.

Dilated eyes, never leaving each other.
In sync our breath fall
before we sink in each other.

gravity between us, out weights the other

our lips, as they meet,

for us everything is now murdered.

Numbing the brain, we devour each other further.

Our love has revised.

It expression, not verbal.

Indecisive, our bodies are recasting the pose.

Our lips are never parting, as we strip our way close.

Red like wine, red like red rose,

our bodies are heating,
even helieos is cold.

Corporeal limitations are not leaving any resolve

 We will never know that it happened, never know how we dissolved.

This is when our gratification goes at the peak,

to the god, we speak of.

To the god, we speak.

A desperate attempt to show my desperate attempts.

Cookie

I made a cookie;
somebody else ate it.

I got the recipe in class 12th
it was good in shape, it was good in health.

but i lacked the ingredients, and i lacked necessary wealth.

I had biscuits nearby
but i wanted that cookie
i was an ametuer cook
i was just a damn rookie.

It was all a blur, how my cooking started,

but i damn well remember that i did it whole hearted.

The cooking was fun
we chatted, we dated, we wandered in the sun.

we were having the time of our life

she praised my personality,

i praised her eyes
but time is crucial, this i didn't realise.

my fellows often told me
"the cookie is ready: eat it, you moron"

"I want it perfect, i want to heat it, be gone."

The cookie was ready,
i should have listened.

their wise words,
well, now i miss'em.

Now the cookie has been taken,

the cookie that i made.

but i like the cookie so much,
i don't even want to wade.

This is my story
and i just hate it..
the fact that i made a cookie
and somebody else ate it.

This is my best work, the emotional overflow was immense while i was writing this one.

Apocalypse

Is that the destination that I see

or just a hallucination of breeze

the tower tip above the clouds

and the path with blanket of fog

In this void, I am alone with my humble jog,

plus the noises so loud.

Sometimes turning me grief stricken

sometimes, with joy, making me sing

these can shake anything

but can they; proud?

The brain torture of blindness is killing

spilling the confidence

but my chest is still drilling

the fog that is brimming my path.

Every inch is testing my wrath.

what haven't tried to stop me?

everything hath.

but something is pushing my back

refilling my will power

when I lack

I can feel its warmth

its so pure

but what lies ahead is obscure.

Which thorn will pierce

what'll be its size

everything is surprise

and that's too fierce.

I am moving, still

but, is the surrounding still?

Something's wandering

a silhouette of human

with a devil's sting

and angel's wings.

What will it do?

Will it kill? Or spare?

I don't know 

I am scared

But that warm hand is still helping,

pushing me forward

and something is still throwing thrones

as i move forward.

Now I  am curious.

What it is, doesn't matter,

calm or furious

I want to know

So, I turn around and see that "thing"

that silhouette, the same,

unimaginable, i can't explain

Zero, i'll call it,

I have no control on it

It's one hand was throwing thrones,

and another one supporting my back,

behind those wings was that sting

and its moving lips were making those sounds.

I assume it was life

so i turned around

and i found,

the clear fogless vision of truth,

Apotheosis.

The truth was no more bound.

Apocalypse.

A frustration on studying composed on the riff of Linkin Park- When They Come.

Tryna' Catch Up

Study is not, a pattern to be followed.

It's not a pill that's easy one to swallow.

Makes you a freak, makes you roboto.

Makes you a creep, that's tough one to follow.

Study is not, a fortunate game.

It's a thing that takes away all of the fame.

You must have concentration to pour like a rain,

or it will bind you like a dog on a chain.

When exams come,

it looks very ugly.

Gives you goose bumps and make you feel like dumbling.

Teachers say blah blah blah blah,

you act like a duffer,

but i say tryna catch up motherfucker.

Teachers say study changes situation,

Digi(my friend) say it increases the complication,

chicks say, it makes you only and the one.

But i say shut your motherfucking tongue.

Completing the notes is the thing that is worse,

blue print inside them must get the curse.

Studying all the day, yeah, that really sucks,

nothing else but these studies only fucks.

Emotional blackmail, achieve your parents dream,

nothing else but a blackout on your screen.

your own dreams are dried,

your own goals are fried,

what you gotta choose, you cannot decide,

results are near and you are petrified,

come on chump, get out of the side.

Everything is gone, and your life is on buffer,

speed up the net, catch up motherfucker.

A vyangya(funny, sarcastic poem), my teacher asked me to write for assembly in school days.

Multimedia

Multimedia ne kar diya kayal,

videos, songs, pics ne kar diya ghayal.

Par sabse bada prahaar to tab hua,

wireless internet se introduction jab hua.

Khushi ka koi thikana na raha tha,

papa ne jab naya phone dilane ko kaha tha.

Zindagi me aa gai thi khushion ki bahar,

jab mujhe chadha tha media ka bukhaar.

Mazak ki baat nahi dosto,

ye sirf meri zabani nahi hai,

ye to maine puri generation ki kahani kahi hai.

Yakeen na ho to pooch lo dosto se "kya haal hai",

"Bas yaar, net ni chal ra, bura haal hai".

Bhai saab, mobile computer ke bina to life asambhav ho chuki hai,

games aur gaano ke bina to har khushi kho chuki hai.

Vo din hota hai sabse lamba,

net pack khatam hota hai jis din yaar.

Sach me, bahaut bura hai ye media ka bukhaar.

TV hamara sabse pyara,

usse zayada kuch nahi pyaara.

Pade raho sara din le kar remote,

bijli ke bill me uda do saare note.

Par papa jab aate hain,

remote haath se le jaate hain(itna to sehen ho jaata hai)

par news jab lagate hain,

gaurantee le lo, sab bachhe kamre se bhaag jaate hain.

Aur jaate bhi to hain kaha,

mobile aur computer ka jaha raj hai,

Aaj kal yehi sabki geeta, aur yehi namaz hai.

haal hi me to ye sab aur bhi badha hai,

ye media ka bukhaar to sabko chadha hai.

Touch screen android lena to ab trend hai,

Sabke rate-shate aur features batane waale friend hain.

Papa ko keh ke 5000 waala,

phone dekhne jaate hain 8000 waala,

aur jab vo phone dila dala,

to life jhinga-lala.

Hame to lagta hai paise to aate hain free,

kya farak padta hai, chahe le lo Galaxy S 3.

Naya phone lete hi to lagta hai aise,

life me isse badi khushi mil nahi sakti jaise.

Aur vohi phone 15 din baad lagta hai kaise
jaake poocho uske baap se, jiske ude the paise.

Ye galti hai, jo mai baar baar karta hu,

insaan hokar, family se nai, media se pyaar karta hu.

See,

Mat maano ye,

mana kar lo baar baar

par hum sab jaante hain:

Hame chadha hai media ka bukhaaar.

Till date, my only romantic and sad piece of work. I was quite young back then.

Regrets

Regrets is all I have,

regrets give me the pain.

They flash my all mistakes,

they flash all of my vain.

I wish I could undo the past.

The past with mistakes so vast.

You still haunt me I my brain,

and no one can see that pain.

Regrets is all I have,

regrets give me the pain.

they flash my all mistakes,

they flash all of my vain.

I don't know, what you thinks about me.

But believe me,

it were the situations,

that made you doubt me.

I'll disappear in the snow,

like a pale ghost.

I'll fade in your memories,

like a forgotten thought.

I did things, things that were lame,

but it was for your attention,
attention that i wanted to my gain.

Regrets is all I have,

regrets give me the pain.

They flash my all mistakes,

they flash all of my vain.