ANONYMITY

Even after two years of living together, she barely knew anything more about him than what she did when he first staggered into her life… She remembered the incident so clearly that it could have been just yesterday… Home after her shift at the hospital, she was heating the dinner cooked earlier that morning, when the shrill doorbell shattered the somnolent silence of the night. It had been a long and tiring day, and a friendly neighbourly visit was the last thing she wanted.

Safety chain firmly in place, she peered out to see an unfamiliar man leaning heavily against the doorjamb. “You are a nurse…” he said, rather than asked. His left hand was gripping his right arm, trying to stem the blood that oozed through his fingers, trickling slowly down the back of his hand and wrist, soaking the sleeve of his shirt already red with blood. He had noticeably lost an enormous amount of blood. Barely managing to enter the room, he collapsed.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for the next 24 hours. A total stranger, she knew nothing about him. Yet she instinctively realised that he didn’t want anyone to be called. No doctor, no neighbour, no friend. Relying on her years of experience and using all her skills, she extricated the bullet, cleaned and dressed his gaping wound...

The first night had been bad. Hot and feverish, she worried whether some infection had set in. But he looked visibly better next day. Well enough for her to go for duty, even though leaving the house with an unknown person inside did cause her a few qualms.

He stayed on for almost a week before he left one day while she was still at work. Reserved, almost to the point of being brusque, he said very little. Except for his name, she had learnt nothing more about him… his family, his home, his job.

He surfaced some weeks later as suddenly as he had disappeared. “Can I stay?” he asked. Black eyes gazed into hers, piercing her fragile resistance, plundering her thoughts, reading her mind. Her prudent head screamed at her to say no, but her defiant heart replied, “Yes…”

She had always considered herself sensible and level headed. Not someone who was foolishly attracted to a man she barely knew. And definitely not someone who even more foolishly surrendered herself completely, body and soul. But succumbing to the unthinkable, she had discovered gentleness that surprised her. Passion that set her aflame. Caresses that conveyed what he never uttered in words. Tenderness that spoke its own silent language.

She learnt to respect his secrecy. Accept the fact that he had another life that he was unwilling to share with her. Was he married? Did he have a wife? A child? What did he do? How did he earn his living? Her gentle probing came to naught. Deftly evading her questions, he divulged nothing about himself. “I care for you… nothing else is important…” was all he would reply.

He would disappear for weeks at a time, sometimes returning tired and withdrawn, sometimes elated and happy. But return he always did, picking up the threads of their relationship as if he had never been away. Till that last time, that fateful day… Tuesday, July 11 to be exact.

Seven bomb blasts in the space of eleven minutes had devastated Mumbai, creating death and mayhem. Hundreds were injured, some grievously, while more than 180 persons lost their lives… innocent men and women. Memories of the commotion and chaos at her hospital still woke her up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering. The agonising cries of pain and terror still haunted her waking hours.

She read about the unclaimed body in the newspaper. Despite herself, she had gone to that hospital, to its morgue. One part of the face was blown off completely, one side of the body mangled and destroyed. Her eyes confirmed what her heart had known. Overcome by intense pain, she turned away…

She mourned his death in the solitude of her loneliness. Nursed her anguish in the shadows of her darkened room. Prayed that his soul had finally found peace.

She didn’t even consider collecting his body. What did she have to substantiate her claim? Probably even the name she knew him by was not his real one. She didn’t want to unnecessarily open a Pandora’s box... provide a headline for the next day’s newspaper… start a new tamasha… He had lived his life in secrecy. She would let him die in anonymity…

DARK ANGEL

Hollowed spirit,
mirrored soul.
winged messenger of flight...
Doomsday's forgotten seed...
lest your existence be for naught,
as you bandage your wound of dreams ,
lostwith a torniquet of bludgeoned memories
for you see, the moon's embrace has been the only solace
of this woman who stands before you.
her image no longer recognizable,
for she resides where only spirits dwell her soul,
transparent unable to mask the pain,
while shards of regret stain crimson,
across once periwinkle horizons.
For icicles have taken up residence within,
the shadows still summon meon too frequent an occasion ,
and I've not felt the need to bask in the rays of light
Until now...Come with me,
let us cast aside our apprehensions
and take that final step into
the land of the living.

END OF INNOCENCE

Secrets, secrets
Lies, lies
She sits in her room,
and cries and cries.
There's no more trustIn this girl's heart.
She finally found out
That life isn't perfect.
She lived in dreams,
As children often do.
But she crawled out
Into the world everyone knew.
Things that once were.
Happiness once known;
The truth of it all
To her was shown.
Her little heart
Will never trust again.
She'll never know
A real true friend.
No more trust,
For no more lies.
She'll sit in her room
And cry and cry.

SCREAMS OF FRUSTRATION

How I wish I could look back to understand
back to when lives were taken
back to when families were separated
back to when children were murdered
I wish I could have helped to save them
I wish I could have tried to understand this senseless taking of human life.
They are no different than you or I.
They did not deserve this pain, this torture.
I wish I could look back to understand, to set lives freeto learn their pain and frustration.
Trying to understand;
I can hear their screams
I can hear their pain
I can hear their fear
I can hear a mother's cry when children are shot down
Oh, that pain so great, so terrible
I can smell the odour,
the odour of burning human life
I can smell the sweat,
the sweat of hard labour
I can smell the fear,
such an atrocity
I see the footage today,
trying to learn what happened to them.
I watch the films today, trying to comprehend the pain they went through.
We all see the pictures, watch the torture, just trying to imagine this tragedy.
But the fact is we can't, unless our human life undergoes this.
These poor people, my heart cries out but there is nothing I can do.
Oh, please hear me.
I am so sorry this had to happen to you.
Your time is now, it is here, time to rest,
time to be reunited and live everlasting in that great kingdom called heaven.

GRADUATION IS THE TIME

Graduation is a time
When our thoughts turn naturally
To vandalism, sex, and crime,
Now that we at last are free.
Our teachers think we're well prepared
To make decisions on our own;
But now, perhaps, they're running scared
As they listen to this poem.
Don't worry, folks, we aren't crazy,
Though sometimes we look that way;
Just annoyed, bored, and lazy
As we make it through the day.
So just like birds out of a cage
Or slaves set free from toil and pain,
We aim to try to act our age
And be for now a bit insane.
For life too soon will close its doors,
And then as we grow old in years
We'll teach our own kids to be bores,
But hopefully they'll stuff their ears
And do as we dream, not as we do,
Facing life a tad askew.

BEFORE I WAS MYSELF, U MADE ME, ME

TO MA....WITH LOVE

Before I was myself you made me, me
With love and patience, discipline and tears,
Then bit by bit stepped back to set me free,
Allowing me to sail upon my sea,
Though well within the headlands of your fears.
Before I was myself you made me, me
With dreams enough of what I was to be
And hopes that would be sculpted by the years,
Then bit by bit stepped back to set me free,
Relinquishing your powers gradually
To let me shape myself among my peers.
Before I was myself you made me, me,

MY VERY FIRST POEM

it was just today morning i found this "ancient book" where i had written my poems....
this was my very first poem...i know its really silly...but i feel nostalgic!!!....
guess i will delete this after sometime.......i have to.......my pride is at stake!!!!

Calculator, Calculator


Calculator, calculator,
help me with my math.
Help me do my homework
or I'll feel the teacher's wrath.
Calculator, calculator,
add these numbers quick.
Truly you're a wizard
with this tough arithmetic.
Calculator, calculator,
multiply, divide.
Decimals, percentages;
you solve them all with pride.
Calculator, calculator,
don't be such a jerk.
Thank you for the answers
but you have to show your work.

i wrote this when i was in class 6th...i was really amused by the calculator.