Another Scar to Fulfill My Destiny

I have scars on my hands.

Scars which the world may deem ugly.

 

But to me they mean power.

They define me.

 

“How did you gain these scars?” you ask.

“It’s a long story for a very long day.

Not one for today.” I reply.

His curiosity doesn’t seem to be satisfied.

So, I add, “These scars mean only positive things for me.”

 

He seems to have accepted my response.

At least, he shows that he has.

Except his eyes speak a different language.

Is it curiosity I see in them? Or is it anxiety?

 

However, we are here,

At this ridiculous coffee shop for an interview.

Honestly, it’s all a business to me.

I reassure him, “my rough hands mean only good things.

Things you wouldn’t have never explored before.

Territories that have been unchartered till date.”

 

He says nothing; only looks.

Curiously, anxiously, nervously, eagerly.

I can’t make out.

 

I need to work on reading him better.

That’s going to be a necessity

If I work for him.

 

He has a basic list of questions.

The usual.

However, his eyes seem hungry for more.

More detailed information.

 

I tell them, ‘Not so soon, there’s still time for all that’.

Once our contract is signed,

Hunger will be thoroughly forgotten.

I beam with pride as I think that.

 

He does his part swiftly.

Signs the contract and pays the bill for our coffee.

He don’t seem very happy

Besides I don’t care for his happiness.

 

I am finally living my dream.

I have fulfilled my lifelong passion today.

A passion that has given me another new scar today.

A scar that will let me live out my destiny.

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A Murder She Saw

She saw her body lying in a pool of her own blood.

A pin drop silence had fallen in the room.

There was no surprise felt except her own.

There was no remorse either.

 

Her blood was duly cleaned

And the police were promptly summoned.

Their arrival brought an ocean of crocodile tears

And there were wails that were expected before.

 

Through thunderous sobs a lie was concocted.

The real culprits played the age old blame game.

A poor maid was thrown in as a prime suspect.

They said greed was her lure.

 

Yes, they were right.

Greed, truly, came very easily.

But the hardworking child maid wasn’t induced by it.

The young one craved only love which she shared abundantly.

 

It was them.

Materialism had overcome their minds.

It was her own blood that had betrayed her.

They had hacked her in the most ruthless way.

 

It was astonishing.

The smoothness involved in the planning.

The ease in their demeanour

And the organic brutality of everything.

 

Looking over herself, a cold corpse now,

She only prayed for justice to prevail.

Her own blood had betrayed her.

Spilled it mercilessly

And condemned an innocent helpless child of malefeasance.

Water

I come from a big city.

Water here is a necessity.

We get it all the time simultaneously.

 

But recently,

It has become a luxury.

 

It’s been flowing,

But so incessantly.

 

Some days it flows like the bountiful Ganges.

But on others even a drop of it

Seems sporadic.

 

But when I was in the tribal areas; trekking,

My water problems seemed nothing.

 

I realized that for them

Even a drop of it was luxury.

 

Their children were dying

And the government was sleeping.

 

The drought my state is facing

Suddenly seemed very real to me.

 

In that spur of a moment,

I picked my phone and dialed home.

 

With my friends’ support

I organized a supply of mineral water for them.

 

But immediate help wasn’t the remedy

And how many villages was I going to help alone?

 

Some villages have suicides

Some have death due to starvation and dehydration.

 

But I couldn’t see all the pain and the suffering.

So, I came back to my city

And started a charity.

 

Someone needed to help these downtrodden

And I decided that day

That it would be me.

Enjoy the rains 

The sky has cleared finally. I don’t think it will rain anymore. 
I wear my sports shoes

And head out for a stroll.
The roads are wet.

I pass small puddles on my way.
Green is the colour of most natural things around me.

With a splash of yellow, red or pink as flowers.
I love this calm of a Sunday morning.

It tells me, I can rest for the day.
I hear the chirping of the birds.

It’s the perfect subtle music for a quiet morning.
Alas, little droplets of water,

Start soaking my face.
Despite the clear skies,

It’s raining today.
I let it drench me,

For I’m in no rush to go home.
I enjoy this rare moment alone.

For the first time, I enjoy the rain.

Farmer to the Rain 

Oh dear rain,Why do you play such games?
We celebrate your onset

And welcome you with open arms.
Yet, you offend us every year

In unique and different ways.
Our stomachs have been empty.

My family has not eaten in days.
My vast fields lie dry.

They await only your arrival.
This year, yet again, you are late.

They say it’s a drought year.
Many of us have given up hope.

Many have died instead of waiting for you.
I don’t blame them either

Aren’t we all under tremendous debt?
I hope we have not offended you in anyway.

We apologize deeply if we have.
Please change your mind

And give us a visit.
Give our stomachs the food they deserve

And save us from famine, again, this year.

Monday Blues

Today I feel very blue.

Oh yes! I do.

With so moans on my arrival

And sighs to welcome me to you.

I know, I am not a very fun comrade.

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But I just want a chance to prove am no different.

I come only once every week.

So please, don’t treat me with such impatience.

I understand your pain.

It’s not easy being the day that’s always sighed upon.

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Mind you my dear fellows,

Sigh all you want.

But unfortunately for us,

I won’t go anywhere any time now.

As I am the beginning to everything.

I build the new routine.