Purge!

You want to pour your words on a canvas with brushes and hues,
or drain them down somewhere like tears blending with raindrops,
or sweat them out slam dunking the basket for hours…

but you don’t let out words in the shape of words… you are afraid the instant you write, speak or spit them out – those words – they will no more belong to you!

They sublimate -
into memories and brush you like soft breeze occasionally
into pieces of shattered glass hurting many-a-somebody
in moments of nonchalant silences, forewarning of cyclone, fiction, adrenaline, chances and choices……

Speak... And you don’t possess the patent of your expressions any longer;

but you can’t hoard them…
because you yearn for the rendezvous with epiphanies

and if you do pile them up,
you craft melancholies!

Burn

Keep the fire within burning
to cast the molds of many rebels
Awaits an incessant uprising

Smolder your spirit
until untainted victory
Aye calloused hearts!
What shall arouse thou?
Dead fetuses?
A nation split in parts?

Slaughter the apathy
Let the wounds bleed

Do not burn the candles
it’s too late
burn like a flame
for smoke to infiltrate
closed doors and hearts….

Pellets of gunpowder

Bullets never know why they are fired
They are just spurted out
They know the accuracy and the speed
They know how to rip apart the tissues they seize

The zinc alloys just blend with the blood vessels
They are indeed loyal to their purpose

But the fingers that triggers those bullets
feel the surge of their arteries within!
May be, the face that belongs to the fingers is colourless.

But the bullets are shot nonetheless,
urging a nonchalant and irrational rebellion to believe
their cause is served…

But when scruples prick even death is appalling!
And so prolongs the game of real and feigned self- treachery….