Development v/s Nature
My new water color art work….
Development v/s Nature
My new water color art work….
Crushing his nails,
And chanting a betrayal.
Forgotten …. Be forgotten ahead.
It’s a deep dark night,
I fought myself to bring bright…
He roared like a demon,
Hurried to chant Suneman…
I feared of being crushed,
Rushed into bed to crunch…
My teeth into the teeth…
Alas! What I had done to me?
I questioned several times to me.
Exclimed inner proofing myself a second…
Shadow spread among the street,
Chants calm to the death…
I surrendered to my faith,
‘I have been crushed.’
Nights froze for me, door unopened for weeks.
I thought dozen of times, to under
To unbreak inside cheer.
I have been blocked in surplus,
Muted myself into nowhere.
Months to go I haven’t been out,
Life stuck being alive….
One windy night brought the same,
Loud chants…. Subbings… Nailing the same tree….
It was same wounded face I recalled,
Little week but same analog….
Dare punished me to walk near,
Hiding myself in courtier…
This time he set down,
And fell aside the tree…
I don’t remember the time,
But when I realised it was light..
Reddishness pushed dust into the sky,
And reach to me for unhid..
He may mentally changed..
I whispered into my ears..
And turned off to hear….
Stepping up to Home,
I heard a tone… Of unexplained grief..
U forgotten.. be forgotten ahead…
Today it’s me.
Some day you will be….
Since that moment, I felt I am an human,
I acted like that…..
Day and night I pursued all duties,
All morals, all tradition.
Which I loved, which I obeyed,
Some of those were hanged on back.
But today I feel bored, of being not that suits…
To current scenario of behaving,
And of punishing.
Here I lost those I taught in school,
Those I learner in college,
Now don’t work here,
It’s been paralyze…. Paralyze my goodwills.
I stuck between humanity and human…
Who was those people, who had written these impractical theories…
I found wrong..
Perhaps…. From the long time
I have been hidden inside the layers of these papers of idealism, which stand false.
I am bored of being gentleman,
Let me unlock my own,
The Human…..so called animal species.
Let me unlock this,
Let it come out and let it roar….
I admit the virtue of almighty,
Their rules never proves their charm here….
I am a resident of India…
The land of God’s..
People say and relates,
Everything said and written here,
Are words of God…
But they amit not follow,
Sayings turned only sayings…
And they proven to be wrong.
And now myths have brain.. to modify and to sweat under the rain..
Idealism have no meaning here, showcase opens where…
I bored been a gentleman…
Want to unlock the animal’s chain…
I answered and murdered by my own.
I cheated myself on the myths of,
From ancients to formers.
Being wild to deputed,
I travelled so far, that
When I look after forgottens,
I laugh and admire my success..
But, is that much true…. What I thought?
I proudly said yes!I am.
A small finger point at me,
Trough the bottom of my heart and,
I dismissed it’s hearing.
That is what I am doing from a long time.
I know that, somewhere somewhat I am cheating on me….
I modified the definition of being developed,
I replaced the word as I convenient.
To hide the truths behind the myths.
I pretended several times with a smile on my face…
Admitting that what I am doing is the only trend.
I refused to mess with presence,
I stop even to understand the differences,
Between being developed and undeveloped,
I changed the meanings of both words.
Development measures the physical state of our life style not that was related to intellectual.
Undeveloped means only being not earning much to satisfy desired life style.
Is it not so?
I admitted yes!
Money is first and last thing to do with all others.
Perhaps! I am right but my heart rebel brain.
It still points a finger….
That I lacking the development of
State of my mind,
I still behind to except the changes,
Related to socialism, religion and morality.
And it’s true… when I talks about these I fell stuck….
And my heart runs away from my brain… Being developed to less developed…
Long ago in history,
Paper read to cover mistry.
To recollect the intellectuals of minds,
Which worked towards the innovation.
Of scientific approaches,
Of bitterness which they faced and
They declared them paths,
Of loneliness to completeness,
To illiterate to educated.
That was a glory of ink,
Which severed the innovations and mankind….
Aah! Today ink abuses,
In the era of vast knowledge,
From deeper to Galaxy.
The ink abuses…. To the mankind
To humanity, to morals to ethics.
All lost into the drains,
Of educated illiterates.
It lost its ways of eagerness,
It terms a circumference of no ways.
Moulding the same ways of positiveness,
Into the wrong ways which they dropped, after experience.
The ink abuses….. Where we are walking,
To whom we are talking,
Blaming other of own failure,
Dragging other for success.
Is that what our old ink taught us??
Is that what our history led us??
Now ink abuses….
Writers write to be popular,
Anything wright or wrong, people blindly troll them..
For business or fooling themselves…
…… Now ink abuses…..
Hiding facts and spreed myths,
It became the reality beneath..
And it’s obvious to she because
Every one wants to enjoy,
Others guild, other myths..
Bitter taste unhealthy for heart,
And wrong medicines lead you apart…
Facts are known but we still unknown.
Because ink abuses….
Having your arms in mine,
Today! Don’t safe guard me.
From my own…. It’s kinda
Difficult to explain, but
It’s true… Something has changed.
And I am on mission to understand.
It’s not that I don’t have love for you, but
It’s complicated to pretend, that
I missed you.
Your face is in front of me,
Your body waving in air,
I can smell you too. But
Still thing is same.
Baby I miss you…
Do I ask one question?
Did I made some mistake?
In the past, in present or just continuing the same,
Baby I love you…
Fool… I know you may say.
But just want to hear that…
Baby you love me..
In the indian era of traditions,
Pipal’s tree has its own importance.
But I see it as Old Monk,
With vast experience and exposure.
A tower with proud, faced
Number of difficult exposure.
But remained stick to its roots,
To grow old and show it’s glory.
I accept it’s fellowship, to enlighten
My heart when stuck in past.
But I am a plant of future,
Born in chest of Pipal,
Grabbed tight it’s branches,
To experience it’s conquest.
But in the end I grow flowers,
Of my own type,
Of my own virtue,
Of my own ways of glory,
And Pipal has to be quiet,
Because I lead the way to future,
And I carry it’s recognition,
To next generation.