Stranger

I was going on a walk all alone in the dark, the way I like it… with hard rock on and eyes staring constantly at the finite in the dark. I heard a stranger’s breath close to mine…I heard a few dry leaves on the dry ground flutter and heard a Hi!

I ignored it obviously because I couldn’t hear it with my music on. So I lowered the volume of my MP3 player and pretended to be listening. The stranger asked me what was I doing walking alone in the dark without a purpose. I told him I had a purpose. He said he couldn’t see it from my eyes. I asked him how he could see my eyes in the dark. He remained silent.

I remained silent too. I am still silent.

My Religion

The stains on the walls of my 6 by 6 cubicle look like an art
Cleaning my knife with a white cloth is how my day starts
I do pray to my god in the morning like everyone else
But I have to pray a little more and cast few more spells

I do not remember if I chose this profession out of choice
But now I am ashamed seeing even my customers despise
I am sad that people do not give any respect to my profession
Despite the fact that I sin for their desires and obsessions

They think that I am cruel and have no heart
Alas! I just cannot end something to which I dutifully gave a start
Perhaps I have no mercy for those innocent souls
And I do not think much while at work earning money to fulfill my goals

My work is my religion and I worship it for my sake
It does not matter anymore that how many lives I take
It does not matter that I have to put my life at stake to rot in hell
I am a butcher and all I have got is the meat to sell

Archiving my third poem written on 5th Feb 2004

Admist the dark & pouring clouds, she stood laughing
The gory state of her house seemed to be mocking
There she was, where no one else was,
But their amputed legs, hands, skull, surely showed the cause.

She cried, fainted & cried but now she laughed
She was proud of her family because they had faught
The pain and agony was no more a sore
She enlivened her spirit right from the core.

Her eyes reflected a sadistic glee,
With a knife in her hand she let her shyness flee.
Taking a vow that all the killers will be torn,
Agast! yet another terrorist was born.

Venessa

When heaven had closed all doors,
Venessa, sick and tired of all daily chores,
Put down her feet firmly on the green ground,
Dropped her grass cutting sickle with a pound.

Today was the day she had to decide,
What had been keeping her busy all this while?
Was her entire life to be dedicated to grass cutting?
Was her worth to be counted only by a few sterlings?

She knew that she was bright and intelligent,
That she'll go places and one day will own all she'd ever want.
But why is that day to be kept so far?
Why does she have to wait even for a single minute in this mar?

So Venessa, without any plans but donning a smile of confidence,
Set her foot for the first time outside the green pastures and the silver fence.
With just a small rugsack containing all her belongings,
She finally saw the world with all its whining.

Was there any more happiness available elsewhere where people didn't cut grass for a living?
Did people smile and chirp like her despite her mundane job of grass cutting?
Even with five years of travel around the whole world, she could not find an answer to please.
So there she is, Venessa, back to grass cutting.