a battle wid words

Words parade themselves as language of humans,
Constructions of sounds sounding mind of everyone
Ask us to salute the power they possess
They say without them we’re just beasts.
I got angry on this beasty comment
Got fussed to see the smugness of those ink droplets

I warned the words you’re not so clever,
Not honest… not helpful always…
Don’t think yourselves as kings and queens of hearts
You’re our servants, helping to translate our thoughts

The heart can beat without any word
…And eyes mutely shed tears.
Same thing happens with enchanting smiles
The mouth shuts up and breaths tell stories…

Words smiled to this rage of mine
Told me that they’re gifts to humankind
They spoke out, “we’re little angels
Don’t fight us, for we’re to help,
Wanting your heart to get expressed as a page
We crave to wipe out your pains, and to shower fountains of happiness

Sometimes we’re wet, sometimes dry
Or like a cooling breeze, spreading fragrance in the sky
You people compress us under burden of your feelings
We always want to wipe your tears
You only wash us away, with flood of your emotions

We get lost in torrents of your thoughts
The sorrow makes us moan, and extreme joy to fly
We want you to help to get mysteries of heart solved
But oh dear, what can we do, if in the conflict we too are involved?
You don’t hesitate to use us as weapons
Leaving bodies intact and bleeding souls…
We feel it’s better to hide than stabbing hearts
You do the slaughter, how can we be the murderers?”

Then I got guilty for my comments,
Like those angelic sounds I too became wordless

d game of virtues

I killed my non- violence; cut throat of my innocence, of the tiny humane kid in me who loved animals, whose mind wasn’t aware of the darkness of death, and was taking every essential step to survive… I wanted to study brain, to do a project to understand something about our understanding. I did it, trained my rat team; they loved me like what my cat does, unaware of the fact that I happened to be the to be slayer, to end their tiny trained life. Do I deserve to be called as a human?
Humans are animals, I know. And animals kill others when they need it; I don’t know whether that is this painful to them. They kill for their protection; they kill for food, to show dominance… or to win over a potential mate, to propagate their own genes… some are even cannibal, they just do it without understanding. I knew what I was doing, without their knowing, suppressing my strong desire to allow them to continue their innocent life, feeling as if I was doing a crime.

I had to know, to study… and to do it I knew there was no other option. People look at animals as sources of calorie, fats, proteins, fat soluble vitamins… is it odd if I had to look at them as sources of information, as a hidden treasure of knowledge… or a key to understand a host of brain functions. But what if they are lives, animals… mammals with neocortex like us? …But this’ the thing that makes them ideal subjects for this work. And I wanted to do it in exchange of everything of mine… on that dissection table; I sacrificed my virtues only for keeping my virtues alive.
That might be a sin, I agree… but I’m not afraid of hell’s sufferings. But it really hurts to kill someone who trusts you, no matter the trusting party happens to be a rodent.

One day or other, I hope we’ll make some machine that will study the behavior and brain activities, without causing any harm to the owner of the brain. Till then I’ve to act as a rat assassin.

My study gave me a chance to peep into the heart of rats… and it’s not different from that of cats… and that of humans. It craves to get relaxed in some safe secure arms.

saluting solitude

A lone bird, I tweet alone, shout alone… and when happy I whistle also while alone. Confined in my closed isolated room, I enjoy some lonely smiles, or weep my lonesome tears, whatever I may do, I feel, who’s there to care. While surrounded by a crowd also, alas, I continue to feel alone. I hide myself from the caring ones, least my mask shall fall like a waterfall bathing them in my tears. There’s molten lava kept under pressure in the heart of this cool thick stone. I don’t want my keens to get burnt in that. There is more sorrow in my heart than the life it has… and I feel it’s not good to share something as painful as my moaning mind.


Loneliness since centuries has been the mother of fine thoughts and great arts... where the pains stimulate creative mind. I have learned to enjoy the troubles it gives… but truly speaking at least sometimes this isolation hurts a lot.

d art of dissection

I see art in every work I do, as delicacy is the soul of art… dissecting a semisolid structure like fresh brain of an immature rat, that too to expose and separate hidden structures like the hippocampus, amygdala, and striatum requires the same inventive attitude as that of painting the moods of mind and arranging words those penetrate the mind…

set of questions

Have you ever experienced those set backs
Which teach you something, and never come back?

Have some incidence made you to cry
The effect of which transformed your life?

Have you ever felt the pleasing pains,
And tolerated losses without complaints?

Have you ever got the joy of losing,
Your everything, really for nothing?

Have you ever craved for something,
What people say is not even a trivial thing?

Have you ever become too forlorn,
To give up the things; and acting like a mad?

Have you ever bathed in showers of joy,
Which makes you to forget the boundaries of life?

Have you ever fallen in love with your dream,
Got life’s everything, yet lost your life?

It’s ecstatic to die for your dream,
Even though the dream itself is not rewarding…

my life

The doors of my mind are always closed; even any rat- tat- tat s not allowed crossing it. and my face is always covered with a thick mask of my usual public face with a cool deceiving smile, stimulating other’s minds. Outward stimuli can’t affect my inside, no matter how harsh or pleasing they are. And inside there is something violent going on, something like the wildfire, or hurricane, or a volcano… no peace at all… for me, these are not catastrophes, these are parts of my life hidden in depths of mine. When they’ll come out, I don’t know… I don’t know whether they’ll ever come out.

A person with a volcano sleeping inside, I never feel strong enough, energetic enough, having enough speed to catch the peace of achieving my aim. I crave for the strength in my dreams, but never give up; I just can’t, enslaved by the fire in my heart.

Will I get some solace, some rain, some cold, some warmth… evoking a smile coming from the depths of my mind? Whether at least at some point of my life, will I feel satisfied? Whether at least for a moment will I be able to enjoy this gift of human life?

I will, I think, when I’ll see my dreams alive, maybe fifty, hundred, thousand years from now, when there will be showers of joy, when everyone will smile, when everyone will be satisfied, when every heart will be pure, when every disease will get cured, when everyone will get what they wish to have, when everyone will wish good for others, when heaven will reside on my Earth…

Till then I’ll keep on burning my life. I’ve been a burning life since ages, and you’ll find me in burns of every heart, even after my death, attempting feebly to give them some solace hoping that it’ll help me to smile.

nightmare n dream

It was the same nightmare once again; I don’t know to me what it wants to tell. I got up, disregarding the darkness occupying my room. It was 2.30 am, only three hours had passed since I had surrendered to sleep, and the goddess of sleep had showed me the same movie of horror, humans were acting as ghosts there, named terrorists, and fear and terror were ruling my dream world. I was the same, restless, hyper wanting to eliminate the terror. I saw their faces, with horrid expressions, felt their acts, and the screams tears moans of persons like me and you. There were bomb blasts, and bullets, and deaths. Violence was damaging my world, revenge was raping humanity. I was not scared, but was far beyond that, numbed, I was trying my best to save as many people as I could… then I reached my hospital, the same where I learn, and saw terrorists were sitting there also with aprons and stethoscopes, and guns in their hands. I peeped into the prescription given to a patient, it was poisonous chlorine gas, I yelled on the terror doctor, and once again looked to the prescription, it was changed now, it was a cancer chemotherapeutic agent, and concentrated dose of radiation… did the patient need it? Someone called me told me that I had to retake my gynecology exam… I searched, but there was no exam hall, it was the same desert where terrorists were getting trained, I knew that place, I had visited it many times, in my nightmares. Whatever was happening, it was far beyond my comprehension. I had to save those teenage boys and girls from getting converted into live demons, should I kill their master, I thought, and was about to do so, when I opened my eyes, to sense that it wasn’t true… or was it?

I don’t want this to happen, though in reality it is happening. I don’t want the cruelty, the revenge take toll of this Earth’s happiness, our happiness. Instead of those horrid expressions and wicked laughter on those faces, I want to see innocent smiles. I want love to rule this world, and not the hatred. Instead of those money making machines in hospitals, I want to see real doctors. I want to make the treatments tolerable and effective like the magic stick in my good dreams. I want to make our human life happier. And that’s why I don’t want to sleep… least that nightmare shall wake me up!