How..?

How can you know what's joy, if you've never laughed with a child?

How can you know what's beauty, if you've never been into the wild?

How can you know the smell of mud, if you haven't seen the rain?

And how can you know what's love, if you haven't felt the pain?

How can you applaud the mystery, if it has been revealed?

How can you meddle with the path, if it has been travelled?

How can you understand the poor, if you've never spent a dime?

And how can you know what's hope, if you cannot read the time?

How can you love diamonds, if you haven't seen the light?

How can you love the stars, if you haven't seen the night?

How can you love your freedom, if you've never been imprisoned?

And how can you love your life, if you've never been poisoned?

How can you know what's ache, if you've never said goodbye?

How can you feel the sorrow if you've never wiped tears from your eye?

How can you feel the frost, if you've been covered by a duvet?

And how can you know what's loss, if you've buried no one in May?

How can you know what's pleasure, if you've never kissed a woman?

How can you decide what's right, if you've never faced a gun?

How can you know what's terror, if you've never heard midnight screams?

And how can you say what's real, if you've never died in your dreams..?

Nemesis

A translucent shadow, white and pale.

Glimmers near the lake in the mighty gale.

It beckons me to follow into its realms of memories,

Its eyes beseech questions, by the weeping leaves of trees.

It shivers and it shudders, going berserk with agony,
As it starts to implore the tale of its journey.

It takes me to a kid dreaming by the rusted window. 

Watching the drops of rain falling dark and slow.

I stood there watching the child and his vision,

I stood there watching as his hopes flew to the Sun.

I stood there hypnotized by its sheer beauty.

I stood there spellbound, smiling at his unscarred fantasy.

I stood there gazing blankly at his unflinching perseverance.

I stood there immersed, admiring the magnificence.

Then it suddenly hits me like a bolt of thunderous lightning.
Lurching me out of my reverie, the reality it brings.

The little boy smiles and we wave each other a somber goodbye.

Boarding the train, he departs forever with tears in his eyes.

I stand there forlorn, for those days that I miss,

As the ghost of my inner child fades away into its nemesis..

Cherishing the Memories : A Tribute to the Legend.

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar - the name itself is enough for a thousand hands coming together, each time the Little Master comes out on the field to play for his country. The name that echoes in our heart each time we think of the word: cricket.

I still remember; during my school days, whenever India played a cricket match, I'd rush home as fast as possible from school, tuition or any place I was. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Sachin playing. And he rarely ever disappointed! Every time he came out to bat, I felt my heart uplifted with an unexplained joy and excitement. Ever since I was a child, I bought only MRF bats for myself; I'd buy no other bat! I used to look into the mirror for hours together, holding that bat..and would try to play the drives and cuts the way he played.

When he opened the innings for India, he'd walk into the ground, his head held high. He'd look up to the skies, and walk towards the pitch. He'd take guard, ready to hammer any bowling attack that the opposition challenged him with. There was a fierce winning spirit in his calm eyes. A thousand emotions behind his magical smile. That brought me a rare feeling called happiness.

I grew up learning the fact that cricket, indeed was gentlemen's game. I learned the virtues of true sportsmanship and sheer dedication one must have to achieve the landmarks he did. He missed out the line on many occasions and had to go back to the pavilion owing to endless incorrect decisions. But he never flinched from his true character. The Little Master always kept his head high and bowed his way out of the ground.

He was the only reason that I learnt how to play cricket, and made this game my only religion. I grew up watching, copying and admiring those strokes he played, covering every nook and corner - inside and outside the cricket stadium. I grew up watching him fearlessly hammer the greatest bowlers of all time, who brought nightmares to other players in his team. I grew up watching him take off his helmet and raise his bat, on 100 different occasions. I grew up watching him achieve those paramount milestones with an untouchable and unparalleled record in the history of world cricket. I grew up watching him play the flawless cover drives, leg glance, sweep shots, inside out, upper cuts and his most marvelous trademark shot: the straight drive!

Even today; after watching him bat for almost two decades, my heart still skips a beat when the Master Blaster comes out to bat, with the same energy and enthusiasm of the 16 year old Sachin. I pray for his long innings, when he looks up at the skies. I can feel the echoes of the applause of those thousand people in my heart, when he connects his bat to get off the mark.

On October 10th, when I saw the news, I couldn't control my emotions and my eyes swelled up from crying for hours together. Its not the retirement of a batsman, its the end of an era. But then, I said to myself, "Don't cry because he's retiring. Smile. Smile and be proud that I'll get to see the God bat one more time. For those innumerable memories and the countless reasons he gave to make us smile." Sachin Tendulkar: a silent guardian, a watchful protector, a magician with half a kilo wand. The Master Blaster who donned the jersey no. 10, and achieved unbeatable class and excellence. The undoubted God of Cricket. Thank you Sir, thank you for everything that you gave to this country.

14th November, 2013 will be the day when that the God of cricket will walk down the Wankhede stadium in whites, one last time. That one last time, when millions of hearts will be uplifted seeing the little master playing for his nation. The day when people for once, will forget the nation that they belong to; and pay their final respect to the man who conquered the world of cricket for 24 years. That one last day, when the cheers and cries of the cricketing fans will echo with happiness, hope and unexplainable despair as we wave our final goodbye to Sir Sachin Tendulkar..

Mortals die, but legends live on. Forever and ever..

Shine on me, Dark Sunshine!

Standing at the edge of a glorious waterfall,

With some short listed memories to recall.

Shine on me, dark sunshine!

Hailing the flow of the deadly water,

For those mistakes that I couldn't alter.

Shine on me, dark sunshine!

The pages of past are now pasted on the Wall,

Your face in my mind once again starts to crawl.

Shine on me, dark sunshine!

I dug out the emotions with a spade and a shovel,

The blood splintered beneath the pages of a lost novel.

Shine on me, dark sunshine!

Trapped by the high walls in the mind's labyrinth, 

The story of love and happiness is only a myth.

Shine on me, dark sunshine!

Longing to come out of this lifeless maze,

Praying for the blue skies to clear the mist and haze.

Shine on me, dark sunshine!

Shine on me!

You dark and cold!

You witty and bold!

Imagining the gold!

You fake and crafty mould!

My soul is forever sold!

Shine on me, you dark sunshine..

The Black Clouds of Death.

The following is based on the events that took place in Uttarakhand, after the disastrous cloud burst that took the lives of countless pilgrims, villagers and rescuers..

The black clouds of death that struck with bad fate,

Marks the beginning of Lucifer's merciless estate.

For the passel of people dying, the food is found nowhere,

The water running over the cold corpses is stained red everywhere.

In the cold, icily numb winds of the Himalayan ranges,

A little frost bitten girl descends the slopes steep and estranged.

To those countless pilgrims who could never see the new day,

The light faded from their eyes, forever ending their way.

A lonely father weeps for his loss that he cannot measure,

His lovely daughter being his life's sole treasure.

In the debris, the children are still buried deep and cold,

The gorge reverberates with the pain of souls, evanesced and sold.

Near the distant horizon, the black clouds finally settle down,

Marking the events of the act of God, that ended life in a town.

The hair raising cries of anguish and melancholic despair,
Shall forever echo in the destroyed valley, where deaths are beyond repair..