Living In a Insensitive World

Living in men’s world there is no justice

Betrayal at every corner, no respect for woman

Tears he sees not, with a cloud of lust in his eyes

Blames the woman for different shades of colors

Understand not the women’s right.

Witchy Boo

Witchy boo, on broom she sat

To explore around the unknown world

She dashed into pole, and thought it had soul

Was stuck for life to an unexpressive dope

Mumbai Infrastructure

if you visit Mumbai, you will never be sad
because mumbai infrastructure is not really bad
you will be happy to walk on broken roads
your health problems cured through bumpy zones
sit in an auto rickshaw, ride through potholed roads
one by one they come out, your kidney stones
no need to go for a massage or to a spa
travel in mumbai locals and get yourself squashed
if you find no room in the town to stay
under the bridge there is bathroom space
Mumbai is the urban town,
you can walk freely in your night gown
you know?

They Won't Hear You

You could shout, 
you could scream 
till your throats runs dry, 
but what use is it
for deaf and blind? 
he hears not your voices 
nor your agony he see 
You could pinch
his soul, cry or 
squeeze off his cheeks. 

Understood, is the pain
by those who feel
the weight of struggles
of a common man
cushioned heart sees not
the hardened path

It is but a fiction
for the person
who lives in a dream.

Eel Walker

'Eel Walker' Sculpture by Mark Newman

No abuse for unclothe eel
But a woman in skin-tight curves
A wonder retreat, a balm for soul
For men with raised eye brows
Observes her every curve
With wicked eye, then strips

Stone Man

Stoned man, heart of stone, mind of stone, 
Understands not, the women's goal, 
love and care, respect and honor
Her smile like sunshine, never cold
A stone man, unfurls not 
The woman's heart of gold

Give me a Secure Land

Unafraid,

These rapists will dare again

To unclothe  

Another innocent girl,

Who, moments ago had

Danced to the tunes

Hummed a song

At the break of the dawn

Where is the justice?

Will they ever punished

I am never in the know

Always caught unaware

It is the women

You blame

Why must she be ashamed?

Let me live in safe country

With future secured

Alas!

Windy discussions and

Hollow threats is

No solution

To end violence

Chop off their pride,

Cripple their manhood

Show your courage

Punish those cowards

Not every girl can use a pepper can,

Nor punch a karate shot in the air,

Extend your hand to hold me,

Give me a secure land

A beautiful world I seek

Where woman is respected,

With pride, I could walk

Please show me your power

Show me your strength

Tell me that I can trust you

Tell me you truly care.

Sharing my thought with Marathon Bloggers who decide to blog everyday in the month of December

Colors of Life

Beautiful painting by Steve De lamare...

Soaked in colors 
reds, greens of every hue
in bliss, as if in dream
floating in ecstasy

Sharing my poem with group of Marathon Bloggers who post one blogpost per day

It's A Passing Phase

You cry or you laugh

The pain shall pass
It is not here to stay
Just a passing phase

How long can the night
In the darkness stay?
The sun must smile

For flowers to sway

Your dreams are momentary
Be they dark or bright
Once the sleep is done
It's the reality we face

No man has succeeded
For destiny to change
Be they scar or a trust
It’s a passing phase.

Die not of self-pity
Why frown at rains?
Hold the strands of courage
Brave the broken strains

Live the life as it uncurls
Its just a game.

PS: happy to participate in Marathon Bloggers for post a day.

Ipod killed the superstar

I found’ His Master Voice’
Gramophone
At Chor Bazaar.
It looked sad and lonely.
Looking for listener
None left any more.
Ipod killed the superstar

Once a pride of  elite home
In comfortable corner, it sat
Surrounded by soft pillows
Where people rested
While Gramophone sang
In voice clear and loud
Reproducing sounds
That soothes the nerves

But today it sits
At Chor Bazaar,
Idle, unwanted
Waiting to be taken home
By some music lover
There are none
Ipod killed the superstar.

This was the device introduced in 1877 to recording and reproduction of sound music.

Day two: In the month of December, I am participating in Marathon Blogger to write one post per day, on one of my blogs.

Shahi Spicy Dip

The spicy dip I made for you
Is still in my fridge
Untouched and sealed
What should I do?

Maybe I should eat it
Or gift it to somebody else
Who can relish it 
The way you do

You like the dry fruits
Don't you?
You were on my mind
When I crushed them
Mixed it with basil leaves
Hung curd and mixed spice
I even added red chilies
To give them that flavor
Just the way you like

Wanted to share with you
My creation
But you never arrived.
What should I do?

Its changing color
Maybe turning sour
Should I save it in fridge?
Or send it across
Seven seas?

Let me know quickly
Before it turns ripe

Reincarnation

image:Google

Broken to bits, piece by piece

I try to patch up and reunite my soul

I grab the light and feel its brilliance

Run through my ribs under my skin

With one pointed attention

On my breath, transport from

 Stiff Mudra to reincarnation