Obsessed with Golden Feathers

Because I could cope with the pace of racers
I thought I was meant for that
Jostling a lot that came my way
I was busy gathering golden feathers for my hat.

Nostalgic rendezvous turned down
Many a D-days I did miss
Fearful of losing that every second
I didn’t even stand back for my granny, who came scuffing to kiss.

Despite feeling the twinge in legs
I could never dare to rest
Impassioned to lead the ongoing rat race
I erroneously christened my Insanity as zest.

Little did I know, what I desired
Would gradually prove a mirage
What I believed would give me pleasure
Ditched me, being life’s prank of camouflage.

During the days I had prowess
I was never grateful of being able to fly
Like a moron I remained obsessed
For I only had to touch the sky.

I flew and flew as long as I could
And traversed a million miles
One day when I could try no more
I found my lone self amidst a hundred isles.

Reclusive, forlorn, gasping there
I could hear my conscience shout
Busy collecting golden feathers
I couldn’t notice my people falling out.

I had a sumptuous place to live
But nobody to share
I stopped bragging about my overflowing pocket
When I found no one to care.

Medals jingled in the breeze
But there was no one to be proud
I had the coveted name and fame
Yet I was lonely in the crowd.

Heaving sighs of utter regrets, I realised
It’s not always not too late to change
I would suffer henceforth, for that every time
My loved ones I did estrange.

I left the hands of my fellow trippers
I didn’t rejoice the journey as I scaled
Having conquered the mighty mountain
I grieve that in life I have failed
Now I say :
It’s never the name and fame
Or even the wealth you gather
It’s the number of people you have by your death bed
That tucks in your hat, the sterling golden feather.

The Girl Who Healed

Cementing shredded pieces of hearts
Releasing disquiet on parole
Manuring plantlets of resilience
She was a maiden salubrious to the soul.
Prancing to the tunes of wails,
She would traverse to the grieving eyes
Wiping off each extortionate drop
She would solace in an angel’s guise .
Her gracile frame disgorged composure
The very words slipping from her lips were therapeutic
Her dogmas resembled those of a gnostic
For her age she was too pragmatic.
She empathised with people
But never dropped a tear
Letting all sorrows cascade down her throat
She quashed the looming fear.
The beauty of maple leaves at fall, she was
After a doleful, winter, she was the spring that followed
She was the antidote of love for men poisoned with hate
And remedial potion to fill the sore hearts hollowed.
Having a semblance to a colossal crucible
She billeted their melancholies
Editing spurious lines in relationships
She brought out quite beautiful allies.
Caressing bruised bodies
She tactfully stripped the contused skin
Lifting corners of downturned curved mouths
On remorseful faces she could engender a grin.
Mending broken boats of lives
Dexterous in using oars
Picking up ship wrecked kins
She endeavored to surf till the shores.
Seeing her zest to live
And her patience to hear all unvoiced
They thought she had a mirthful life
And all those years she had just rejoiced.
On being pestered by people
She commenced narrating her story
Unlike prejudiced by them
It was not an euphoric quarry.
“ All those who smile aren’t happy
Neither those who cry are sad
All those who are composed aren’t sane
Neither all the frenzied are mad.
I am not a preacher
Nor am I on a counselling spree
And this eternal beam on my face
Is but the fruit of a giant, dolorous tree.
With no one to call mine
I was all alone on this mystifying earth
An abandoned girl wandering
To find solace since her birth.
My tender body never got fondled
Neither my tears soaked in motherly palms
I got enough essentials to survive
But love wasn’t to be received as alms.
Life did lash out at me
I wanted to scream, but had nobody to hear
I cried till I dried my glands
For years my cheeks didn’t taste a drop of tear.
Discovering that I’ve come so far
Without slashing wrists or poking skin
I patted myself
And bragged a little within.
But having known well enough
What many a people do lack
I set about on a venture
Without ever looking back.
I became an unbiased ear
To the million unheard voices
In disguise I was the angel
Enjoining people to their choices.
I soaked the precious tears
Before they dampened mushy cheeks
As an acoustic foam I absorbed
All the painful shrieks.
Like water I quenched
The heaving flames of avengement
I endeavoured to free a lot
From the cryptic claws of beguilement.
Finding my path of consolation
I chose to stride on that
Treating wounded souls on way
Their cognitive dissonance I did combat.
Be it swabbing the debilitating tears
Or vibrating voice cords hushed with vehemence
‘twas I being inoculated with peace
Getting drenched in a gratifying essence.
As I stroked excruciating bodies
Emancipating them from pain
My own gaping wounds got filled
And immense relief I did gain.
When they say my words cure them
In the mean I get cured too
All those remedies my diseased being couldn’t get
I bust a gut to give it through you.”
So the girl who healed
Did finish her tale
To moisten eyes listening to her
In the mean she didn’t fail.
All fights might not end with peace
And not all tragedies with tears
Be hungry to know that every story
Don’t quench your thirst by just what appears.

Battling Gloomy Days

On certain low and gloomy days,
Pain is all you see,
Dismay seems to weigh you down,
In none you find glee.
The souls with whom you’ve mingled well,
Brutally make you bleed,
The ones for whose joy you endeavoured,
Grudge the moment you succeed.
You toil relentlessly for days,
But diligence doesn’t pay off,
To cope with impending failures,
You find it really tough.
Stories of love and conquests,
Hit your sore heart hard,
Weapons of agony clad in insouciance,
Callously leave you scarred.
Then your credence putrefies,
Ludicrous theories meddle with your mind,
Scuffling in the abyss of helplessness,
You blame God to be behind .
That ‘it’s God’s way of penalizing me’,
You lament the same and wail,
Giving in your gifted prowess,
You accept, you are born to fail.
But you aren’t born to win either,
You are born to live,
Putting all your bids in a strainer,
Only triumph you can’t sieve.
And God isn’t so cruel,
He is not so shrewd,
He can’t see his children suffer,
Or be the reason they brood .
It’s in time of these trials,
God scrutinizes your store,
For he knows you need some power,
So he gauges how much more.
This life isn’t to mourn ,
And by heart you must know,
Those who you envy aren’t destiny’s kins,
And you are not it’s foe.
Your tunnel might be darker,
Rugged might be the path you stride,
But light does eagerly halt there,
Where you ought to end your ride.
If things don’t come out as you wish,
With angst don’t go mad,
Gulping the entire barrel of pessimism,
Don’t feel happy to be sad.
This chapter doesn’t interest you,
The next might be engrossing,
If you don’t have the zest to turn,
How will you see what life’s disclosing .
For once you put your hand on heart,
Find pleasure in your pain,
Woes will always keep you scourging,
No matter what you gain.
In this enigmatic journey of yours,
Marked by uncertain ends,
With vigour, faith and endurance you march,
And see how time makes all amends.

A Cloak and Dagger Junction

According a report by WHO:

  • Mental health conditions account for 16% of the global burden of disease and injury in people aged 10–19 years.
  • Half of all mental health conditions start by 14 years of age but most cases are undetected and untreated (1).
  • Globally, depression is one of the leading causes of illness and disability among adolescents.
  • Suicide is the third leading cause of death in 15-19-year-olds.

Teen age (13-19) is an extremely crucial period of human life. This is the time of surprising transformation of the mind and body. Teenagers usually baffle their well wishers by a sudden change in behavioral patterns and decision making. While adults get agitated and anxious , trying to whip teenagers back to track, it is equally important to address their mental state, to counsel them and help them out. It is because, despite unusual and often the incorrect steps, they have subtle realisations but the hormonal surge and the irresistible impulse overpowers them. Owing to this they continuously scuffle with themselves.


Standing at an enigmatic confluence today,
I’m a chaperone to a bloody tussle,
A tussle between me and myself,
A tussle set to wrest me apart,
A tussle that throbs the core of my heart,
A tussle whose sequel shall festoon my tomorrow.
An uncanny cacophony clogs my mind,
My flesh reeks of rebellion,
My diaphragm feels a ceaseless thrust,
And tranquility with vehemence is pushed behind.
What were sacred dogmas yesterday,
Seem annoyingly didactic today,
Even I am bemused,
For the warm embrace cladding me in robes of security,
Today feels like the cruel clench of treacherous claws.
Barbs of eerie perceptions,
Urticate my tender tissues.
There is an urgent call to be blasphemous,
Especially to my partisan’s counsels,
Counsels which once were mottos of my life,
Counsels which were the embers of rectitude in me.
From a sanctimonious world,
Where I bragged of probity,
Now there is an exigency to step out,
To step out and enter an erroneous world.
The ingress, though I know ,
Would ensue delinquency,
I am not enough brawny to liquidate the impulse,
The Herculean impulse mangles my righteousness,
And tactfully inoculates me with provocation,
I can endure emphysema,
But not the urge to smoke,
I cannot give up the itch to sip in booze,
Rather be ready to endeavor a choke.
A bacchanalian grin pacifies,
A precipitous heart ,
Despite its ugly radiance,
The inceptive descent of sensuality,
Feels like the first touch of spring,
A voluptuous body illegitimately defines,
Love in my theseraus,
The heightened libido has a semblance to the restless waves,
The restless waves of a full moon night.
My heart and mind have got into a brawl,
To decide whether I am a callow or precocious,
But I feel , I feel as if I am prodigal,
Yes, prodigal dejectedly transformed from a prodigy,
I have voluntarily shoved aside,
The colossal barrel of nectar,
And I am struggling to gulp down the bitter poison,
I know its bitter but can’t resist the incitement,
The stench of a pernicious tomorrow,
Stimulates my olfactory lobes,
Though my previous sanctimonious world,
Extends its hands, ready to take me back,
I am woefully panglossian about the world I thrive in,
But I know, the synapse I stand today,
Can’t bear me for long,
It’ll soon chuck me out,
For there are other trippers too.
I have to fabricate an abode,
An abode entitled to shelter me,
Shelter me when the junction will do away,
Lest I shall prepare to putrefy in a chasm,
A menacing, perilous chasm.

The Abyss


Too deep to see, yet too shallow to reach,
Dark a place it is, for it is the conglomeration of a thousand colours,
It is the provenance of emotions and serves to be the graveyard too,
It is a mighty abyss,
Getting out of it is a knack of a few,
It’s none but another you within you.
It grows inside you,
As you grow each day,
Braving all odds and the dismay you face.
Everytime you get maimed by the contusions,
It gets immunized by those,
Every time you drink the potion of wounds,
It gets adorned by the scars,
And ironically it gets so narcissistic about its lousiness,
That it becomes unvanquishable,
For it loses the fear to lose,
And it overpowers you,
It is a mighty abyss,
It’s none but another you within you.
It creates tornadoes within you,
Pulling your credence on your own into a vortex,
It churns it into a million pieces,
It cuts you into a thousand slices,
You stand as a mere taxidermal being,
Still bleeding profusely from within.
It is a mighty abyss,
Getting out of it is a knack of a few,
It is none but another you within you.
The wrath of its storm doesn’t put your soul to rest,
Your blood boils with ferocious gurgling,
Everything seems unfair,
From a panglossian you become a doubting Thomas,
And then emerges a rebellious you,
Even in conflict with yourself,
It is a mighty abyss,
None, but another you within you.
It will cryptically turn self love to arrogance,
Very tactfully dilute life’s fragrance,
It’ll Mar the trust that will born inside you,
It will make the love succumb that fights to grow in you,
It is a mighty abyss , you know,
Getting out of it is a knack of a few,
It’s none but another you within you .
But one of the few can be you,
For you are its chaperone,
You can rise above it , if you follow a cue.
Love for it is poison,
Passion for it is delusion.
Faith for it is infidelity,
And optimism mangles it’s identity.
Make sure you gulp a drop of each,
Without fail for days as I teach,
You will fill the abyss with the stories of your conquest,
anhiliating the other you
And putting its soul eternally to rest.