Hope

When it's dark in my mind,
and cold in my Heart.
When life is all pain,
and things are falling apart...

When people who mattered,
can see me no more.
And when all my dreams,
Just lie there scattered...

When it won't stop raining,
and wounds won't heal anymore.
And the pictures in my album,
Won't bring back a smile...

When the daylight starts fading,
and you know it's my time.
Just do it my friend,
just One last time...

Show me the light,
the one you call hope,
Set me on fire, and lighten me up....

Self-Motivated…Really…?

Well, until very recently, this word, right up there, was just a HR term for me, that I knew needs some comments in my quarterly performance reviews. Every single time I reached that section of the self evaluation sheet, this is what I wrote – “ I am a highly self-motivated person. I push myself to raise the bar for my own performance and don’t need to be pushed to do things”. And trust me when I say that I DON”T MEAN A WORD OF THAT…

But then, recently, in fact, just last night, my understanding of this term changed and will remain that way for the rest of my life. Now I am not writing this to teach you what it means, and will not drop in a lecture explaining the whole idea behind this self-motivated terminology… I am writing this, so that when I forget it’s meaning in future, I can sit back, read this and remind myself what it means to me. I am also writing this because I know we all like stories and also I want to really sound like some cool guy who writes and people think him to be a great thinker or something…

Now that the confession is done, let’s get back to the story…

Off late, in fact, for the last two years, Metro has become an important part of my life. To put down some number, I send 15 hours a week in the metro and have now found a way of using that time. I plan my work, plan my day, listen to music, and my favorite part observing people. Okay, the last part is in a totally non-creepy, non psychopathic fashion. I just like to look at people and try to find their stories…

Well, last Friday night’s train ride was a new lesson for me. Some 15 minutes into the journey, I heard a voice. And in between the noise of the people around me and that of the headphones of my iPod blaring Holy Wars in my ears, I heard the word Jesus twice… I thought for a moment, FINALLY, THE GODS HAVE LISTENED TO ME… THE GOD IS TALKING TO ME… Then I suddenly realized, hey, hang on, get real dude. God’s got better things to do .He’s got a busy weekend with all the people getting drunk and asking for forgiveness…

So off goes the headphones and I found the source of the noise. Okay, fine, VOICE if you like the polite language so much… It was a man, about 45 years old, wearing a tidy blue shirt, over a black trouser. He was carrying a laptop back-pack, and was speaking in fluent English with a slight eastern European accent that turned into a full blown Indian accent 8-10 minutes into his speech. I noticed a badge that he was wearing; it said Mr. PQR – Director at XYZABC (one of the largest consulting firms).

Oh no, not again, someone’s fighting over a seat again. That should explain Jesus getting into the picture. I mean we Indians normally remember and call out god’s name, when we are fighting. So, I thought let’s get back to my music, Doors were next on the playlist…

Wait, did I hear Money? Hell yes I did… That’s awesome, god and money, part of the same battle; I am going to see a holy war right here. But why’s there just one man shouting? Where’s the other part of the battle?

Oh come-on dude, don’t ruin it. Speak up. Shout it out man. Where are you…?

Another 15 seconds and there was no second noise…

Okay, seriously, am I in India or what? There’s got to be a fight somewhere. I just need to listen carefully. And that’s when I heard the man’s full sentences for the first time in the last 10 minutes or so. I heard, and I quote “If peace is what you are looking for, you have to just look inside, for that is where our Lord Jesus Christ is…”. “ Your money, power, everything else in the world can never give you peace until you believe in your god, the one who lives in your heart, the one who is all mighty, the Lord Jesus Christ…”

WHAT, someone’s preaching inside the metro. How curious? Who’s this man, what does he want?

This was enough to get my attention. I noticed that this man (will call him the preacher going forward, for my own convenience), the preacher, was walking through the crowd and talking about how this life is meaningless if we do not follow the path of god, and we do not help our fellow brothers and sisters like lord Jesus Christ did in his time.

Now I am not a particularly religious person. I mean I do believe in god and some all powerful force, but now the way my parents would like it. So it was the other thing about the Preacher that got me curious. Inside the train, even while he was speaking at the top of his voice, no one was really listening to him… They were busy doing what they do best, talking, complaining, cribbing, and most of them doing absolutely nothing at all. Normally, someone who was addressing a crowd, this would have been an unnerving scenario. You are talking but no one’s listening. How bad it would feel? But for the Preacher, not even a hint of care or concern for the fact that no one was listening. He continued speaking, at the top of his voice for the next 30 minutes before it was my turn to get out of the train. He too boarded out and walked to the stairs with his head held high, calm and composed and smiling as if he had achieved something.

From what I had observed, he had just been talking to the glass doors and windows of the train while people laughed at him. I am sure 95% of the people in there thought he was some nut job who just could not take it anymore and was almost losing his head or about to lose it.

This got me thinking. How is it that for someone, like this preacher, who could have easily guessed how people were reacting, could just shut down the world and it’s distractions around him, and continue doing what he thought was important to him? I am assuming that he was not getting paid for this preaching in metro. And going by his badge, I am sure he did not need much either.

So what was it that could motivate him to do this work? Wait a second; it’s his belief in his work I guess. He is motivating himself to do what he believes is right and makes a difference. WOW. So this is what they mean by the term SELF-MOTIVATED/DRIVEN…

How simple it seems now! Someone who has a strong belief in his capabilities and knows that putting all his heart into it will make a difference to him, if not the world. And in a second, it was clear, like brightly lit day. It’s all about your belief. It’s all in your head. It’s all there, just waiting for you to tap into it…

I am sure a lot of people reading this would disagree, even say that the example is out of place and out of context… but then, does it really matter what example you chose. It’s more about how you chose to interpret things in life and decide how to do them.

For me, ever since that day, I have a new interest in my writing, I have a new interest in my work at office, and I have a renewed interest in life…

The gift From Lucifer... the one who questioned...

He dreamt,
of a future unheard of, a future unseen,
dreamt of things they never imagined,
thought of possibilities they said never existed,
he had ideas, and some imagination too,
He could create things, and enjoy them too...

And then the Corruption,
of thought, ideas, and dreams,
they called it enlightenment,
and named it the holy scheme,
they taught him to follow,
and mug up and learn,
to sing like a chorus,
beat like a drum,
a constant hollow sound he turned into...

for a 1000 years, it remained the same, before he asked his first question,
and was branded insane,
they hated, despised and mocked his ways,
he was beaten, bullied and looked upon,
banished from heaven, and banished from hell,

another 1000 years, and the corruption was gone,
he questioned again,
challenged the logic, reasons and the order alike,
he questioned the right and questioned the wrong,
questioned the men and confronted the God,

why must one follow, and why must obey,
why not ask question, but always adapt,
why does it have to be same all the way,
why no deviation, and why not astray,
why's there a road, always chosen for him,
why there's destiny and why there's a fate,
why there's a heaven, and why there's a hell,

his questions are unheard,
unacknowledged till day,
his disobedience punished, and muffled again,
and as it's in heaven,
on earth shall it be,
one must raise his voice
and question the scheme...

Just a little Higher...

It's quite strange,
when I think about it!
How much I give away,
to gain so little!

My morning sun,
no more than a pain,
no better,
than a rude alarm,

and nights,
do they even exist?
for all I do,
is sleep them off .

I give away,
so many dreams every day,
I'm beginning to lose count now,
of time and of places,
of people and faces,
and of things to do,
and things to forget,

and then,
when I really think again,
is it all,
really worth the madness?
is it all,
really worth the effort?

couldn't days be a little brighter?
and couldn't nights be full of dreams?
couldn't people be,
a bit more free,
to fly,
just a little higher...

For rest he doesn't care

Some of it he's forgotten
Some he doesn't remember
Some of it is now forgiven
For rest he doesn't care

The first thing he heard
They said it would be good
things would be just fine...
For he was the chosen one
And he stood a chance...

The message was clear
He took it to heart
Made it his duty
to follow or fall apart
He believed and Followed
Like a true solider does
Killing his believes, and that of others


For ten years, he was prepared
and trained hard for the war
For ten years, He was killed every day
his soul ripped every night...
Ripped, and torn down to pieces
made to believe things that never existed
Promised a paradise
War was his stairway


He buried his questioning soul
a hundred miles
within his body

until the war...

He fought with his heart
but did not succeed
nor did he perish

A fallen solider, he was sent home
where no heart sang a sonnet
no one said a  welcome notes

dejected and doomed
he collected himself
said it's not over
and he must fight again

six more years
wasted preparing for the war
until the day, they decided for him

it’s time you stopped fighting
and it’s best to follow
because in this real world
there's not living within the dreams

think of the future
and think about us
think of the things that are destined to be…
It’s destiny that controls
not the other way round

until yesterday
I saw him follow
The rules, regulations and society’s norms
living his life
to fulfil their dreams…

he no longer cares to differentiate
between his dreams
and that of others
because some of it he has now forgiven,
For rest he doesn't care …

Your Conscience...My Soul...

Everyone needs a leader,
a guide, or a mentor sometimes,
to be their torch bearer,
and show them the light...

We too had one,
We too have one,
Our conscience, Our souls...

For if it were not for the human soul,
how would it be, that you could tell,
who's warm and what is cold...?
and who's a friend, and what is to fear...?

our thoughts, and ideas,
so different they are,
yet how do you tell,
a soul from a soul...

and then there's this question...

if all men have, but one human soul...!
why am I so different,
why are You so cold?
and why do we have religions,
when all there is, but one human soul...?

The daughters of Adam,
and sons of Eve,
is this how they were destined to be?
beings with one soul,
but different to be...!

The heart of a woman

I could say it in seven speeches,
and write it in ten,
it's meaning my love,
shall still be the same...

The first poetry I read,
was deep in your eyes,
First verses, I wrote,
deeper still,

your love was the one thing,
you taught me to feel,
and that it's not the same,
when you write it with steel...

For how do you tell a sun,
how bright it is,
and how do you tell a moon,
how charming it looks...?

but then I know,
I've been a fool all the while,
My woman needs no word,
for she lives in my heart,

she knows what I am,
she knows what I feel,
and how much I try,
to tell her the things,
I could never write,

she knows how dear,
she has been to me,
and she knows how close,
I hold her,
to my dear heart...

And in the beginning...

The best way is to be candid...! I admit, I run short of words, and the fact that I run short of ideas, does not help either...
It's not the first time that I have tried writing, but the fear of criticism is too much for me. Like most of the people I know, I am very scared of being laughed at, and I guess that's more or less.

But then, why should I write at all? Isn't it a lot of trouble with no returns guaranteed...?

I guess it is, but what about the part of me that wants to create something, irrespective of the fact that people may or may not choose to like it. Well, after giving it some thought, let's write something, howsoever meaningless and stupid it may be...

Good luck with that...
and thank you for your visit...