Life as a poor man

Dear readers,

Tried a lot to fix the starting four lines of this poem but all in vain. Wrote this poem on 6th November 2011 and finally had to publish it without altering the first few lines. If someone can write those line better do help me then. :)

With regards
Bhatt Aaqib.

I was born in a room; was it a room or some shed?
I grew up in the same; my bowl was made of mud.
That food made me weak; it made me one of a stud.
Studs face the rain which brings in the flood
Either work for the master or get killed by a slayer
Of an old frail man, my looks had a glare
The old man in me, used to walk with a swagger
The strut wasn’t showy but to strike chief for labor
Work and get food or survive through the prayer
We don’t breed the waif even if there’s mayhem
This has been the slogan of the rich men from ages
Forlorn men of past doesn’t even fill the history pages
The world ain’t my own and my life has been forfeited
For that crime of mine, which I haven’t perpetrated.

Come let's cry

O’ little boy,

Come to me

With your story

With your dreams

With those moments

 When You cried for them

And those hopes

You had till the end.

O’ pretty girl

Come to me

With those promises

That made you dream

With those tears

That rolled down the eyes

With those smiles

That flew to the sky.

O’ vexed lady

Come to me

With that kid

Who died afore dawn

With your man

Who did not care

And with the other lady

That you can’t bare

O’ strained man

Come to me

With all problems

Even if they are bleak

With those worries

That made you weak

And that woe

Which world can’t see

O’ everybody

Come to me

Neither in a hope

Of making things fine

Nor with a wish

Of being gratified

Come for the thing

Which no one desires

Let’s get together

Come let’s cry.

United We'll Live

Before the storm suppresses the spirits

Ice-clogged tones begin to rebel

Sound of apostate heart starts to crush

Mourns for love in an abundant lush

Against the hale, shrieks reached the sky

Gambling for the most poignant words

Until the words started to flow

Lifting the hearts all over and above

Inside the soul they felt like an obelisk

Looking for an endearing person to tell

Opting for a lovely ravisher it went

Venerating to evince together life to spent

Enounced the words with zeal at last

Yelling like an aspired eagle in the sky

Over and again it enunciated with fend

United we’ll live and will love till the end

Eid now and then

As I sit here in my closet my thoughts wander into the time when Eid was not merely a holiday but signified an exuberant occasion. A day which used to bring a splendid smile on everyone’s face and filled the hearts with unrestrained joy. But somehow this auspicious day had lost its charm- at least for me. Nowadays Eid is merely a day when my dining table is flooded with lots of delicacies but is surrounded by just a few members. Lunch over Eid over!

Earlier I used to wait for this day whole heartedly because it used to bring with it a message of love and a message of brotherhood. Those days Eid meant wearing new clothes to make yourself look like groom and then visiting your relatives in order to get a hefty sum of Eidi and not sitting in your room and writing a note. What a joy it used to bring when Mom, Dad and relatives slipped in a hundred rupee note each into my bosom and I was free to buy myself crackers and sweets. The noise of the crackers was like music to my ears and fireworks not only flamed the sky but also the living and enthusiastic child in me, that child which I used to be.

Now the flavor of Eid has been lost or perhaps it’s my taste buds which have forgot to sense the spice. Nowadays Eid comes with a message of solitude and social isolation. Relatives are the same but the heart is disinclined to see them. The Eidi has been enhanced to greater extents but gives less happiness. The sound of firecrackers, which was music to my ear, has become an intolerable noise. I still remember the barbeque stall where I used to spend the whole afternoon living the best of my life, making most of the little money which I had. Now my pockets are filled with currency but I don’t have anything to buy. The local barbeque stall is still there but now I don’t find it up to my status. Although the city has Café Robusta and CCD but the edifice is too far. Though we’ve got a car in reserve, there is no one to fill the adjacent seat.  The nearer pizza hut has a variety of pizza pie, from Italian to Indian and from parched to roasted, but hunger is less.

I want my life back! I want to dress myself up like I did before- Just like a groom. I want to wear the turban once again and fell the felicity which I am craving from a long time. Take away all my money and give me back those days when ten rupee note was enough to buy the happiness of whole world. I want to go back to the time when tears used to roll out on seeing the broken pieces of your favorite toy car, the time when mothers love was the most beautiful thing one could ever experience, the time when fairies were real and magic existed, the time when my father’s shoulder was the highest peak of the world, when my brother’s new toy made me jealous and when my sister was the first person to wish me happy Eid, the time when heart’s job was to pump blood only and my life was my own; the time when the world was as simple as it may be- just like me.