Skip to main content

Assassin

The ache of subdued dreams
Disrupted my walks,
Nights spent amidst fears and tears
Drove me in paths of insanity,
There I lost the sense of life,
And gained the pleasure of torpidity.

A guide in the path was a silhouette
Figure of a man who seemed dominant,
Between the trivial drama,
He gave me a gun
And told me to shoot.

The head he asked for was colossal,
It carried the weight of torrid ideals,
My hands were dirtied before,
He swore he would make it clean.

The bullet from my gun never missed,
Target was found on the first shot,
The feeling of meaning was slowly felt,
Though the dirt in my hands remained
Even after.

The assassin inside me was free,
Free from pain, free from tears,
He was free, even from numbness,
He could feel the rope on my neck
As I choked!

Comments

  1. Hi Anand....came across your blog through poets who blog.....that site is no longer active and is where I first tried to join back 3 or 4 years ago....there is another poetry site that you can join it is linked on the side of my blog it is called poets united.....you will meet lots of poets there and there are many prompts as well. Please take the time to check it out...you won't regret it...i know I did not. Lovely blog and your writing shows a beautiful talent that I am sure others will enjoy reading. Take care and keep writing.
    Your new follower Carrie at Hope Whispers. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks a lot Carrie for taking the time to check this blog and also providing such valuable comments. I will check it out for sure.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Nataraja | The Lord of Dance

Art : Nataraja by Satheesh Kanna All the reverberations of the world nestled In a tiny speck that glowed bright, Like beads in a necklace, It united with The mighty hands of a violent Lord. The speck, moved along like a Cobra, It wrestled to be released, A space Overpowering, yet calm waited For the Cobra to taste his infinity. The Lord held the flames of wrath on his left hand, He clutched onto it with a rage unmatched, With it all powers shall crumble down, With it all creations shall see annihilation. Umbraged, liberated and fearsome, The speck escaped his hands, Fire Spread all around the Lords' head, For once The speck was here, next it was there. It encircled the Lord in a heavenly tune, The frenzy uplifted the Lord, His hands moved to push the flame, Onto the circling speck. In a flash of ambrosial light and sound, The speck exploded and whizzed all around, The Lord went onto a fury of power, He felt his waist c

A Lost Love

Artwork: Google Images   The calm of morphine kept fading, By little I found the pain brewing, While the untamed heart kept pounding Much like a blanched pigeon Freshly caged. Days were lost in hours of pain, Weeks passed as I couched Sans the strength to speak out, I gave a whisper one day As lightly as a fading song, I asked the doctors about her health. Spells of hallucination always struck, I remained in a hospital bed Looking at the monitor echoing my beats, But a moment after, I am in a car, Racing at knots at the rage of opium. In a moment my life became white, Her hands were clutched onto mine, I looked into her eyes and a paranoia rose, Is it the morphine that flows through me, Or is it the opium that makes me high? The doctors claimed she had died, But then who sat beside me last night? Drops of tears concerned my vision I felt her as real as the flagitious doctors Who raced around me like wild hyenas. A whi

The Partition

I dedicate this poem to all Pakistanis. You are all as much a kin to me as Indians. One of the many images of partition that moved me emotionally. It was also the cover photo of  Yasmin Khan's book, The Great Partition  The second column of Muslims passed, Not a soul in our side had the strength, To shower them with our words; cursed, Along they passed as silent as us, Drifting with the hot and wild wind, That very often burns our face, As we cut through this desert; wretched. O lovely dawn of freedom, while you showered purple and gold, half of us never knew what future held, Singing and dancing beneath the relentless sun, we hugged and kissed the conspirator's arms. The line drawn that sliced Punjab, The surgical tool that dissected Bengal, Never seemed more poignant, Till it ripped us apart from Lahore, And made us to savor this journey. Guided by a false pretense of safety, Moving onto a false notion of liberty, Living on the narrow verg