I’m A Boy

Aug 18, 2024Aug 19, 2024 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 1 Comment

I’m just a little boy
An owner of many toys
Not dolls, not figurines;
GIJoes, all muscle and lean.
Maa fears dolls will make me timid and weak,
In boys, strength is what the world will seek.
I cannot be shy,
Should keep my head high,
But most importantly, I,
I should not cry.
I am a boy.

I am a brother
I won’t let my sister wear shorts,
For I know boys and their thoughts,
Those ugly disgusting creepy thoughts!
How do I know?
‘Cause these are the same thoughts I have
When I’m checking out a chick.
But when it comes to my sister,
Ah mister, that’s just sick!
I’m a brother, I don’t let her come late at night,
What about me? Well, you see, I have the right.
I’m a boy.

I’m a husband,
The owner of a well sought property –
A relationship where I assume superiority.
She dresses like I please,
I decide the people she meets.
And when there’s a day,
That she chooses to disobey,
Well, domestic violence is just the decorated name,
To train such disobedient, unworthy dames.
And then she’ll start to sob and weep,
And with some marks of violence,
She’ll try to tell things that hurt deep,
But I am a lover of sadistic pleasure,
And tonight, in bed, she’ll be my treasure.
What a joy being a boy!

I’m a father,
When I give my daughter’s hand in marriage to an absolute stranger,
Unaware if I’m putting her future and maybe her life in grave danger,
Based on the patterns of stars and celestial bodies several years ago at her birth,
Because apparently, some astrologer’s word and the demands of dowry is all she’s worth,
All I’m doing is what the society recommends,
I’m a man, darling daughter, no nonsense.

I’m that uncle on your mother’s side,
Remember when we used to play seek and hide?
How I used to touch you when we were alone in your room?
How my hands caressed your body that hadn’t yet bloomed?
How I destroyed your sexual future for a perversion of mine?
How you had thought of ending life at the tender age of nine?
I remember your attempts at accusing me,
But who would they believe? You or me?
I, after all, am a boy.

I don’t have to carry pepper spray in my purse,
I don’t have to think twice before I curse,
I don’t have to text after I reach home at night,
I don’t have to worry about any revealing sight,
I can gaze at the opposite sex all day,
I can bully my wife and have my way,
I can ride a motorbike without being judged,
I can go on buses and not worry about being touched!
I’m that guy in your class,
I’m that man on the street,
I’m that boy you met last,
I’m that boy you will meet.
When my pirate eyes see through your clothes,
And strip you down to your natural coat,
And make you realise that horrible fact,
That what’s left in raping you is just physical contact,
And sometimes not even that,
Please, women around me, take no offense.
I’m a boy, and that’s enough defense.

Individual Specks of Dust (Sonnet)

Jan 26, 2018 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 3 Comments

What are we, but similar, distinct
Patterns in a platter of the same elements?
Why don’t we see a common conscious hint,
Despite the same fundamental blueprint?

The answers lie in the combinations –
All the attentive atoms which, unsure,
Arranged themselves in fashions
That fate has prepared the plans for.

So, is it fate that distinguishes you from me?
But isn’t fate just chaos and its entities,
And isn’t chaos just a set of unidentifiable, ordered patterns –
Patterns that decide to form you and me from inanimate matter?

As much as we love to ponder over life’s purpose, in tones hushed,
All we are, are egoistic, irrelevant, individual specks of dust.

My Rhyme Crime

Feb 21, 2017 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 5 Comments

This is an article I had written for a friend, philosopher and guide, Amit Misra (sir), on his request, by which I must admit, I was quite humbled.

Check out his blog – a treasure-chest of well-written posts – Pradyot, here.

https://www.pradyot.net

The article is a confession of a crime! That’s all.

Pradyot

Guest article by Geet George

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To start this confession, I spent hours trying to come up with a good statement which would be able to help me describe poetry in its complete essence. Unfortunately, words were not of much help to me here. Only the experience of reading a well written poetry and the emotions it stirs up in you can convey what I wish to say.

View original post 973 more words

Sky, Goodbye…

Feb 15, 2017Feb 15, 2017 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 1 Comment

The way we are selfishly depleting resources in the name of development, with complete indifference to mankind’s future – this poem on an apocalyptic situation, requires very little help of the imagination.

Every rain cloud is another belief
To be downtrodden by nightfall,
Not a morsel goes in without reminding
The misery that this may be the last of all

Every grim face at my dinner table
Takes the same question to bed,
“The way that it is being forecast,
What if, come ‘morrow, I’m not fed?”

The fields look modest and moan
For what seems like elixir now,
But was truly life’s safest cradle,
That suddenly we decided to do without.

The skies seldom seem to say sorry;
They enjoy this backfired vendetta’s glow
Amidst the darkness that’s now mankind,
Their ex bosom-traveller and now prime foe.

Yours Is What Was Mine

Feb 14, 2017Feb 14, 2017 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 4 Comments

Most of us write poems to vent our feelings in some manner, but they sometimes don’t give us the needed refuge from despair. These pieces of ourselves, however, often take the role of a shoulder on which others weep out their burden.

The artist wields her pen, no doubt,
In a bid to make herself better –
But literary sculptures seek out
Similar suffering souls to shelter.

These clouds that seem to drift away
In truth, only leave her high and dry.
Embodied feelings thus go astray;
They rain down elsewhere, where others cry.

Setting A Cloud Free

Feb 13, 2017Feb 13, 2017 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 17 Comments

As I wait for decompressing boxes
To extract important nothings,
My cursor drifts over familiar codes
To alien territory, an outlet –
A window that opens a platform
For me to scream intimate things,
With no fear of being hacked into my mind;
Since, it’s now for all to sublet.

Lost, is Love on Them

Feb 12, 2017 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 4 Comments

Crying out to my “loved ones”,
To hear out my desperate plea once –
A prayer to let us live with love,
But all I see is that, from here above,
They can’t hear what love is.

How much longer should I expect
To wait for days you won’t reject
My idea of spending life’s moments
Amidst gifted family and friends fervent?
Can’t you see what love is?

A slight mention of the possibility
Of committing my cultivated fidelity,
To a soul they haven’t themselves sculpted,
Tells me that despite all the education fed,
They don’t care what love is.

Standing at the gates of acceptance,
Dreaming of a united existence.
It’s been ages waiting for change.
Let’s start walking back, love,
They just don’t love what love is.

My Side of the Promise (Sonnet)

Aug 31, 2016 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 37 Comments

A gentle breeze brushes past surprised petals,
As an early morn’ finds a sky covered still-white.
No yellowish red rays escape these cotton levels,
And iridescent peacocks scream at the forgotten sight.

Leaves that let go and the fledglings that soar,
Seem wishing to go along with the waltzing air;
While all the senses ask a bliss moment more,
Memories seek refuge in a lost love affair.

Said she, as we parted, “Let memories be a sign
Of the fortuitous times our lives have spent –
And don’t recall a word, thought or deed of mine,
If even a trace might bring out your lament.”

I’ll cherish, thus, this sight and give my heart long lost delight,
For just like this rain on dry earth, it’s what will gift her, her respite.

Twinkles Above, Raw Within (Sonnet)

Aug 29, 2016Aug 29, 2016 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 12 Comments

Six days of industrious service
To justify the six figure returns
Have vacuumed out enough energy
To disallow any worldly concerns.

Tonight, the heavy, hustling highway
Seems to retreat to its plushy cushions –
But, as the fading dusk paints a soothing hue,
Let me share, love, what I wish to experience.

Our mother star has ceded the reins
To the partly veiled disc of white.
Distant relatives of the mother keep
Company to this mirror in the sky.

Come, my hope, let us lie beneath these empyrean beings,
Souls bare, bodies raw and our mortal minds dreaming.

A Call Answered (Micro-Fiction)

Aug 28, 2016 ~ The Lunatic In My Head ~ 13 Comments

That evening, she had resorted to an old friend for company. Her friend wore the colour of sparkling gold – alacritous bubbles effervescing within her – and lay in a glass with a long stem and a slim bowl. Somehow, unlike always, her friend couldn’t comfort her. Instead, her mind seemed to go into unrest with the painful reminder that even though her feelings were being understood by millions through her book, she was still lonely. The see through French windows in her house allowed her the sight of her garden, which invited her outside to drown these destructive feelings of hers. She relented to the invitation. A long walk and six steps in the warmth of the farewell bidding sun helped clear her mind. Given time, sand settles in water and the solution becomes clear to the eyes. Thoughts worked the same way with her sobriety vanquisher, and she felt able enough to make a decision. Her recent intakes also gifted her courage. She released her constant company from the confines of her pocket and dialed a number so etched into her memory, she hadn’t bothered to save it. Her Bluetooth earpiece crackled to life with a couple of beeps and then poured into her ears an unfamiliar song, which sounded like a melancholic melody with vocals that wanted to bury a resurfacing pain. Just as the song touched a higher note to vent out greater despair, the call was answered. Her hands went numb as the magnitude of the situation sunk in. The earpiece stayed silent… For a while!

_______________________________________________

The maps of his project and their rendering had been the latest occupants of his weary mind. He wished to think of things more relaxing, but being a project-in-charge meant giving up on certain luxuries like sustained peace of mind. He was glad to get home and wanted to feel happy to be back with his wife, but some long gone feeling was being a roadblock to it. He craved for a hug of understanding, and right now it wouldn’t suffice to just be with a faithful, dutiful, beautiful partner. He looked into her eyes and searched for a sense of compassion, but in vain. He did receive a smile though, that meant to say that the eyes complementing the smile were delighted to see him back and that tea was waiting for him. Before he could say yes to the tea, a five-inch-diagonal rectangle lit up within his pocket and Carl Orff’s complaint to lady luck began ringing with an increasing volume. He brought out the source of the sound into his hands and looked at the screen. The number displayed on the screen was way more than just familiar. It had the face of compassion. It promised what he hungered for – understanding. He looked at his wife with eyes that mixed confusion with surprise, and then walked determinedly to the verandah, with the lit rectangle in his hand. He swiped his finger over the screen and the ringing stopped. When he brought the speaker end to his ear, the rectangle was no more lit. He waited for the speaker to gift that unforgotten voice to his thirsty ears, but it stayed silent… For a while!