Red lipstick

Creases, when she smiles
Lost or lived lines
Puff some powder
These, at least, I can hide
An external glimpse
Of minimal significance
Cosmetic concerns are just one
Of the many symptoms
But what olay can't repair
And facials fail to fix
Literally, ugliness resides within
Greased pipes, porous bones
A corpse is coming out
Formicating under my skin

Now before it does,
Please prescribe me some medicines

And yes, do not judge

I am not just an old lady
Trying to resist her age

I am a critical patient
Fighting a contagious epidemic

A ripple

My voice
Another whisper
In an overly crowded room
Dampened its pitch
It's amplitude
Overpowered by screams
Lost somewhere along
Unfulfilled promises
And broken dreams
It may go unnoticed
Among the deafening sounds
Of bombs and gunshots
And what not
It may be over shadowed by shades of crimson
The blood oozing out from endless wounds
The Ambulance sirens
And the bustle of an emergency room
It maybe drowned by howls of pain
In the silence of death
Along with the tears, shed and unshed
Who sees a ripple in a turbulent sea
Why am I writing
If there is no one to read
Am I writing for them
Or for me?
I am just another selfish human being
Wrestling with my conscience
And giving in to my routine
Disguising my helplessness
My callousness
And calling it poetry

Life is a word

We all need escape
To disappear and evade
For few moments
For a little while
Some refuge
Some respite
Monotonous is this life
So I color mine
And I color it with words
Blue
Red
And green
I can color it
The way I please
Life is a word
And on paper
I can choose my ink
Bold
Underlined
Or italic
Depends on how I format
I can go back
Cross and erase
Write and rewrite
Save or let it fade away
Hide
Recite
The choice is mine
The quill is in my hands
The power to decide
To define
Paper is where
I come to life
Words
I believe
I can metamorphosize

Mudman

Remember those days
When we were young
And with mud, we played
Baking mud cakes
With pebble toppings
Mud, our food
Mud, we ate
Building homes with mud
Playing ghar ghar
And then destroying it all
With mud bombs
Atleast, they don't hurt
Making figures
Calling them sculptures
Pretending to be artists,
Oblivious we were
Dreams had no price
No tag
No label
Showing us possibilities
Helping us experience
Mud knew no boundaries
No borders
Cheap and easily available
It was an excellent toy
Everyone had it
Everyone could buy
Mud, made us one
Covered in it
Wearing our skin
We knew our niche
Mud, we were
Mud, was us

Gray

Guilt sprouts from pleasure
Success is earned
At the expense of others
Respect and fear
Inter-convertible
Memorable lessons are learned
Through unforgettable failures
Religion inevitably teaches prejudice
Can love be separated
From possessiveness?

I don't see black
I don't see white
There are no colors
Just gray

Mr. 15

Your pain,
Nothing but a tragic story
Given coverage
Your tears,
Dramatically captured
Outpouring liquid
Your death,
A topic of my drawing room discussion
"God, this country is so unsafe
I am thinking of migrating
I am scared"
Your limbs,
Momentry discomfort
Bordering disgust
Your loved ones,
So you really were someone
and not just a number?

"27 died"
Or
27 once lived?

Grand prix

Speeding by
Speeding away

Acceleration
Exhilaration

I move fast
Without reins
Without brakes
I move on
Without pauses
Without stops

I have an aim
A purpose
Which I am charging
Full throttle
Towards

I have to reach
Before anyone else does

More acceleration
More exhilaration

I see the finish line
With gleaming eyes
And a smug smile
I bring my car
To a stop
In style

Swelling with pride
I step out
Waiting for applause
I look around

But I see no one
No crowd
Just Izrael
Clapping
Cheering me on

So, you too?
A victim
Of bigger
Better
And more
They all were
And now you

But fool
That wasn't a race
It was your life
and this is your death
No finish line

More on silence

Silence kills words
Silently, committing murder

A crime daily witnessed
But the victim remains
Unheard.

Evidence?
None.

The judge,
Scratches his head
And reads out a justified verdict

"Let's be practical"

The judge, the victim
And the criminal
Gleefully, resume their game
Of musical chairs