How Long?

Is it really so difficult ?
What’s with all that nervousness?
That pounding heart, that heavy breath,
That feeling of a chill running down the spine?

Is it really so difficult to concentrate?
To write a MSG, to write a mail;
To say what you mean,
Without restrain!

And is it really so difficult,
To act ur age?
One moment-smile at everyone,
The next – sway with rage!

Oh why so difficult to control
The ecstasy from her single word?
Or the feeling of despair and sorrow
When it comes but comes a little late!

Who will help you? Who will understand?
Who will decipher the meaning of ur state?
My friend , how
Long will you suffer alone,
Till your Longingness for her abate?

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TGIF

Ouch! Painful.. Wasn’t it?
Nevertheless I tried!
N now it’s time not to think
And start the Absinthian Weekend
With a trip to Brotzeit, perhaps
Then a night of hallucinations
While the Green angel guides me
On my Romantic quest!

Oh wait, did I forget
Lightyear is waiting to delight me,
9:40 sharp. Tonight !
Too much to do. Too much to drink
And it’s just 1 Friday night!

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Weird Stuff Cont.

Here as I Stand in this train, I look around the compartment and my eyes rest on a variety of emotions and faces. But what I am looking for is a face of love.

The face of love is defined not by composure, calmness and happiness. It’s the face of the lone person looking around for a mate, a face of anguish of longingness, with lines of boredome crisscrossing it. The eyes with a hopeful look, yet immersed in an ocean of loneliness. And yet to the bystander. a look of casual indifference.

The face is not to be found as far a I can see. Station in and station out, new faces pour in, but rarely do I find one that carries the look I am curious about.

I sigh deeply, and walk towards the door. And in that moment, my eyes glance upon something that I had been looking for all along. I find a face so filled with the aura of carelessness that one would mistake it for indifference to the world. The forehead lies calm as if in eternal peace. Yet the eyes sing a different tune altogether. There is so much pain hidden there, that given a chance they would rain down tears endlessly. There is a permanent search for someone, as there is a frustration with solitude. There is a thirst in them that can be satisfied by only another person that it is seeking. Without doubt , it is the look of love.

They who seek others, find it was their self that they were looking for!

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Pangs of Love

The pangs of love,
The pain of their strikes
The feeling of discontent
The endless desires

Painful it is
And is addictive
For the pleasure of the pain
Is sweeter than anything

The feeling of when
The heart feels alive
When u hear another voice in urself
Relentless until She is found!

Ah the sweet pain
And how I fail to notice
When it overtakes my senses
And makes me helpless

Oh! The Pangs of love!

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Rise in Love!

More crazy stuff from my mid-teens! this one’s when i was 16!

The morning dawned on the eastern sky,
The orangish hue spread over the earth,
I saw your face in the rising sun,
Which smiled at my life and thus increased its worth.

Just before a while had I dreamt a dream,
Where you n I hold hand in hand
Walking along in the moonlight,
Over the warm waves and cooling sand.

And when I woke up,I still saw you,
Standing at the threshold of my door
Telling me that my love for you,
No doubt,in all cases was absolutely pure.

Then I woke upto reality and found,
A golden gleam coming in my window through
I said to myself”This is a morning dream,
it is bound to be true”

True,it will be,
If only you understand the condition of my heart,
I live for you,I die for you,
What more can I say on my part?

You are my friend,
Don’t you say that a thousand times a day,
But  you couldn’t understand your friend’s emotions,
That is the reason for my dismay.

I am infected by a deadly disease,
Love-Which is its deadly name,
It kills in a man’s body,
The precious words-“Name and  Fame”.

But was I responsible alone,
To bear the cause of this?
Who told you to be so beautiful,
Much more than a man could wish!

There are others who are but,
Masters in this love game,
They see a girl,they flirt a day,
The next day,they forget her name.

Unfortunately,I am not,
In this game,an experienced player,
When I love a girl,I do so,
In my heart,at the deepest layer.

I promise you all the happiness,
A woman could desire for,
I promise you fame you would get,
Which even royal queens dream for.

I cannot bring the moon for you,
But I promise to bring you some of its dust,
I can conquer time for you,
If only in me you trust.

You want to test these promises?
Test it,with time to your heart content,
I say it again;and again will I say,
My promises will never be bent.

Think again and give your cruel heart,
A good little shove,
I advise you,don’t fall with me,
But with me, you Rise in Love!

-ROHIT ASHWINI KUMAR

Credit goes to Shraddha Das for preserving this for so long.

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The Night Watchmen

This is a poem I had written 4 years ago in std 9.

The Night Watchman

The night had passed half and more,
I awake and doing my task,
I heard that shrill whistle,
It sounded more and more.

I talk here of that man,
Who’s sleep has been hampered for years at stretch;
His face shrivelled, those eyes bulged;
A distorted image in a khaki dress,
And a cycle with a thick fat stick,
And yet my neighbour said-“I heard you not”!

And there death brought quietness all around,
I at my desk and doing my task;
And thieves away with that shrill whistle,
And passes the Night Watchman-
A distorted image in a khaki dress,
And a cycle , perhaps, second hand,
With a thick fat stick,
And sadly neighbour said-“I heard you not”!!

All mothers and fathers and sons and daughters,
Slept with peace and free of tension,
No thief dared, for burglars feared-
That shrill sound which I heard.
The distorted man in a khaki dress
Passed and saluted me.
And morning next I saw him again
-Come to my neighbour’s house,
When all were awake
And all were safe and nothing was gone-
Came a distorted man in a khaki dress,
With a cycle, perhaps, second hand,
And a thick, fat bamboo stick,
To ask his money for-
His shrill whistles and his duty and his hampered nights’sleep;
And my tension free neighbour, lost in slumber at night,
Cruelly and sadly said-
“ I heard you not”!!!

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Poignant Story

Life is a long journey: we start somewhere, we end elsewhere. We move along with life. We meet people who travel with us; some for a short time and then leave us; some others travel with us for a considerable amount of time. There are still others, who play such a small part in our lives, but we remember them throughout the journey; yet at other times, the tide of time washes away our memories.

I was recently at a wedding reception. A posh wedding with posh people. A plethora of extravagant display of personal wealth. Women wore different types of saris-some shining, some glistening, yet others glimmering. Their lips were redder than wine, their eyes were blacker than death. Mirth and merrymaking was all around, punctuated by the sound of laughter. Some of the laughter was natural; others were concocted to suit the situation. There were false exaggerations of each one’s property. Among them there was also some talk about me. ”Me” –would be wrong. The talk was about my father who had left the country as a mere doctor and returned with riches. ‘New Money’ was the word.

In all that glimmering and glittering I saw a girl, utterly beautiful. But there was something else about her that was striking-she was different-she was simple, unlike the glittering ladies in the background. I was walking with two of my friends. My eyes met with her beautiful eyes. Those eyes seemed somewhat familiar. I felt that those eyes were taking me somewhere. But a pinch on my arm and a push on my back broke the eye to eye contact. I walked away into the fun and fantasy world again, leaving the not glimmering girl behind.

After half a night of posh fun with posh food and posh drink, it was time to bid others goodbye. As I was about to get in my car, a hand pulled at my sleeve. I turned around. It was that simple girl; with eyes full of piteous recognition. A beautiful smile flushed her face.
“Ricky…..”
‘Ricky’! How, in the world, did she know my name? I frowned as I thought hard. She waited for my reply. Alas! I had none. She simply didn’t fit into my world.
“Don’t you remember me? Tell who am I?”
Instinctively I shook my head.
“I don’t think I know you, do I?”
Those words created a storm in her. She was surprised, awed and grieved. She turned and ran away. I thought I saw a building drop of tear in her eye. As she went, she accidentally dropped her handkerchief behind. I picked it up and put it in my pocket.

In my room, on my bed, I opened it. In red thread the name sewn was-‘LIPI’. That name was enough! Memories came flooding as if a barrier holding them had broken off somewhere. Those sweet memories of my childhood, those precious moments of my childhood. With all those memories, another name was attached-‘LIPI’…My first friend, I had in life. A friend whose hand I had held and cried. A friend in whose house I had taken shelter from my father’s wrath. A friend with whom I had shared food and time.
I was about seven years old. We used to live in a rented house in a middle class society. There, the day I moved in, I met this friend. And there we shook hands and became friends.

How many temples we had built on sand, I have no clear account. She was the designer and I was the builder. Tunnels through sand we had made and held each others hand under it. We had watered so many plants and plucked so many flowers. I used to create a runway to land my plane near the temple. She would make a home for her doll.
“Ricky”, she would ask, “would you take me with you in your plane”?
And I used to reply “Yes, who else”?
Then we would christen our temples and houses and runways with curses for those people breaking them.

I remember now, the day I was supposed to leave India. I had cried before the Gods not to take me away from her. But my destiny was destined. She was sad, but only her tender heart wept, not her eyes. She promised to write letters, I promised to call her when I reached the other land…..But promises were made to be broken!!
“And when you return, what will you bring for me”?
The car started and she ran after the car, waving madly. I was doing the same. Her figure became smaller and smaller, until finally she went out of sight.

Yes, I returned. But nothing had I got for her. It is said-‘out of sight, out of mind’…I felt she was not out, but concealed in a deep trench in my mind, in my heart.

Next morning I woke up, dressed and drove into those areas which I had left twelve years ago. Nothing had changed-her sweet house, those sweet trees with sweet flowers, that sweet ground, and that evil road which had led me away! I opened her main gate and walked inside her compound. I knocked at her door. She opened the door and was awed again.
“Lipi, sorry for yesterday”.
“Never mind Ricky, come in”.
I went in. The house was still the same. The scent of roses still came through the window. The sofas still creaked as I sat down.
“When did you return, Ricky”?
“A few months ago”.
She sat beside me and looked into my eyes.
And slowly, with trembling lips she asked-

“What have you brought for me”?

“Only myself”.

She wept, I wept; both holding each other tightly. There was grief and joy, happiness and sorrow, all at the same time. But the most important thing was that we were together again; together never to be separated again.

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