The Grody God

Swallowed by rage,

The wolf is out of sage's hide

signalling to the great slide

of the dawn of a new age.

Riled from unanswered heeds

unfettered; this abominable fiend

incessant on making gods bleed

with those who sell this trade,

the men of cloth conducting this mindless charade.

Snivel up and grovel at his feet

for the sake of their forsaken lives which feed,

his raging soul ignited by their creed

Why the righteous are trudged and smashed?

Why the good belittled and bashed?

Why the punctilious considered pushovers; trash?

Why is faith manipulated to be an eyesore; a rash?

Is there no justice, no godly scheme,

No fellowship, no Utopian dream.

If men are a reflection of god,

then is he too a sadist, a slipshod.

Reveling in other's misery 

residing in decadent opulence

while his believers toil in penury

misled by men who sell superstition with influence.

as he remains ignorant and in leisure

watching his sheep slaughtered for his pleasure.

Fight Or Flight

Brimmed with hardships & failures each turn,
constant defeats with nowhere to run
contemplating endgame and trying to agree
on a way to go with unfulfilled legacy

no matter the counsels of friends; family
now there is a corpse on a tree dangling
of one who tried to be free by hanging
to run from voices and reasons in his head; banging

no more seasons of perpetual autumn
nor reason for silence; solemn
hoping for freedom, joy & glee
searching salvation to a considerable degree

It's not easy to let this cowardice slide aside
why give up the battle and choose suicide
Running is easy when things get breezy
when life kicks you to ground
beaten, battered & thrown around

Many chicken out & quit
many more are winded from constant hits
But true men toil with resolve & grit
Taunting the gods to write a tougher script

Bearing it all without a wince or a frown
knowing that it's minim to slow them down
Fate is relentless and has considerable might
But Iron character is forged in furnace of a tough fight

So stand up son and ignore your plight
Battle on and claim the night
For day may seem lost
with failure up in swell
But the night is still young 
For you to create your own hell.


P.S: In response to a report I chanced upon highlighting the trend of growing suicides in ages 15-35 among Indian youth. 

Hard Answers

A tale of battered pride,
of mistreated mother,sister and bride.
unsure of what triggered this slide
and how to bridge this gaping divide.

Those with sources and sweeping powers
hide behind words and high towers
while we helpless, watch our trampled flowers
brimmed with anger and shame in their troubled hour

Is this borne out of apathy or ennui
is the solution singular or prorate
A product of detail or an attempt desperate.
A 'caille en sacrophage' or a simple 'ratatouille'

A revolution is only as strong as it's root,
like a bard is nothing without his Lute
a melting pot of all walks; rich or destitute
capable of swaying even when mute

Grounded in tragedy and the subsequent demise
of a braveheart who struggled, but hijacked by bourgeois
Candles won't do where stones suffice
The Nation's open nerve is the premise

Fooled repeatedly by smug fiends
who forsake all to further their needs
when demanded to come good on their deeds
they indulge in politics of terrorism, caste and creed

A solution is needed, furthered by political will
Something extraordinary yet run-of-the-mill
avoiding another showdown like Raisina hill
something that prompts the gaping hole to fill

Harsh punishments to adult or juvenile
like death or castration to render sterile
more sensitivity in police rank and file
to treat the victim well and with a smile

Time to wake from slumber and slouch
to come good on principles that our forefathers vouch
a revolution can't be carried from the comfort of a couch
To be heard, You have to heave and shout.