Angry of life

At this instance of time,
I am a little angry.
Angry from things,
That surrounds me,

The tick tick of clock,
The screen broken off(of tablet),
Every time my phone,
Hangs on screen lock.

Grandmother’s strange requests,
To clean my beard and moustache,
Angry on failure to ,
Complete daily target quests.

Angry condn’t able to get,
Topper performance in a test,
Angry that when I need to work,
I so much want to rest.

Angry, I am angry,
From day, night,
From what is wrong,
What is right,
This everyday strife,
From my sucker life.

Angry of my life, I am,
The problem is,
Nobody else give a damm,
Expect from me,
Achieve all gory and fame,
But wait……….
Am I not just the same??

Expect my life,
To be nicest, coolest,
Awesome in the earnest,
But that is not how it works,
Have to earn it from 100 tests.

So, instead of being angry,
My life is not the best,
Realizing, it is satisfactory,
And put this thought to rest.

The new system

Some friends bunk the class,
What is use of it,
If by YouTube, Wikipedia, you can pass.

Sitting in same room all day,
Listen to a person blabbering,
Student’s mind blowing away,
Can’t we ask why,
What not everyday is holiday.

Why we can’t stay at home,
In this age of internet,
Why we can’t stay with mom,
And study just through net.

This, seems to be the thinking,
That prevails in today’s world,
Classes are old fashioned,
Only for bookworms and nerd.

What about the other things,
The respect for your teacher,
The experience it brings,
The values we need to nurture.

Things that need human interaction,
Basic courtesy and respect for others,
Needed for the society to function,
Making friends and contacts,
To help in important life junction.
Are these not important any more,
Are these things, just a bore??

Present generation is smart and fast,
But they still face this dilema,
Weather to conserve or ditch the past.

The world of melechony

In a dark room,
Many many worlds away,
A single piece of furniture,
A bed, on which I lay,
Nothing much to do,
To pass the day,
Don’t know who I am,
Don’t know whom I pray.

Looking from the single window,
Nothing much is there ,
Just miles of a vast medow,
Medow may be the wrong word,
Just a huge sheet of grass,
Where to walk, where to run,
There is no path to follow.

Here,
Melechony is my only friend,
Everybody is long gone,
After this world had end.

Long gone may not be right words,
For concept of time was killed,
For very very long now,
This world is completely stilled.

Nothing moves here,
Nothing change,
All is nothing,
No river, no range.

Only I am something,
Only I can move,
Making something out of nothing,
Only I can make this change

The blue whale Gamer

One thing you really want,
But the thing is such,
You can only want,
Something out of reach,
To you cannot be grant.

A piece of star,
A flying car,
To be a TV star,
Or in every corner, a bar.

Some things are only dreams,
Reality is really sour,
Not rich and sweet cream.

Monotony and boredom,
Is the reality’s axioms,
That why, we need asylum,
In an unreal dream Kingdom.

We read book, play games,
Lets our imagination fly,
Across realms of riches and fames,
Forget the boring real self,
Go away, to the extent of insanes.

Does it really important to exist,
Even if I am dumb and lame,
Put an end to this foolishness,
Let us play, the Blue Whale Game.

Note : ignore it

Just for one day

For one day,
I don’t follow the routine,
For one day,
Don’t drink that shake of protein,
For one day,
Don’t study, don’t bath, don’t pray,
On the bed, I can just lay,
The world will not end,
If I am allowed to go astray,
Just for one day.

Work really hard yesterday,
Hours passed in the blue,
No matter how much you try,
there is always something to do.

So don’t I deserve rest,
Just for one day,
Can’t I leave the conquest,
Just for one day.

Then,
A memory ignites in my mind,
Why I started this tread,
Why I decided to leave,
Every dawn, the comfort of bed.

There was a time,
When I have chosen the bed,
Rather then working my ass off,
I would do nothing instead,
A life with no goal, no meaning,
I would have choosen to led.

The last para got me,
Where I am today, it brought me,
Whenever I sulk, it comes to me,
From dilema what to do,
This makes me free.

Rather then living a meaninless life,
Better to stand up and fight,
Who knows this one day,
May realize hard work of many nights

A teenager’s want – Means to passion

A teenage boy is sixteen,
Viewing the other guys,
Dudes of their fields,
Attention of girls, is their prize.

The football stars,
Topper in class,
Guys good in dance,
Or the charming lass.

It is clear,
Being average will not suffice,
If you want the girls,
Above all, you have to rise.

On that day, that boy decides,
He would follow path of wise,
Would be polite and nice,
Will work hard, till sunrise.

Then only the girls will see him,
Will want to steal him,
Will fight for his attention,
Towards him, feel the attraction.

So he worked hard day and night,
Every day, marching toward the goal,
Every day, giving his whole to fight,
Away from tv, games, great self-control.

With his devotion and dedication,
He grew leaps and bounds,
The more someone takes about him,
The more great he sounds.

Now all the girls around him,
Discreetly stares at him,
For his attention and love,
Work very hard in gym.

But now
Rarelly, he look at any girl,
For, he now follows,
A different type of pearl
(his field/passion for which he worked so hard)

Irony of circumstances

Two men walking by,
Or rather running,
What they want to try,
Answer to this, stunning.

With a little observation,
Anyone can recognise,
Created by this situation,
The funny irony it dramatize.

One looks rich, wearing clothes well nit,
But figure that of a potato,
The other looks muscular and fit,
But a poor man, with stomach hollow.

Both running on same path,
Though, destination greatly apart.

The man who has money,
Running to reduce his tummy,
The man health and slim,
Running to earn some money,
Isn’t it quiet funny.

On a day, otherwise boring,
The world tells us something funny,
Poetry is not only for intellects,
Circumstances can also do irony.

A father’s passion

A couple going somewhere,
With luggage and a little baby,
Mother gets seat, but father, nowhere
Carrying 3 bags, only a single daddy.

One in the hand, one on the back,
In the crowd, difficult to keep track,
Facing angry stares, as space lack,
Feels like living in a shack.

Then, if that was not enough problem,
Baby started crying, threwing tartrum,
Crying papa, papa, papa,
Where your lap is, I want to come.

The mother quite the baby,
After some time‚Äč, he gave a smile,
Seeing that, something moves in daddy,
He can’t wait even a while.

Even with 3 bags to take care,
He made space for his child,
Taking him in his left arm,
Heart of the child is begiled.

The baby and daddy
started playing their own game
Which for other, was just
Strange signs with no name.

Seeing them,
My heart is filled with glee,
Wishing, I can be a father,
Some day in future, maybe.

Staring

Sitting in front of me,
A girl in a yellow dress,
Seeing her, is a glee,
Fair skin given by god’s bless.

Pretending to write this poem,
I watch with my dirty fantasies,
The figure so awesome,
On her, eyes of every male freeze.

Then, a feeling was recalled,
By my mother, I was told,
Be sensitive, not just bold,
How will you feel mister,
If she was your own sister.

Of course! I don’t want,
Anyone staring at my sister,,
So this girl in yellow does not
Deserves stares of every observer.

At that point, I understood,
That if I want a girl,
I need the guts to say,
That, I want to stand beside you,
Weather it is night or day.

So until I have that guts,
Seeing every women
With respect and dignity is a must.

Stories in a metro

In the metro I travel,
A dozen stories to unravel,
Each passenger carry a fable,
I can guess only the label.

I like to play a detective,
Observing quietly is my tactic,
Analysing different retrospective,
Makes you more connective.

First, I see a man,
Sitting on a seat,
Clutching his bag,
Like a thief away a feet,
Must have learnt a lesson,
In public,
never be careless for a beat.

A women holding hands of her child,
Dropping her to school on early rise,
Parenting is a job of big size.

Some Muslim men with long beard,
Might change at Central Secretariat,
For Jama Masgid is neared.

All youngster on their phones,
Listening music or playing games,
Too busy to appreciate the,
Beauty around them, what a shame.

A couple lurking in back corner,
Showing affection to each other,
God not, love be for how much longer,
Little gurantee, they will take it further.
(lovers now a days)

An old man entered the train,
Body frail and the face pale,
3 people at once stand up without fail.
Seeing this kind of sensitivity,
My trust strengths in humanity.

Many other characters,
Young and old,
Each is a conspirator,
Of stories usually not told.

And here comes my station,
I got off the train,
Leaving behind all the characters,
To travel alone on my lane.