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.

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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.

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.

What I did today

Before going to bed,
Stand in front of mirror,
Light on today is shed,
Events of the day shimmer.

Another day over of my life,
Have I lived it to fullest,
In crowd, am I just a rife,
Is there nothing, I can best.

Today, I woke up early,
One point in my kitty,
Though 4 hours nearly,
On a show, in continuity.

I try to do some studies,
But didn’t feel ready,
Tried things, to pass time,
Day was over in this comedy,

Like this, many days come,
And without much go,
I feel like a person dumb,
Progress in everything, too slow.

I try to maintain a flow,
But stones in the way,
Makes it difficult to row,
And away from targets, I sway.

Standing in front of mirror,
I had this realization,
My heart goes aflutter,
I am living in an​ illusion.

Illusion that, I have time,
Enough for all I want,
Alas! life do not give overtime,
Time was never a grant,

Every day passed in ‘timepass’,
Is a day lost of your small life,
Most persons never outlast,
The time needed to complete​ the vibe.

So if I wanna die with satisfaction,
I have to step up my game,
Difficult is process of corse correction,
But much better then dying in shame.

So, for the night,
I will sleep tight,
To rise…. bright.

A father’s life

In the early morning,
I start the race,
Against all the abating,
And obstacles I face.
Forcing by way, battering,
Through many many gates.

Woke up early,
Still, no time to rest,
100 chores waiting,
Each in itself a test.

First, I remember my weight,
To reduce it, let us go to walk,
Even if last night, I slept late,
Then rising son on time,
Thinking about the grocery rates,
In front of the kids, being sublime,
Searching for my daughter’s mate,
Working several hours overtime,
To protect my children’s fate.

Seems like a difficult job,
Years of lifetime, it rob,
Many times, it is not enough
The appreciation you got.

But, I am still happy to do it,
There are perks to this lunacy,
A life having a purpose to it,
Better then a perfect life of fantasy.

When, I see my kids grow,
From small steps to giant leaps,
Watching this my eyes glow,
Better then thousand gold heaps.

So, I stick to fight,
For, I can announce aloud,
In all trials and delight,
They will make me proud.