My poetry, my pain!!

Would poetry help to drain the pain
The mockery, which has been made
The divinity that has turned profane
The petals transformed into blade

How far would my writings carry me

Cause reflection never relieves pain
And I am an abode to melancholy
A marble in acid rain

Non-chalantly I have cursed the past
My present is cursing me now
The subtle issues which became so grave
The intricacies of the know how

These hypocrites who broke my trust
Are oblivious to the fact
The bleeding wound and the dust in my eyes
Is still what remains intact

Hillarious it is but painful true
Even my writings have gone vague
The flow has stopped and the pen is dead
What remains is an empty page

The bluffs and poofs which seemed so real
Vanished in thin air
The world seem to have lost conviction
Lost its finesse and flair

My mind saturated and my fingers tired
My eyes now fail to see
The yellow pages and the familiar writings
Of the pain called poetry.

-Kanishka

POISON ME!!

There she sits caressing her hair
The black silk which seems to entice
And for eternity am I ready to stare
Willing to pay any given price

The silhouette which that immortal castes
Even the shadow begins to breathe
For ages should this moment last
Till my patience begins to cede

And even Valentine would melt at the sight
As the pearl sweats down her neck
Leaving a trail it makes its way
Via the valley to her breast

She sits there, redefining curves
The marvel which I beget
Forcing me to sing ballads in her praise
Like Romeo pampered Juliet

She purifies the water when she bathes
Crouched beneath the basin I see
And this mischievous heart should mend its ways
Cause the lady deserves privacy

But who would teach a stubborn heart
The doctrines of decency
For all I know my love is pure
Devoid of sin, of vulgarity

Oops! I folly when I speak of heart
And of love and passion I boast
Alas! I died some years back
And what remains now is my ghost

Yes, I defy the laws of death
Cause how am I supposed to love
Ghosts are meant for wrath to bequeath
To screech in the air above

Yet, it restores eternal peace
The silence of a cave
And all I want is to stare at her
Is that a sin so grave


For who understands the killing grief
Killing to kill a ghost
I cannot touch, I cannot feel
The person I love the most

There she sleeps alone in our bed
A tear trickles down her eyes
Helplessly I stroke her head
But my love doesn’t recognize

Parched are her supple lips
Wrinkled are her cheeks
And again & again she negates to live
For my love is what she seeks

Coward that I am, for I cannot see
My love suffering this sorrow
And a loser returns to his cemetery
To hope for a better tomorrow

And there I go into that decaying carcass
The dampness of the grave
The coffin doesn’t help much either
For a solution is what I crave

There is just one question which I ask
Earnestly I beg before thy
Give me a remedy to end this task
The poison for a ghost to die.

- Kanishka

Black blood!!

For it vanished like smoke
All the feelings that it had invoked
The scattered pearls which lay on the floor
What once was a necklace which I adored

The protagonists have changed over time
I used to live; now I am dying
Wishing that my eyes could deceive me
For what I was, now I crave to be

And the nicotine in my blood which says
That tobacco has now taken her place
And the only difference which now remains
She mutilated me, the cigarette relieves the pain

And with each and every drag that I take
Reminds me of the love so fake
Ramshackled, yet those hinges still creak
My efforts to erase her, prove so weak

Etched in my blood
Is that love so divine
Mixed with alcohol
It still does remind

Those sleepless nights
Those crazy dreams
Those endearing bickers
The ecstatic screams

And the times when we fabricated love
Her eyes closed, her breath fluctuated
In my arms she lay as if she said
For ages my love, have I awaited

For there is no more of her today
What remains now, is an empty bed
And me on the floor, lay hallucinating
With the liquor, ashtray and my beloved cigarette.

- Kanishka

Free Me!!

I want freedom from all these broodings
The painstaking days, the futile moorings
I want freedom from the jealousies and gains
Laughing over others when they are screaming in pain

I want freedom the bondage of trust
The false promises and the love so abrupt
I want freedom from the endless rhetorics
The plagiarized success, the false heroics

I want freedom from this killing competition
Coercing you to work, regardless of recognition
I want freedom from the Darwinian Proposition
Survival of the fittest, indifferent to relations

I want freedom cause I’ve realized
That life jibes at every turn
And for “Gandhi” to exist today is like one
Butcher made a plastic surgeon.

- Kanishka

Brutal World

Should I or should I not
Trust these bastards and bitches
For they are the ones who have incessantly fought
Beyond all loyalty, beyond all the riches

The faithful impression is all a farce
And to my wonder how rapidly it fades
The queen of spades and the king of hearts
The sadistic pleasure for which they crave

And still again to my apathy it seems
I have to survive with these parasites
The castles in air and the volatile dreams
These jokers never fail to provide

And behind my back they talk all dark
Oblivious to my emotions and feelings
Planning how to bite and bark
To provide that pleasure from my wounds and peelings

For all I know that thy need my blood
Use me as a ladder to climb
Morbid parasites that endlessly suck
Only to weaken and leave me behind

Alas! I pity myself when I see

The amount of effect it has cast
The scars and sores of those atrocities
For ages will these long last

Callous, cruel, ruthless world
False and fallacies, is anything true?
And I am but a helpless mortal
Death is more faithful than you.

- Kanishka

The Journey

Insanity is something familiar
Obscure, ambiguous rhetorically unclear
For the mesmerized wanderer to finally nest
That craving to loiter, the irresistible zest

The journey to search remains so bright
The brave against the dark, killing the fright
Abysmal gloom that slowly haunts
The shrill of the wind, the flight of the heron

But the journey still so invigorating and divine
Beyond the demon, beyond the shrine
For there is the fragrance of victory which keeps me on
Inspite the shrill, inspite the heron

For who knows what the end might contain?
A fallacious compensation, a morose gain
Or the truth of life, wisdom beyond bounds
For its not victory but the journey which counts.

-Kanishka
20th January

Shades of Grey

One ponders over life,
The frantic question craving to be realized
The desolate feeling of helplessness and despair
Immutable, palpable beyond repair

What is my aim what is my goal,
Despaired and demented searches my soul
The trivial things of life so sublime
Seeming to guide me beyond all times

Blindfolded by the eons of gloom
The acerbic feeling guiding me towards doom
Far from meaning and far from reason,
In the bondage of apathy, distant from freedom

My throat dry, my eyes heavy
My shoulders down, my walk unsteady
Oh! Jesus, what justice is this,
Far from blessing, elation and bliss

Shades of grey haunting the protagonist
Life seeming to be trite and insipid
Where is the fire, where is the passion
Where is the desire, where is the aggression

Something is terribly wrong in the plan
Cause life seems to be stagnant, dull and bland
Sources of happiness, hilarious at face
Seem to be jibing, looking down with disgrace

Keep calm and serene, the defence mechanism is on
The bishop trying to help the surrounded pawn
But the solution is void because the problem is vague
The more you try the faster it escapes

For the love of god, I need sanity to prevail
I am losing myself in this cumbersome trail
Trying extremely hard to figure out the end
Fed up of the gazillion futile attempts

But when life becomes a deadly curse
Horrendous to the core, with no one to nurse
A liability to be carried without an answer
A figure of sympathy dying of cancer

But again and again why should I blame life
Is it the system or the problem inside?
Compelling me to be a pessimist in existence
Trying to transform answers into questions

“Abhimanyu”, is the answer, “Abhimanyu” is the key
The paranormal sword to pierce melancholy
For the strength of character the man possessed
Beyond all doubts, beyond all transgress

I am what I am and I should proud to be,
Given an opportunity to face difficulty,
And break the Chakravyuh to give grief an exodus
Charred and bleeding but still emerging victorious

Cause what would be life without shades of grey
A monotonous bleat, a sardonic bray
The highs are to be cherished but the lows are what matter
Testing the substance, the strength of character

One has to realize the substantial question,
That each one of us possesses a “Ram” and a “Ravan”,
For those are defeated where “Ravan” dwells
And those who triumph are the ones where “Ram” excels.



Kanishka

Depraved

She must die cause she had no heart
She must die cause she ripped mine apart
She must die cause I hate to live
She must die for me to forgive

Sadist I am but I was forced to become
From a modest man to the unforgiven
Tenderness and emotions which I always vowed
Charred beyond recognition seek revenge now.

The pleasure which one would finally get
To ooze out blood from her eyes and breast
And enjoy the tremor when she screams in pain
The evil smile to suggest the end of the game

Or when the bullet would finally pierce that skull
A lightning crack to restore peace and lull
And slowly the evil would fall on the ground
A deafening silence, remorse profound

But is this the solution to all miseries?
The sore reminiscence, the agonizing memories,
Which deflect back to hit me again
The stale sorrow and the redundant pain

Cause death would be too easy an escape
A fraction of second and the end of fate
For what about the death which I have survived
Synonyms of grief personified

And finally a shaft clearing the haze
The ultimate solution to the horrendous maze
Guilt is the answer to make her realize
That someone has just sacrificed his life.

I must die to reciprocate pain
I must die to put her to shame
I must die for her to realize
What it feels to live demise.

-Kanishka
(Yes, I derive pleasure out of it!!)

She

I think its somewhere inside me
Subtle however, yet haunting constantly
Making me contemplate of what I am
A living granite, a complacent man

Yet the feeling so acerbic, imperviously poignant
Despite the complacency, despite the torment
Cause somewhere down the line it says
The answer is divine, obscure and vague

And the smell of satisfaction that one would get
Beyond all contentment, beyond all transgress
For the fanaticism would finally come to cease
Killing the agony, inviting the ease

For what happened in the past is all bygone
Impulsive actions and a dreadful song
Where melodies seem to remind again
Of the same old sorrow, the familiar pain

But alas! I force myself to believe
The triviality of substance, the patience to relieve
And move forward as if “she” never was
The revered one, the final pause.

- Kanishka
( The only positive thing it prompted me to do!!)