Not so Childish Childhood

That was a finely fine day

The day,when I was woken up by the hustle of the streets, 

Not by the beautiful sound of the tweets. 

That day I was woken up by the rush of life, 

Not by the sound of my father’s beautiful wife.

And then, my thoughts sank in my sleep.
Minutes later, came a voice;

Harsh enough to wake a child of six up. 

Even though a child, I knew just by a glare; 

That they wanted me to evacuate the place of fare. 

And with obedience,  I did comply.
Six nights at six different stations, 

Where no one knew about the passions; 

The passions that bloomed in the li’l child’s heart. 

And no one knew about the desires;

The desires that were suppressed before they  unfolded. 

I knew I had little choice, 

My passions and desires had lost their voice.
All this happened after the terror attack,

Not by the terrorists, but by our neighbours in fact.
They burned our house

They killed our people

My sister so sweet

My mother so meek

My father so fierce 

And I with tears

They burned us all.
Then came an unkind soul who drew me out, 

Who drew me out of the blazing fire,

Who threw me back to the beasts so dire;

But the beasts paid no heed, 

They had had their enough share of weed.
They were a majority, 

And we the untouchables,  or the minority.

Now, in the city there’s no one I know, 

I don’t know where the path may go. 

I had suppressed my desires for so long,

But now they’ve turned so wild.

Not caring for my martyred family’s pride;

The desires, that day stole a piece of bread,

And since then that’s the kind of life I’ve led.
The craving for a decent meal did not end,

And the same story went on but end.

Because,  with a decent meal, to another place I flee

That’s how I live, 

That’s how I survive, 

Thanks to the unkind soul who saved my life, 

He saved my life, but I was no more alive, I was no more alive. 


The Old Times, The Gold Times

The old times, the Gold times.The times when there was a guiltless pleasure in being dependent on others. The times when we could cry our hearts for no reason at all, and still not be called the ‘Attention Seekers’. The times when our insistence was not taken as our obstinacy. The times when our clothes didn’t define our character. 

All these years have stolen our innocence. The rote learning methods of our education system have ruined our creativity and ingenuity. We know what we’re taught, we fail to discover the mysteries of the unknown. 

Oh, how I wish I was never taught to learn, how I wish I was always taught to question the eternal truths. How I wish I could be a child again. How I wish I could learn to unlearn.