FOR PEACE .........

MENTAL PRISON Cages of thoughts are decorated in the prison of my mind. The souls of my thoughts are the inmates of that prison. Each weaves their own story. Some proudly paint themselves as the villains in the mental portrait of their story, while others try to expose their innocence. These inmates, guilty (read evil) or innocent (read angel), are the ones sitting behind the steering wheel and driving the car of my involuntary or voluntary actions. I am urged by them, driven by them. Sometimes the evil and diabolical ones make me to do even more evil things. I follow them blindly. They take me to the edge of the cliff and reward me with their little push. I free fall, free fall in the abyss of pain and misery. But then, I gather my valour and realise that I am the master of my own self, I am the warden of the prison in which they live and thrive. I call my angel inmates and plead them to take the charge. They come with their open wings and helpful heart. They catch me a

EYES CLOSED... I can only see when my eyes are closed, This turbulent world and its wretched soul, This orgasmic feeling and its crafted wounds, This impish belief and the cancer it blooms, I had had my eyes open , By the scintillations of her beauty, Produced on the celluloid of my brain, Time passed , moments died and then resurrected in form of memories, I had my eyes open, Suddenly, the lightning of change struck , Forcing to close my eyes in this unforseen luck, Then i realise where i lay, 6 foot long and 4 feet wide,they say, I can see the darkness of truth blanketing my way, Feeling the unexplained, i realised i am lying in my own grave...

FALSE REALITY.... A boy has just slipped into the realm of his dream. He thinks he is dreaming. His eyes are wide open and are targeted towards the ceiling which has been painted in blood-red by the soothing illumination coming out from the cheap LED bulbs. His bed has embraced him and it does not have any second thoughts of letting him go.  But the boy’s thought does not converge with that of his bed. He tries to get up and sit tall in that blurry world which has been blended with the smoke of dual-natured red light. With some physical efforts he now sits in the position he likes the most. Now, he is staring at the rectangular glass slab which has been supported by his thick engineering books. He needs a fix; the thought generates enthralling impulses among the billion nerves of his body.  He takes out his credit card and puts the holy cocaine on the glass slab, segments the lump in five equally spaced vertical columns and starts inhaling the ‘elixir’ with the help of 10 rupee