Words

If you had a 1000 words, only a 1000 words to speak,
Would you use them up all at once or only once a week?

Would you use them in anger? Would you use them in kindness?

Would you search out old mistakes and ask for forgiveness?

Would you ever help a stranger? Spend a few words to befriend?

Would ever reach out to a friend, just to check in on them?

At the end of it would you have regrets? Before you bid adieu?

Is a good thing you don't have only a 1000 words, you only pretend like you do. 

Crooked Paper Plane

There was once a little boy of an impish disposition
That made a crooked paper plane with love and conviction

He used all his might and threw that crooked paper plane

The plane it did fly, right through the broken window pane

The boy rushed to the window with hope in his eyes

His only wish for that crooked plane to touch the blue sky

Now past the broken glass and free from it's man made prison

The crooked paper plane set about trying to complete its mission

It flew past majestic buildings, it flew past broken trees

Yet it could not find that extra lift, that extra bit of breeze

It flew undeterred, surveying the curious human land

Filled with houses of concrete and castles made of sand

Alas, that crooked paper plane was running out of time

With gravity now keen to meet it and the absence of sunshine

It searched the vast earth for a final resting place

And landed on a nearby pyre with the utmost of grace

That crooked paper plane finally gave up on the boy's hope

The burning fire devoured it and left but ashes and smoke

But finally that smoke emerged and began its ascend high

That crooked paper plane and boy did finally touch the sky

Why I Write

People often ask me,

For the reasons why I write,

It's a question that stumps me,

And i ponder with all my might.

I guess I write because,

I see the beauty when it's stormy,

I stop smell the roses one petal at a time,

I'm kidding, that's just too corny.

I write because I'm not good at sports, 

Tried badminton, golf and even cricket for a few years, 

An ambitious leg spinner with a cunning mind, 

I sadly retired with a dislocated finger and quite a few tears. 

I write because I am a Bengali, 

I like to do my part to add to the stereotype, 

So yes, I write with a plate of fish and rasgullas near reach, 

All while huffing on an old fashioned pipe. 

I write because throughout my childhood, 

I was told what an introvert I was, 

So now even though I learnt to speak, 

I prefer to write, well, just because 

I write because I'm forgetful, 

I forget names of kindly strangers, 

And the promise I made to myself, 

To live a life unafraid of any future dangers. 

I write because I'm a hypocrite, 

My deeds and thoughts don't align, 

My written ideals can be held up as a mirror, 

To expose my actions, so useless and benign

I write because I'm terrified,

Of people and their ways,

Political correctness is the tune,

To which everyone in society sways.

I write because it's easy,

To vent the anger of the mind,

It's the only thing pure in this filthy world,

That can hope to us all bind.

I write because I'm no great orator,

With a aura of passion and power,

To wake the people of the earth,

To this reality so bitter and sour.

I write because i find,

The stereotypes that must be broken,

To free us from the dark ages,

And into a life free of sin.

I write because I'm tired,

Of the conservatives of this land,

That walk in a by gone era,

And bury our nation in the sand.

I write because I'm angry,

That it is religion that tears us,

Which god would condone the killing of an innocent,

Or the needless flaming of a bus?

I write because i see,

A nation that is not free,

It is bound by its leaders,

Who slowly awaken the banshee.

I write because I know, 

The power of a sheet of paper and pen, 

Harmless words put together, 

Can destroy the most powerful of men. 

I write because i wish to share,

My vision in prose and rhyme,

Go ahead, arrest me if you will,

In my heart I know it's no crime. 

A Walk

Out of the dark that covers the land, 
I walk on this path unyielding and slow, 
Besides the shadows of the dark and unknown, 
The patter of my feet slowly grow, 

The ghosts of my past cry and bellow,
But I walk on unheeding and undeterred,
They reach out to grab me with ghastly hands, 
But my faith remains intact, neither shaken nor stirred.

As the rays of my conscience light up my soul, 
The shadows of darkness shorten in haste, 
My worries fade and my mind becomes light, 
And all my troubles are laid to waste, 

Just one sound echo's throughout, 
That of my steady footsteps in the slipping sand,
As I walk on this path unyielding and slow, 
Out of the dark that covers this land.

The Soldiers

The air was thin,the ground cold,
But yet they stood unafraid and bold,

Their blood was boiling,their eyes ablaze, 
Not a million bullets,could them hinder or faze, 

"How dare they set foot,how dare they come!
Onto our land,under our sun!"

"They shall pay,they shall die! 
This is our promise,we never lie!"

And so they stood,brothers in arms, 
To defend their people,to defend their farms,

Every pebble,every last grain of sand, 
They would take back of their beloved motherland

And as the war waged on,the brothers did part, 
But not before giving their soul,not before giving their heart,

And before their final breath,before their untimely demise,
They saw a majestic sight,in front of the gleaming sun rise,

They smiled as they fell with a final sigh,
Their beloved Tri Colour,flying forever high.

The Final

Where 32 stood, now just 2 remain, 
To battle for victory,to battle through pain,

Big teams and bigger names,
Failed to hold on to shattered dreams, 

New heroes made,New names forged, 
In our minds they are forever lodged, 

The Wall of Mexico, The Team from Rica, 
The Extraordinary Dribbler from Columbia,

The Swiss winger,The Flying Dutchman, 
A Brazilian trickster,A Portuguese hitman, 

All showed a burning fire, 
Forged by will and fueled by desire, 

But now they take a back seat, 
For now two giants of the game meet, 

One a team of ruthless efficiency, 
The other with a player of unmatched supremacy, 

The stage is set, the venue Brazil, 
For an epic battle of power and skill, 

In the end when finally the whistle does blow, 
One nation shall weep,the other roar!

The Legend

An ordinary man covered in a cage of armour,
No where could you find a face calmer,

Than was his in the face of battle,
Nothing and no one could him rattle.

And on he marched with sword in hand,
A single face in this massive band,

Of soldiers and farmers walking side by side,
To defend their country against this great tide,

Of barbarians and hooligans hungry for blood,
To be split and mixed with the soil and mud,

Of this great country of his,
Disrupted from it's state of peace and bliss.

The horn sounded and the war began,
The River of Red;it ran and ran.

For days and months the war did last,
Into the abyss of death a great number of men were cast.

But then came forth this ordinary man,
With blazing eyes like the wind he ran,

Weaving his way past soldiers alive and dead,
He filled the enemy with horror and dread.

He then leaped into the sky with all his might,
The leader fell as he lost forever his ambitious sight,

The sword driven into the heart and soul,
Of the enemy which perished into the dust and coal.

The king proclaimed a reward just,
His weight in gold and a bronze bust.

The man smiled a humble smile,
And was carried a hero for many a mile,

Confined forever to the history books to be,
A man no more,a God was he!