Fresh from my yesteryear diaries (slightly edited for clarity)
I was invincible
And unbeatable
Were my endeavours.
The rays of the sun
Used to creep
Inside the darkness
Looking for me.
But the darkness,
To cover me,
Used to create
Obstacles on the way.
With its help,
I always beat the Almighty Sun
And sneered at it.
The sun,
Eclipsed by the defeat,
Would be embroiled in the red storm
For not being able to defeat me.
I trounced the every being
Coming in my way.
And everyone was overcome
By the steel will of my heart.
The jungle was my home.
And I was the son –Tarzan.
Never to be overpowered
And never to be conquered.
But the days were not always
As sunny as the heydays.
The guerrilla war never ended
And never ended my term.
The commands always added further.
And my misdeeds took me farther.
Farther from humanity.
Day after day,
I became more powerful.
And the power closed my eyes.
Turning the human inside me
Into a demon.
A demon with no heart,
No passion,
But only obsession.
Then came the day,
When I realised.
Every man is mortal.
And mortality is the reality
Of every being.
Every human being
Has to see
The days of nadir
From the zenith.
I was disheartened
And so was my soul.
The landmines laid by me
Didn’t spare me –
It’s creator and compiler.
Now,
Having no work,
I stay indoors.
And whenever I come out,
The mighty sun sneers at me.
I have no weapons in my hand.
Even the guns,
The pistols,
And all my belongings,
All have come under my wrath.
All have been hacksawed
And split into mere twos.
They all lay here and there,
At the back of my courtyard,
And all over my living place.
Blue is the sky.
White are the fluffy clouds.
The white doves are flying around.
And my son
Is playing with the split guns.
The barrels cut into two
Are the playthings for him.
He dips one end of the barrel
Into a bowl of soap water
And blows bubbles out of them.
The bubbles,
Fresh and gleaming,
Are rising above –
For liberation.
And the doves come to him as friends.
To play with the bubbles.
I am now happy
Not disappointed as before.
And I too am playing
With my young son.
And blowing the bubbles
Out of those barrels
Which spewed so many bullets.
My son and I,
Both are playing
The pipes of peace.
Yes,
The pipes of peace.
Written on 18 February 1999
At Hostel 4, Malviya Regional Engineering College (MNIT), Jaipur
I was invincible
And unbeatable
Were my endeavours.
The rays of the sun
Used to creep
Inside the darkness
Looking for me.
But the darkness,
To cover me,
Used to create
Obstacles on the way.
With its help,
I always beat the Almighty Sun
And sneered at it.
The sun,
Eclipsed by the defeat,
Would be embroiled in the red storm
For not being able to defeat me.
I trounced the every being
Coming in my way.
And everyone was overcome
By the steel will of my heart.
The jungle was my home.
And I was the son –Tarzan.
Never to be overpowered
And never to be conquered.
But the days were not always
As sunny as the heydays.
The guerrilla war never ended
And never ended my term.
The commands always added further.
And my misdeeds took me farther.
Farther from humanity.
Day after day,
I became more powerful.
And the power closed my eyes.
Turning the human inside me
Into a demon.
A demon with no heart,
No passion,
But only obsession.
Then came the day,
When I realised.
Every man is mortal.
And mortality is the reality
Of every being.
Every human being
Has to see
The days of nadir
From the zenith.
I was disheartened
And so was my soul.
The landmines laid by me
Didn’t spare me –
It’s creator and compiler.
Now,
Having no work,
I stay indoors.
And whenever I come out,
The mighty sun sneers at me.
I have no weapons in my hand.
Even the guns,
The pistols,
And all my belongings,
All have come under my wrath.
All have been hacksawed
And split into mere twos.
They all lay here and there,
At the back of my courtyard,
And all over my living place.
Blue is the sky.
White are the fluffy clouds.
The white doves are flying around.
And my son
Is playing with the split guns.
The barrels cut into two
Are the playthings for him.
He dips one end of the barrel
Into a bowl of soap water
And blows bubbles out of them.
The bubbles,
Fresh and gleaming,
Are rising above –
For liberation.
And the doves come to him as friends.
To play with the bubbles.
I am now happy
Not disappointed as before.
And I too am playing
With my young son.
And blowing the bubbles
Out of those barrels
Which spewed so many bullets.
My son and I,
Both are playing
The pipes of peace.
Yes,
The pipes of peace.
Written on 18 February 1999
At Hostel 4, Malviya Regional Engineering College (MNIT), Jaipur
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