Spirit Of Hope – Fighting Cancer

Cancer can affect people of all ages. Few types of cancer are more common in children. In 2007, cancer caused about 13% of all human deaths worldwide (7.9 million). Rates are rising as mass lifestyle changes occur in the developing world.

The people fighting cancer inside themselves or in their loved ones live with the spirit of hope and patience as they embrace every moment with more warmth and more faith.

Cancer gets cured.

 

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They said

I am not going to live for long.

As if I knew what it meant.

Unbounded spirit. Limitless cherishes.

With untangled modesty, I was sent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They said

I won’t look beautiful after this.

They did not know my thoughts.

Impressive stanzas. Splendid verses.

The beauty within is what I sought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They said

It’s going to be difficult.

They had no idea about my family.

Devoted lives. Unprecedented sustain.

A beginning everyday lived gladly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They said

It is something incurable.

Like they have figured it out all.

Negated guilt. Transformed denotations.

Push life a bit more, I must, I shall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Little Martyr

The military use of children takes three distinct forms: children can take direct part in hostilities (child soldiers), or they can be used in support roles such as porters, spies, messengers, look outs, and sexual slaves; or they can be used for political advantage either as human shields or in propaganda. 

(source : Wikipedia.com)

In our lives, being lived at some corner of the world, we would hardly realize some of the cruelest realities which demean the very name of human existence. Using children as feeds to nourish the heinous ambitions undefined is a sin beyond any sin.

They have their right to choose their future and the path towards peace and prosperity.

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You would have known me as the kite runner

chasing the glitter of spun dreams in silk.

With innocence in sight and logic far behind,

I followed your steps knowing of no guilt. 

I knew of a world where prayers came true

in the stories sung by my beautiful mother.

Where she lies now, I just don’t know.

With dust of evil convince, I lost sight of her. 

You taught me to snatch from the destiny

as I was bound to be gagged and trampled.

In the omnipresent reality of our race,

you taught me to wear a soul crumpled. 

Children of God, with guns of terror.

Who disfigured the purity you had?

A world indebted by your sanctimonious blood.

How the absurd victorious would be glad?

 

 

 

 

 

A Grain of God

Hunger is the want or scarcity of food which has been aggregated to the world level.

Of the 6.8 billion world population about 925 million i.e. 13.6% are hungry.

Poor nutrition plays a role in at least half of the 10.9 million child deaths each year.

Under nutrition magnifies the effect of every disease, including measles and malaria.

We need to give more than just a concern for the cause.

 

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The infected subsistence of hope alone

may not suffice to help me stand.

My prayers are null and I know of no God,

spoken of words so virtuous and grand.

I’ve begged for the mercy of fate itself

for a loaf of bread or the eventual end.

Excruciating mirages of empty anticipations.

 Nightmares and reality thoroughly blend.

 My resolve is still not shattered

but how do I face my children, dying.

Their helpless father carries them in ache.

On the pyre, burning alive, I see them lying. 

How do I tell them stories so true,

of glowing peace and satiated needs.

He has seen cruelty of no reason alone.

Age five – how wrong were his deeds?

We are the same like you all.

Made of the same blood and heart.

Perhaps, I have paid for all our sins.

As humanity and sense drift apart.

 

 

The “Specially Abled”

 

Disability is a complex phenomenon, reflecting an interaction between features of a person’s body and features of the society in which he or she lives.

—World Health Organization

For me, the real disability lies in the approach, attitude and perception of an individual which determine the sincerity and genuineness of his existence.

The following post is a salute to the REAL warriors between us.

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I have been crafted out of desires unfulfilled

in God’s own recreation of the human set.

The caricature of unblemished courage

in my will to succeed, you would get.

You would walk past me, certainly noticing

the untarnished spirit of my unassuming delight.

I smile at my destiny with an open heart

and keep the odds close to my sight.

The lost limbs or the broken senses

don’t count for me, I stride onwards, still.

I have known perfect men of Gods

become amputees of their own broken will.

No matter how hard the times would come

I would always push back the dread in me.

I am the one with qualities so “special”.

On the dais of noble miracles, standing I would be.

My Spirit…and My Soul

Crafted with sanctimonious beads of bliss,

your heart seeks the hints of enchantment.

Inclined to host moments of togetherness.

To hold an adore – auspicious and unprecedented.

 

Silken tresses of graceful metaphors; and

sketched panoramas of irresistible serenity.

The blood in you flows with grace unbound.

Might in your words so absolute of amenity.

A life desired with assumed speck of contentment,

nourished with your aura and rays of presence.

The conduits of unfinished chambers of time

need the embrace of your celestial essence.

Captivating the luminous drops of empathy,

all the ache you hide, with a ceaseless smile.

Dreams follow up so far from perplexing realities.

Still, besides you, eternity rests for a while.

I don’t wish to be lost in the murky expectations

by holding on, too tense, to the sands of heaven.

In life, I chose whom to love with all that I have.

Congregated - my spirit and my soul are akin like none.

 

For The Gods To See

In man – God created his own reflection.

In woman – he created something perfect.

The following verses are an attempt to show my humble gratitude to the only perfect half in my life – my wife.

She is the one who keeps me inspiring to be the man she knows I am capable of becoming.

…and by the way – she rarely reads my blogs !

 

 

Silhouette of unmistakable love

drawn on the sheets of barren passions.

The might of your awe-inspiring embrace, defining

trust without the translucent obligations.

 

Holding the truth, beholding assurance

in pristine layers of credible sentiments.

Your eyes speak in a language so pious

as they alleviate my perilous predicaments.

Knowing me, as I’ve never known myself.

You give away chances of ubiquitous recognition.

Walking besides, with fortitude personified,

paving the alleyway, you snub any citation.

 

In life about clamorous efforts of chasing peace

this aura of yours bails me out of ‘the me’.

Unperturbed, you peruse the conceited fate written.

Holding eternal hope within – for the Gods to see.

I Would Try

This post is dedicated to the undying ‘Spirit of a Warrior’ which does exist in all of us.

Life is about realizing how difficult times could be and how we can still pull ourselves up – only if we dare to be who we really are.

 

This is where it all ends…

 

The credibility in being too emotionally guarded

slowly decapitates the heartbeat of its symmetry.

Auspiciously dug graves of unadulterated emotions.

Nakedness in the veins gets blocked with severity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trampled confidence of looking at self, dejected

in the dubious form of us being this cognizant.

How long before overwhelm cuddles cozily

and engulfs the last strand of life opulent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The speck of forgotten faith still hymns of you.

These sprites of fright when faced do faze.

I will fulfill every dream in this incomplete life.  

Like a man who stares at the God’s gaze.

 

I choose to forever remember the moment

when the kiss of hope came floating by.

I would find the serendipitous me at my cost.

Destined to succeed or not – but I would try.

 

…this is where it all begins.

 

Translation Of The Unsaid By The Unspoken

 

In a world lost in translation of the unsaid,

the spoken truths are hidden in the

smoke filled chambers of this ghostly existence.                                      

The self deprived worthiness of untamed greed

with the crawling reticence inside the hollow self,

dethrones the love of its persistence.       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Consciousness fails to create a conscience,

chasing a soulless shadow of uncut memories

bound with the strands of adulterated past.

Hope makes the skin go numb, gently,

inside the abyss of the desires and deeds.

Forever Love – but how long eternity will last.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I tasted the blood inside the pain,

purifying the intentions behind the hurt.

The end seemed more of an awakening emotion.

The me in you is the me I am, undead, still.

Share a heartbeat with the tremors inside me

embracing the core of the unspoken.

Just A Drop Of A Dream

 

As his introduction was being given by the lady with an unprecedented yet calm hysteria, he noticed that it was the same like it had been in Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, Chennai, and Kolkata and in all the cities he had been to. They were continuously borrowing from each other and the genuineness of the gratitude sounded more artificial.

Exactly before his last name was announced, he walked in from behind the large cutout of his own while unbuttoning his suit and waving to the crowd. An outsized whitish light kept following him, which he always hated. As he gave an uncomfortable look at his cutout, he read those words written over his plastic-foam-filled head – “Get Up – To Chase Your Dreams”.

He positioned himself to the center of the stage. He did not want to do it. He gave a heartening look towards the room filled with jubilant people of all ages who, in a synchronized manner, suddenly seized to clap and waited for his words.

Perhaps this was the last time. And he spoke.

“Hello Everyone! I’m so glad that you’ve joined me in this wonderful moment where we get the opportunity to look deep into the eyes of our dreams and tell them – you are mine.”

Everyone applauded. He sunk more.

“I never thought I would be doing this – talking to you all with the deepest of desires to achieve something in life. What surprises me is that you have the power to see the dreams but when it comes to realize the power within to chase them, you want some atrocious freak like me, who just only manages to speak well, to stand here in front of you and tell you who you are. Who am I to tell you how special you are? Have I been the one who has decoded every aspect of every single dream he ever saw?”

The crowd was stunned. He was reaching for his heart.

“The answer is, no. I am a man who carries his broken dreams everyday on his shoulders so that he is reminded of how much harder he has to work. I am a man who sleeps on the broken pieces of his dreams so that the blood coming out of my wounds is fresh and reminds me of what I could have been. I am someone who has lost so much self respect and achieved so many failures, that I chose not to chase any of my dreams. The easiest way I figured out was to talk about yours.”

They thought it was a built up. He knew this was it.

“You have a beautiful life. If you could sense your own aura the way I sense yours, you would know the overwhelming strength that lies in you. Don’t term your life as a journey to figure out the real you. Be the YOU who you want to be. The single drop of passion you would feel is enough to take you closer to anything you ever wished for. Stop telling yourself that you need help. You don’t need someone superficial like me who gets paid for ushering you towards your own dreams. The real dream is to be there for yourself when you need someone.”

They were confused. He left the stage.

It has been over a year. He has not been seen or heard of since then. He still writes from an unknown location.  

Pretentious Spotlessness

Please allow me to introduce myself.

I am a blogger who seeks the self within

in an ensemble of humble emotions,

in the realities and the pretentions, akin.

 I sing of the rain when the earth is dry

and bring the fragrance of the wet soil.

I talk of the efforts when close to quitting.

I summon the power wrapped in the golden toil.

Creating an aura in codicil to the truth

I present a world of charming verses.

Austerity in the reflection, yet soothingly I paint

with colors of hope as our heart converses.

In your polite presence I seek completion.

I shower gratitude to the divine soul in thee.

Sometimes it is about you, as ardently

I chase a dream to be the ME I want to be.