Sajal Choudhary - Poetry

This Valentines Day

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

You said, in Finland,
they celebrate friendships
as well, on this day,
in this week.

It’s love that they celebrate,
regardless of form.

Let us celebrate that,
this valentine’s.
Let us celebrate,
our friendship.

Friendships are different,
from what we share usually.
Friendships are lighter though.
Less burdensome.
Lesser expectations too.
They provide a similar relief though,
a similar sort of love.

Let’s celebrate that too,
this valentine’s.
Being able to talk,
without worrying too much.
Being able to laugh,
at mostly stupid stuff.
Being able to dance,
with or without the music.

Let’s celebrate it all.
Let’s celebrate our friendship,
this valentine’s day.

My Ego Would Not Let Me Say Sorry

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

I messed up today.
I shouted at you.
I shouldn't have.
It's as simple as that.

It is. Now.

It wasn't in the morning,
or the rest of the day.

I was angry.
When I said what I said.
Or how I said what I said.
My ego stood in the back,
massaging itself.
Telling me, no I was not at fault.
Telling me, do not say sorry.
Telling me, couples fight, it’s ok.
Telling me, this is passion!
Telling me, this that and the other thing.

My ego would not let me say sorry.
I lost my cool.
I screamed at you.
I should not have.
I’m sorry.

These Are Just Poems

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

These are just poems,
And not serious ones at that.

There are not going to
start revolutions and win wars!

These are just poems!
You read them, nestled in
the cozy corner in your home,
your bed or your sofa.

You read them,
with a hot cup of tea in your hand,
while the world is white,
with fresh snow all around.

These are just poems!
You read them and smile,
or laugh, or cry. Whatever.
You do something.

And that is all!
These are just poems after all!

A year of mornings is out today on Amazon all across the globe.

Go ahead and buy, leave a review, share it with the world.

Rain, Like Mist

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Rain,
like mist.
Does it pour?
Or, does it spray?

Does it matter?
I walked in rain today.
The ground was wet.
But different kinds of wet.
The asphalt had a shine to it.
The mud, was darker than it would be.

I had put on my cap.
The spatter of rain,
Against my ear,
These were not
Violent sounds.

It was rain,
But mild,
Like mist.

It distorted what I could see.
It made things muddy.
Unclear. I took a picture,
And there was a weird quality to it.
Not drops of water on the mirror.
But a foggy, hazy thing.

It was rain.
But mild,
like mist.

Playful Eyes

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Playful eyes.
Looking here,
Looking there,
And now back here.

You are looking
for things to get
your hands on,
things you could
put in your mouth.

Why?
Does the TV remote taste
absolutely delicious?
Should I taste it?

Do you need to smack
some sense into the actress
on that show?
Should I try it?
Will it stop her
from going into that basement?

Playful eyes.
Looking for things to grab.
Playful eyes.
When you look at me,
it feels as if you are
peering into my soul.

Soulful eyes.
Dreamy eyes.
Playful eyes.

What Is Love?

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

what is love?

an year has passed since,
i wondered that out loud last.

a lot has changed,
over this past year.

an year of firsts,
it was. is still.

we grew. became more.
grew fuller perhaps.

we travelled a bunch,
to places we hadn’t been before.

we tried out new cuisines,
remember that vietnamese?

we brought life here, in this world.
now we get to watch it grow.

so much has happened in this year.
so much has changed.

what has remained the same,
is how you make me feel.

Living With Bindis

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

I saw your bindi,
on the mirror in our room.
I saw your bindi,
stuck on a wall in our shower.
And I thought,
Prerna was here.
This is a lived in place.
These rooms, this home.

It felt as if you were talking to me,
Saying hi, from a different time.

Was I a Good Brother to You

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Was I a good brother to you?
You needed me,
But was I there?
I don’t know now,
if I can answer that.
Correctly. Truthfully?

See I was young.
As were you.
But I was younger still.
I was dealing in my own way;
With the fact.
The fact that our mother had died.

I was dealing in my own way.
And I did not stop and think,
How were you dealing with it.
You had lost someone too,
After all.
And maybe, just maybe,
You needed her more than I did?

I’ve been quiet, through life.
I made friends.
Boys are not meant to be emotional.
I don’t know.
I don’t know how I dealt with it.
I don’t remember.
It’s something I don’t think about.

But, you and I,
You and I are all that’s left of her.
And I read somewhere,
Dead people die twice.
Once when they die.
And second when people stop talking about them.
It feels like I left her that way for a long time.
I don’t want to anymore.
I want to print a picture
put it on my wall. I will.

But you needed her,
In a way I didn’t.
And I could have been better.
We could have talked more.
We could talk more now.
I want to sit with you,
In a place where you don’t have to worry,
About who is there or not.
And we can talk. And cry.
I want to. And we will.
I want to be better for you.

You and I are the only things
Left of her.
After all.

#80 in an Year of Mornings

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

#67 in an Year of Mornings

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

#66 in an Year of Mornings

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

#19 in an Year of Mornings

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

#16 in an Year of Mornings

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

They Killed Some More Men Today

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

They killed some more men today,
At a place where men kneel,
To gods, looking down at men.
They killed some more men today,
With a gun, a bomb, and a knife,
There was a man, a woman, and a child.
They killed some more men today,
They said it was for the good cause,
Their cause. Their fight. Their war.
They killed some more men today.
They killed some more men today.

I wonder, at times, what to do the gods think,
Of this cause, this fight, this war.
I wonder if the gods think alike.
I wonder if the gods think.
How puny! Of us, to think of gods as men,
Angry gods. Jealous gods. Demanding gods.
But then, I stop thinking.
These are men. Puny men. Jealous men.
They bicker. They fight. They slaughter.
In a misconceived notion, a fit of zealous bigotry.
Fuck them!

Sometimes I wonder, if we will survive.
I get afraid, scared, of the power these crazy men hold,
In walled-off, crystal worlds of theirs.
‘We share the same boat!’
I want to shout, but, then, I don’t.
That’s the beauty of science.
Evolution takes care of these things.
We will live if we are fit.
We will live, if we stop being afraid.
We will live if we stop being animals.
We will live if we can look at the stars, together,
And think of our place in them.

Dragon-Slayer

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

You ask me not to imagine,
You ask me not to build,
Castles of glass, and sand.
You are afraid of what they do to me.
What they make me do.
You’re right. In parts.

I walk in the castle,
With my eyes open.
I know what they are.
I walk. Don’t stop to stare.
Or lay down in bed.
I walk, through the castle.

You ask me to stop walking.
Or so I think. Realize. Feel.
I can’t stop that. Walking. Making.
I need to keep making the castles.
Not need. Its natural, usual, knee-jerk.
I create castles out of thin air.
I make dragons, for you to slay.
I can not not do that. Its natural.
Its usual. Its who I am.
The writer. The dreamer. The story-teller.

Sometimes, I Wish

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Painter and his muse

Sometimes, I wish I were a painter,
And not a poet,
So that I had a better reason,
To sit, and stare,
To have you, sitting across from me.

You’d be my muse,
As you are now,
But not just in my head,
You’d be out there,
Physically, in front on me,
And I’d faint creation.

Sometimes, I wish I were a painter,
And not a poet.
Sometimes, I wish I were a painter,
And not a poet.

Why Build Walls?

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

We build walls.
Bricks. Cement. Slug.
We build walls,
Strong, high, menacing,
Forbidding any to breach,
Enter our hearts,
And minds, and souls.
When in need,
We go deeper,
Inside the shell.
Do you know,
Why we do that?
Why we trust us,
More than others?
More than those,
Who love us, care for us?
It’s fear. I think. Fear.

Washed Lands

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Washed lands, moist soil…

There is on an average one poem that I write each day. That, gives me at least one thing to post each day here. Come to think of it, that’s a good way to manage post a day.

On that note, here’s one I wrote yesterday, as it rained outside, and I sat slaving the day away inside the building, the cubicles.

Washed lands. Moist soil.
Gray skies. Cold wind.
You and me. Me and you.
In a thunderstorm baby,
In a thunder storm.
Dancing to the tunes,
Of the rumbling moon.
You and me baby. Me and you.

There can be no fire,
Here, in a weather so damp.
Says who? The thinker.
The scientist. The sane man.
And still there’s fire,
The friction. We birthed it,
Our own. Lightning. And fire.
You and me. Baby, me and you.

Gloomy weather makes for moody me. And moody me, makes for poems like these. The feeling captivity, when the said weather happens at moments when I am confined to the office, also makes for interesting thoughts on the nature of work, and the consumerist tendencies, and mindsets that have taken hold amongst most of us.

It makes me yearn for a way out.

It makes me yearn.

It's Funny!

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

It's funny!

It’s funny how all poems,

Which talk of love, are born

of separation, solitude.

It’s funny. And not.

It’s funny, how, when the thing you love,

Is away from you,

do you really come to realise,

How much you love it.

It’s funny. And not.

It’s funny how short life is,

And still, despite the fact,

We act as infinite.

All the time in the world!

It’s funny. And not.

It’s funny, how I do what I want not,

And continue to do so,

In the name of society, culture, sense.

The shackles I put on me.

It’s funny. And not.

It’s funny how clear things are,

And still we run in mazes,

Created, of course, by the brilliant minds

That run us. Yours and mine.

Nothing matters. Not really.

And still, we walk blind.

It’s funny. And not.

Everything Withers Away

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Everything withers away. Everything.
I envied something yesterday,
Today, when I walked past it,
I saw the cracks appear in it,
Almost out of nowhere!
But then, I remembered,
Everything withers away. Everything.
It’s about time, all the time.
Time numbs things out, pain, pleasure,
Beauty, strength. Time numbs all.
Nothing survives. Nothing but time.
Time is the one true constant in this world.
Nothing stands in its way.
Everything withers away. Everything.

So then, why do we live…
Struggle, go through the motions?
Why? Why indeed? I don’t know.
Love, maybe. That’s what life is.
Isn’t it? Maybe I’m a romantic,
But, I’m a realist too. I see things dying.
People leaving. And somehow, the world
Continues to revolve. It’s love, then,
Isn’t it? Love makes the world go round!
Love mends the broken. The tired.
For I know time is the one true constant.
Nothing stands in its way.
Everything withers away. And so,
love exists. To mend the withering.
To maintain. To paint. To build.
Love exists, to bring balance to time.

Everything withers away. But love.

My Muse

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Source: Google Images

I’ve had muses.. now and before.
I’ve had muses.
That thing, which held my hand,
And walked me through a story,
Or a poem I wrote, later.
That thing, which was actually
A person. Or so I thought.
But then the person left.
My muse however, did not.
Infact, she found a vigour I had never
Seen in her before. She found
Passion, and sorrow, and love.
And she found me, in those days of
Despair, held my hand through the darkness.
Gave me the strength to hold the pen,
And put some blotches in ink on the paper.
I’ve had muses.. now and before.
I’ve had muses.

Time is one of those things,
That things you can never be sure of
Liking or hating.
Time does not care though. She is,
Was, and will be. She is the constant.
My muse on the other, is anything but.
She is a case in constant change.
The treacherous trustworthy woman in life,
Hard to please, Harder to keep,
Impossible to let go of!
My muse left me, hence. Left me dry,
Having consoled me in need. Or,
having done, taken, what she needed,
From me. Either ways, I was left alone,
In need. In desperate need.
See, I hadn’t just lost my muse,
I had lost her voice in my head, her soul,
From all I dared write. Nothing I made,
Was mine. And then, you found me.

See, I’ve had muses.. now and before.
I’ve had muses. But none like you.
You came to me as a result of a coincidence,
But then isn’t life a series of sometimes happy,
And at other times sad coincidences?
I think it is. As I found you, I find my voice,
My muse suddenly returned, only to be killed
Off by my sloth. But it did not matter, for with
You, had returned my muse. And I still don’t
Know if you are it, and it you. Or it’s something
Else entirely. You keep pestering me, to write
You a poem. Give you an ode. And I find it hard
To do. For I find it hard to describe you.
You are not a story, a thought I could pull out,
And put down on a piece of paper.

See, I’ve had muses.. now and before.
I’ve had muses. But none like you.
None so tenacious, none so complex,
None so beautiful, none so true.
I want to write of you, really I do,
But I don’t think I can, or ever will.
There’s just too much to you, as a person.
As an idea. But be assured my love,
That all that I write from now, till ever,
Will have something of you, if not be of you.
See, I’ve had muses.. now and before.
I’ve had muses. But none like you.

The Second One

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Come with me, you had said.

Come. Love. Live.

I’m not the ordinary,

the same, the mundane.

I’m a poet, a writer, a lover.

I’ll teach you what love is,

I’ll shower you in prose,

make you my muse.

What happened to that?

I ask you, what happened to that?

Come with me, I had said.

Come. Love. Live.

And I am not ordinary,

no one is! Not you, or me,

or the man in the rat race.

We are all unique, and maybe,

all the same. Looking for love.

Looking for life. And I still plan

on teaching you, what love is.

Showering you, in prose, and love,

Making you the subject,

And object of my work.

One poem!

One poem, in the whole wide year.

That’s what you gave me.

One poem. Far from a shower.

And you don’t need to teach me

What love is. I know what love is.

Show me. Show me instead.

Come with me, you had said.

I’m not the ordinary, you had said.

Well this is ordinary.

This is how it always uncoils.

Life opens up its fangs,

And bites us, incapacitates us.

Hmm. One poem.

You are right you know. One poem.

That’s what I’ve given you.

It’s been an year since we

Were separated. That was when

I had written that poem. Sitting

In the train, lost in my world,

And your thoughts. That’s when I

Had written that. And this.

Not in a train, but a cab.

Lost in my world, however. And you.

I don’t know if this mends things.

This is not about mending things.

This is about you. Showering you

In prose, and love. Showing you

What love is. Telling you that life might

Open its fangs, but I will grab those fangs,

And break them. Before it incapacitates us.

See.. I am not the mundane, the ordinary.

I am a poet, a writer, a lover.

And how’s this for muse?!

Do You Remember?

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Do you remember the plains my love?
Do you remember the rains my love?

You are amongst the waters now,
In a land of plenty, and more.
There is water all around,
The weather’s nice and gay.
The Sun shines, but just enough,
To leave a tinge of red,
In an otherwise perfect blue of skies.
The air is not that cold, or hot,
The breeze lulls you to sleep.
The birds sing, and wake you from sleep,
There’s plenty to eat, and drink!

I, am in the mountains my love,
Cold, dark and stark.
There’s no sun in the skies,
It’s all gray, and damp!
There’s food, and water,
But all’s frozen!
No birds, no dogs, no cats either,
But plenty of men around.
My men, my people!

I know I chose this, my love,
The time in the mountains.
I know the times, are hard for you.
I know the food’s raw,
The drink sour, the birds hoarse!
I know you are in pain, the head hurts!
The oceans are salty,
The island a prison!

I know this.

Do you remember, though, the plains my love?
Do you remember the rains my love?

I remember the mornings in your arms,
The long walks, the fine breakfast!
I remember the day in toil,
In hunger, and fire. Fire. Yes.
The fire that consumed us,
Forged us into one.
Yes, the fire. Yes, that fire!
I remember the restless evenings,
The walks in the night.
You’d hold my hands, and talk and laugh!
I’d hold yours, and smile, and see.
I saw you, my angel, my hope!
I walked with you, and forgot the world.

Do you remember the plains my love?
Do you remember the rains my love?

Time flows, it does my love!
The only dimension worth any effort.
Do you remember the plains my love?
The walks, the laughs, the frights, the smiles?
Do you remember the rains my love?
I see dimensions, the people and all.
They’re all here, around, across.
They see me I see them.
I see me, me sees I.
Do you see the future my love?
The laughs, the walks, the frights, the smiles?
Do you see the rains my love?
The curtains of water, the rivers of light?
Do you feel my touch my love?
My hands in yours, your lips on mine?

Do you remember the rains my love?
Do you remember the plains my love?

That Blue Bird!

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

A bird sat on my shoulder that day.

No, really!

It had pristine blue feathers,

A long mundane beak,

And a crown on its head.

It sang a song I hadn’t ever heard before,

A song so beautiful, so melodious

That it made me forget

The world I lived in.

The pace, the sorrow, the fears,

It all flew away that day,

The bird thankfully never did!

I could almost swear that

It would smile whenever

I looked away. Smile. Really.

I did not have a hard time imagining it.

For I could, and can imagine stuff

With so much vividness that

it becomes too hard to differentiate.

But I never actually saw it smiling.

It would almost always be there,

at the periphery,

But I’d never be able, or quick enough.

Here’s a funny thing though.

I never asked the bird what it wanted.

Why me? Why it?

Never. Not once.

It was out of character,

Certainly for me.

I never asked it, what would it want eventually,

In exchange for the songs?

What was the motto, the aim?

The bird could hear my thoughts,

It sang accordingly.

But it never answered any of my questions.

It just sat there,

On my shoulder, singing.

I heard it once, or thought I did.

It was singing a song

Which said something about

Mistakes and people.

Sorrow and happiness.

I never asked it why it sat there,

Why it sang the songs it sang.

Why? What? Who? For whom?

And it never responded.

Ever.

It just sat there,

On my shoulder,

Singing.

There Was This Boy in School

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

There was this boy in school,

his name was Yatin.

It was a long time ago,

this, almost a decade or so.

We used to run, really run;

not on a playstation, or an xbox,

we did not have these back then.

All we had was running,

loads and loads of it,

in circles, in lines,

zipping in and around,

we ran and ran!

There was this game we played,

Chain-Chain it was called.

The boy whose turn it was,

would try and catch the rest.

Anyone he caught, would run along,

and they’d try to catch the rest.

And so it went,

till all were caught.

The first one caught,

would be the next one to catch.

We would run, and run;

and run some more,

till the bell would ring.

There was this boy in school,

his name was Yatin.

And he was the only boy I could catch.

I would run, and run;

run harder still,

but the others ran too fast,

like little rats,

from one place to the rest.

No matter how hard I ran,

he was the only one I could outrun!

And so, each time I looked,

I found only him,

And no matter how hard he run,

I would still catch him!

It was a day,

like any other day.

I was on the ground that day,

looking around,

as it was my turn.

I ran, and ran,

and ran some more,

but I could not find him!

But no matter how hard I ran,

they ran harder still,

like little rats they ran.

There was this boy in school,

his name was Yatin;

And yesterday was the last day I saw him!

Who'll Fight My Wars?

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Who'll fight my wars?

Who’ll fight my wars?
Who? Who’ll fight my wars?

You.
Yes, you!
Remember what they did to your brother?
Your mother, your sister?
They raped her; them.
They raped them,
Burned them alive.
All while you watched!
Scared, afraid, from afar,
From the crowds;
Afraid that they’ll burn you too!

Not anymore, no!
Don’t be afraid anymore.
It’s time you struck fear,
In their hearts, homes, cities, nations!
You, yes, you!
Pick up the gun,
Anyone.
Or the bomb,
Go on!
And burn their houses,
Rape their women and children
While they watch;
Scared, afraid from the crowds.
Afraid, yes, afraid!

You, yes, you
Will fight my wars!

Can’t you see;
The God in me?
I’m his voice,
His hand.
I see his will.
‘Fight’ He says
‘Fight for your rights;
And the rights of your people!’
‘Fight!
For our place in world is in danger!’
‘Fight or Perish!’

But fight!
I command you.
Fight!

Burn cities and towns
Kill each and all;
Don’t think!
I’ll do that for you know;
You are my son nw, my righteous flock!
I will take care of my own.

You will go to heaven!
Bravery and a just cause
Don’t ever go unrewarded.
Bravery, and a just cause!

What is just?
My wars are holy, just.
Fight! Fight through hell down here,
For heaven once you are gone!
Fight! For there’s no hope down here;
But death and hurt!
Fight! For there are angels up there;
Angels, and milk and honey.
Fight my wars for me, son;
For I am your God,
And you will fight my wars.

Day Seven: Questions

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Is life all questions and no answers?
And do the answers even matter?
Aren’t questions all that propel us?
Make us get up in the morning and strive; harder and fiercer
A hope that there’ll be answers at the end of the tunnel.
But there’s no answers anywhere,
And that does not mean there’s no hope!
There’s hope. And love.

Day Two: The Lone Patch

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

There was a time when it was all green here,
That time is long gone now,
There’s all but green here now!
Civilisations are born past, skulls, murders and cries I know,
Those cries, those skulls, they do have a purpose you know.
Purpose? you say.
Purpose, yes.
To fill you with guilt, sorrow, remorse;
But there were no cries, when the green was murdered.
There was, we were all just too blunt I guess,
We chose to ignore, face the other way.
When will their cries reach our minds?
When will we face the death?
When will we take note of the skulls?
Perhaps tomorrow.
Perhaps never.

I Deceive

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

I deceive people with words all day,

I lie,

I tell them to live, to die one day!

I deceive people with words all day!

Who am I?

What am I?

A bin? A dump?

Good? Bad?

Am I God?

Mind is all that matters,

Mind is what drives, decides, brings you down!

Mind is the soul, the heart of man!

Mind is the friend, the enemy of man!

Mind is growth, mind is failure.

Mind is birth, death, destruction.

Who am I? What am I?

Am I God?

For I teach control;

Or a mere man?

For I help, I guide.

I deceive people with words all day!

I lie.

I tell them to live to die one day!

I give them hope, assurances.

Life is beautiful,

People are beautiful.

They live, to die someday.

I live, broken, beaten, scarred

I loose myself in them each day

I live to lie, to deceive, to die one day!

Stolen Mint

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

I looked up,

empty faces looked down upon me.

I tried to look away,

a castlesque house, an oversized vehicle;

two in fact, looked back at me!

‘Bad photoshop’ I quipped,

‘Home & car loan’ – the ad read;

‘Bad ad’, I shut my eyes again!

I tried to remember something,

couldn’t quite put a finger on it!

Smiled at the sad, rather expressionless faces;

Smiled perhaps a bit for self!

I shut them eyes again, knowing very well

this’d be the last of the naps I’d be getting this morning!

Life has become such; of late

holding bars, looking at faces, looking for faces!

Life has become such of late;

future, the thoughts of it always seem to be crowding the brain!

It’s a mindless scramble this,

a scramble for jobs, placements, salaries!

‘How do you feel on your birthdays?’ he asks.

‘Fucked up’ I reply.

Clearly, this wasn’t what my pal was looking for, as an answer.

Too late now; ‘Bad memories’ I continue!

I can see it in his eyes;

he wants to talk, talk about her;

and so we talk!

I now remember that something I was thinking about earlier.

‘Anya!’

There’s always this yearn, this wish;

just to see her, not necessarily talk, just look at her!

And hence, during this particular stretch,

there’s this childish want that maybe, today, I get to see her!

Today was one such day.

Looking at that ad,

There wasn’t anything in particular

which could’ve triggered the want

yet, here I was, hoping!

Amidst all that; the helplessness, the want, the anticipation

A part of me took it’s turn;

Quite suddenly, out of nothingness,

And said, ‘She doesn’t even use this stretch anymore, you fool!’

I look at my friend.

He is sitting here, alongside me,

staring into nothingness.

I put my hand around his shoulders.

‘Hey! Go watch Little Manhattan today!’

‘Yeah, yeah, seen it ten times!’ he says.

‘You’ll always remain my first love (Anya)’, I say.

He smiles, I join in!

Us Against the World!

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

As the world stood crumbling,

Ashes, fire, smoke, dust!

I looked at her,

the face; damp, beneath all that soot!

This is the end,

of the dreams, the hopes, the world!

It ’s us against the world,

It ’s us against the forces!

The ground shook in it ’s stillness,

The skies crackled, stormed, shouted!

It was her hand in my hand,

for the strength!

It was her face, amidst chaos,

for the calm!

This is the end,

of the dreams, the hopes, the world!

It ’s us against the world,

It ’s us against the forces!

A sharp explosion, a mushroom of dust;

Fires; touching the skies, lighting the night!

She turned to me, in hope!

Her eyes damp, red!

I pulled her close to me,

She shut her eyes.

For a moment in violence,

I found serene!

This is the end,

of the dreams, the hopes, the world!

It ’s us against the world,

It ’s us against the forces!

“ It’ll be allright!”, I lied!

She tilted a bit, kissed my lips!

Just at that moment,

the sky lit again!

In a flash, it all came crashing down,

the hopes, the dreams, the world alike!

It ’s us against the world,

It ’s us against the forces!

That Face Among the Faces!

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

I looked up, at the blue sky

Took a moment, to let the aura fill in

Then moved in, through the gates, faces, barricades;

It all smelled nice, it all felt bright.

A whole myriad of faces, filled with laughter,

Hidden under paints,

It all seemed shallow, so pathetic!!

Someone, prominent, adorned the podium,

He spoke with great passion, great charisma!

All were awed, oh so struck!

They gaped at him, feeling so prudent!

It all seemed shallow, so pathetic!!

But then, it happened,

Pure magic! Pure coincidence!!

Struggling through masses, for a better vantage;

Instead I found someone else!

Under the shades of a majestic one,

With crossed legs, specs on head,

She sat jotting down little thoughts!

I stared, and stared, and stared, and stared;

Oblivious to the people, the speaker, the nature alike!

That strand of hair, which irritated her eye,

Those dark eyes, that flicker of nose;

That pen cap, badly bit!

She sat there, oh, so lost!!

Yet in her, I found familiarity!!

‘I’ve seen you somewhere!’, I repeated in mind;

Quickly dismantling the lameness in it all!

I thought again, putting a strain!

I’ve seen her, yes! In the train!

I remembered now! Imprinted in my head,

Pretty vivid! Her name, and age!

The details had brought some smile back then!

She had sat next to me,

The specs had been on the eyes back then,

The copy of ‘Brave New World’ had her notice!

I had wanted to say, ‘Hey! Hi! Hello!’

But had content with a blank face instead!

As I stood there, ruminating the past,

She came up to me with quite some haste!

‘Hey! I’ve seen you somewhere!’, she said;

‘Oh! Yes! Hey! In the train’, I said!

‘Anya!’, she said, drawing out her hand;

‘Sajal‘, I said, reaching for the same!!

Scared I Was!!

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Scared I was,
that day my bicycle lost it’s supports;
afraid, excited, free.

I remember that I threw as you let go of the bike,
and the one after that,
when I caught you smiling!
Scared, for sure I was; but then, it changed!

Scared I was,
that day in third grade;
after all, failure was new to me.

I remember scrambling through the faces,
through the disappointment,
only to get sucked in the vortex some more;
till you put your hand on me.
I remember that smile, that ‘all right, champ!’
Scared, for sure I was; but then, it changed!

Scared I was,
that day she left,
scared, angry, sad, crying!
And I remember you,
still, strong, steady in the storm,
waiting, as the savages marched on!
Scared, for sure I was; but then, it changed!

Scared I was,
that day in the infirmary.
I was going to be fine, I knew;
it was you, for whom I was worried!
Scared, for sure I’ve been often;
but then, things have changed, I have changed!

Stranded Isle

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

The sea has a story to tell,
Even in all it’s calmness…
The palaces that stood, oh, so firm once,
Even they, find themselves in ruins…
The sea has a feeble memory,
Impressions fading, in remembrance…
A case of constant change,
It’s face, a never-finished masterpiece!

In all her opulence, she stands there
Facing the sea, staring at the horizon,
Embroiled in a typhoon, she finds herself;
Arms inter-dwindled, eyes moist…
Another gust, a little fury,
The strands of her hair, end up adorning her face

Another string of waves, touch her feet,
Her corpse won’t move, nor her soul…
Those footprints left behind, Utter a cry beneath them;
Gliding towards them, holding those in hands,
Slips through her the acute pain!!
She stands dry, washed in the once, sanded palace…

A new dawn!
A new beginning!
A great new bout!!

She looks up, a feeble smile now adorns her lips…!

Here I Stand

sajal@sajalchoudhary.net (Sajal Choudhary)

Here I stand,

Among the ashes, the ruins, the fire;

Among fallen heroes, sunk egos, butchered heads!!

The Phoenix must rise!

The mortals must bow..!

War begets war, but not the peace of mind!

The path has been long, tiring, painful..

Of which what remains is nostalgia.

Those who once had souls in them,

War and not I, drew them out; turning them to corpses!

This was not my pick, still I abhor it!

You! The feeble, mere, You, is what is left of the vast;

I, the burning, crimson, Me, is what turned of the void!!

I for one, did not want this!

You, for sure, did not plan for this!!

Fate! Cruel, brute, bloody fate!!

Look of what is left, of your world, O Mighty Man!!

Look for the reaper, run from the beast in me!!

But, you won’t run; Ego or valor, can’t make out really..

Shining blades, heavy armors, flexed muscles…

The war cries filled the air soon,

Metal clashing against metal,

Metal tearing into flesh, blood spilling, feeding the ground!!

You tried to fight, I must confess; but try is what it ever was!

It ended as was meant to, in a flash, the blade did it’s part,

As did You!

War begets war, but not the peace of mind!

I for one, did not want this!