I know where and why
I have been sealed off.
Am living
like a monk.
But to pacify
my hunger,
I eat, drink
to exist.
I have to
live and fulfill my karmic duties.
The one and
only cause our existence.
I count the
days slip into weeks, months and years.
I find a way
to escape from this monastic life.
I feel
dejected and lonely.
I am far
away from my home land.
My dear ones
wait and wait for my home coming.
Am I a lost
warrior who lost everything at war front?
I depart
everything dear to my being.
Parting
one’s own nomadic being.
Knowingly,
whether I win or vanish.
It is
dreadfully painful.
The other
end of my conscience
Questions
and mocks at me.
Why I
selected this hell hole?
Am I pliable
to satisfy my heroism or macho?
I don’t
know. I really don’t know…oh God.
How one can
answer his own queries..?
Is it the
ego of manliness which disavow,
to accept
the voice of inner being.
Am I greedy
to be live as a looser?
Never, my
mystique mind, I can assure this.
Yep it is
not me who orchestrated my life.
Somebody design
it from afar.
He tunes and
plays my fiddle, my one and only existence.
He stops
when he wishes or tired …
It is you my
eternal spirit,
Who controls
me to disarm the whole run.
I really was
controlled by my arrogance.
Am I the one
and only monarch of my life?
My life is
weaved with faults, folly and frolic.
I wonder and
wither, is it me who chosen this lonesome range?
Cancer Ward
Every
morning I meet mourners
Who weeps
without shedding a
Drop of
tears on their pale face.
The quiet
scene is soul stirring.
Being
stagnant by time
Bystanders yawn,
and roam around
With a cold
dry frustrated look.
It is a
delirious state …
They remind
me the desert
Which wait
for the
Rain to
sooth its barren heart.
Waiting for
the last countable
Days and
nights of one’s dear one
Is outstrip
with shadows just behind.
Everywhere I
see the pang
And panic of
death.
People call
me doctor…..
Yep I am a
doctor who visit each
And every
bed of my cancer ward.
With false
smile I pat them and giving
Them
assurances of life,
Knowingly
that the very next
Morning I
may not see those wounded souls
Witness the
pandemonium.
Death is,
only the panacea which
I can wish
those bereaved beings.
Like a
demented man I forget their faces.
Because I am
sure of the other
End of my
dreadful coming days.
Am withering
with pain which no
One can’t be
called for.
The decaying
days are ahead of me
Where I can
visualize my dear bystander
Who weeps
for me in the
Cancer ward
near to my death chamber
