Ancestral house of the bastards

Houses of the blind

Made of glasses and the light

No questions asked

And nor do they care

The people are happy

always so chatty

Their smile never reach their eye

the clothes they wear

a well-fitting lie

the love they share

the roll of a die

I left that sight,

for my poetic plight.

a departure filled in delight

Now I wander,

a failed commander

Eating stale dreams for dinner

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How the night and fog blinds

I crossed the fence to my best friend's house and walked in without a purpose. His sister smiled at me, taking a break from sweeping. Her smile was gentle and warm, but those who knew her well knew she had teeth behind those lips. A long time ago, she caught me and him touching each other. I returned her smile genuinely and went in search of him in his room. I never needed permission to enter this house. Having my second breakfast with him, we went out, as we always do. But what we do always changes. Sometimes we smoke in the abandoned roofing tile factory, sometimes we play cricket with the other kids till the owner of the paddy field chases us away. One time we even walked to the nearest town on a whim, which was about 50 km away. We did everything together since we were children. Today the adventure was of a romantic nature. The new love of his life was going to the temple, and obviously, like any other "naadan lover-boy" we stalked her. He already wrote a disgusti

In Defence of the Humble Lie

Many may distinctly remember from their childhood a scene, where they realized that their mother (and/or) father will eventually die. Many may have asked their parents if they would die. I remember asking my mother that question and she told me the truth. Seeing me cry my eyes out and suffered my first broken heart she confessed that she was playing a prank on me and that parents don’t die. I never been hastier to believe anything and I deliberately refused myself to ever ask or think that question again. But when my sister became around the same age as me, she also had the same query. And my curious and analyzing eyes scanned every feature of my mother’s face. Without missing a beat she said parents don’t ever die. And my sister resumed her play content with the answer. I needed to become a big brother to understand why lies are important. That lie may have protected me from losing my childhood more than necessary and incurring any more trauma than we all get our fair share of. Ou

Green Dreams

Ashes for sale. Ashes for sale. Ashes of the person who You wanted to be. And ashes of the person who you came to be Ashes of your dreams You forgot to live. And ashes of your dreams You should have believed. Ashes of your children You forgot to raise. And ashes of your children You forgot to chase. Ashes of your parents You left so far behind. And ashes of your parents Whom you were assigned. Ashes of everything you could have been And everything you had lost. Ashes of everything you dreamed you had. With this sacrificial rites to your everyday ghost.

Ego's perspective

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