Running the Race…

A small conversation with Yash on our way back from Koshish event yesterday…
A simple question, why the heck are we running, can’t we pick up our own race???

I find myself on a long, dusty, gravel track,
But I do not see anybody around, nor front, or back.

Still, other tracks are crowded, everyone in sight,
Participants busy, charging up for another long night.

A race is scheduled, today, tomorrow , day after, ad infinitum ,
And there I am, on a parallel track, absorbing , but still mum.

Voila!! My track, teleports, no more a part of the ground,
That 1 % Roark in me, raises his hand, in joy unbound.

Alas!!The high, ephemeral, my resolve takes a beating,
Not surprising, for I am 99% pure Keating.

I switch tracks, betray the voice, and join the race,
Run along, trying not to lose, desperate to save face.

Tonight, I stage a coup de grace, once again,
Reclaim my track, run my race, pick my fights, my pain.

A Day...A Day...

Goes out to the batch 2010-12 of IIFT. You rock!!!

Every morning a journey, exactly 3 hours long,
Starting with F5, Escape marking ends,
Blurring words, enticing, like a subliminal lullaby song,
Heavy eyelids, prolonged blinks, as head wobbles and bends.


A minute 5 madness, just rushing for suttas and teas,
Make it 6 and your presence denied, revoked,
Cold stare above gold rimmed glasses, says OUT!!NO seats,
Losing soldiers retreat to dhabas, their pangs of hunger evoked.


Hungry once more :), only Aloos to be found,
Crib, but piog*, hey the kid needs to eat,
Carbs mixed with sleep, kicking in, making a sound,
Dragging feet, bag balancing ye, to that denied seat.


Act reopens, tableau more or less same,
Intensity of emotion (sleep) constant, awake only when prodded,
All actors struggling but for few, wide awake, the zombies, insane,
Unable to think anymore, mortals hail the undead.


Little Calvin in us, elated as the clock fived,
Unaware of the perils that lie ahead,
Hands and legs tangled in position, chanting, he sighed,
By now disoriented , readys up for another needle in the head.


Big wigs dish out Gyan, on work, life et als,
Be prepared, stay ahead, it only get tougher from here,
A tad brain dead, a lot more sleepy, noddy still mulls,
Man, am I ever gonna sleep, get some food or a beer.


Day closes, actually begins once again, (Oh, such a pain)
With deadlines looming, precariously balanced, set to fall,
Aloos again in stomach, the carb junkie high on caffeine,
201,304 buzzing again, and with friends, order no more too tall.


It’s gonna be dawn again, falling on the window panes,
Let me catch a break, with both eyes closed, and a Floyd song,
For this is what I left it all, took all the pains,
A fast forward movie, my life here, but well, it is here I belong.


*Piog = Hog like a pig

WHITE NOISE

Surrounded again by noise,pervasive humdrum,

But this time I laugh at myself, in your face you miserable bum.

 

You asked for it, and you left all for this noise,

Pushed yourself,fought about, blindly, followed that voice.

 

A mirage again??? Oh, you got to be kidding,

This it the max I can take, and the clock ticking.

 

Longer the voice eludes me,the longer I suffer,

No surprises , I am running out of my sanity buffer.

 

Again!!!Again??? The voice shouts,"Moron, don't run",

Disturb that dominos of negatives, go have some fun.

 

Mocks me again, in the same tone,

Oh you cripple, with a snapped fun bone.

 

Come out, reach across,okay,don't shout,just let out a squeal,

Stop being such a wuss, let it out,show a little zeal.

As I break them again….

Jam packed empty,in a jar,with a lid so tight,

Trying hard to prise it open,

Shocked to find ( or lack of it ), the spirit ,the might,

May be I will find them, but is it hoping against hopen?

 

 

Everything seems perfectly right and dreadfully wrong,

As I take baby steps on a pathway shimmering in black light,

Will ever,ever recall lyrics of that song?

The one I used to sing ( or I thought I would) with such delight.

 

Would be difficult, won't it? With a heavy shell on.

Attempts to chisel,all futile,sweating bloody hands,

Will someone pull me,or shall I just suffer and moan,

Will this morbid reflection of mine,will ever disband?

 

The shrieks of silence, deafning,but all so quiet outside,

My attempts, resolute, but filled with such trepidation,

To shout out loud or implode,spreading little pieces inside,

Unable to keep the mask,and oddly enough ,failing to do this unmaskation.

 

With quagmire sinking me in,away and far,

Unformed bonds snapping,unmade friends strangers already,

Feeling like a junkie, unaware , cognizance below par,

How I wish to snap out,kill this malise, this malady.