Bitter Truth

He picked his words,
Tardily, one by one,
With a heavy heart, 
Painting a melancholic word picture,
To tell me, 
The Truth,

And I listened,
Shocked in disbelief,
Praying for everything to be a nightmare,
I can wake up from,
Ans chase away the bad memories,
As I fought to hold back tears,

I could see the pain,
In his misty eyes,
The pain of being pierced
Through his heart,
By the sword of truth,
The truth of deceit,

"Immoral bastard!",
"And the bloody Harlot!"
My heart screams,
Confronted with the knowledge
Of treachery,
On my innocent god mother,

A sin,
That can collapse two families,
The truth of adultery,
Perpetrated by the bastard and the harlot,
A secret,
We can neither protect nor reveal,

 He lost his father,
And they lost their mother,
The crime has already been committed
And has to be revealed,
It is yet another incidnet,
Proving the non-existence of love.

Facing Reality (Inspired by Sri Siddhartha Gautama)

Blindfolded,
By worldly comforts,
That seem to yield pleasure
And satisfaction,
Just an illusion,
And lives,
Are mocked,
By the vicious cycle of 'sansara'
Where all are deceived,

Nothing but an endless struggle,
To find happiness,
To be contempt,
With minds blinded
By the mist of greed,
Covering the path to freedom,
Eternal peace
And enlightenment,

I watched,
As Prince Siddhartha,
Boldly set off his journey,
To find the truth,
Seek the path to end suffering,
Leaving behind royal comforts,
Departing from the warmth of his beloved Yashodhara
And temporal bonds,
For the salvation of mankind,

The Prince,
Like a lotus bloomed out of mud,
Sought the path to freedom,
In the bedlams of secular world,
Becoming his own master,
Guided by courage and wisdom,
He found the path,
The supreme truth,
Of enlightenment,

And here we are today,
You and I,
Gifted with the treasure of human life,
With the choice,
To follow what is right,
Temporal pleasure or supreme truth,
Suffering or peace,
Somehow greed gets the best of us,
Deluding with its convincing merry,

People come out of the theater,
Admiring the story of the brave Prince,
Bragging about faith and piety,
The mendicant at the entrance begs for pity,
Yet, not one would care to spare change,
Until the enemy within is defeated, 
The journey gets longer and longer,
Until we let go,
Suffering is inevitable. 

The Choice

"You made a choice"
The prosecutor said sternly,
Raising his coarse voice,
And she listened,
"But I was a guard"
She said, 
"My duties were not to be barred"

She thought back to the eerie night,
The long death march,
With its evident destination in sight,
She had to maintain order,
And the Jews were to die,
Inside the locked church's border,

"You never opened the door"
"You watched them suffer"
"You heard their cries, their sore"
Thumping his words, the prosecutor goes on,
Staring at her reflection on the granite floor,
She wonders, What else could have she done?

Lost in her memory she wandered away,
To the orphaned girl,
Strolling on Berlin streets in her melancholic sway, 
To the young woman,
The conductor in a tram car,
Working to answer hunger's summon,

Poverty's cruel fate,
Deprived of life's pleasures,
Unfortunate and illitereate,
It was blatant and plain,
A choice was never to be made,
But to accept and not complain,

"The SS is recruiting",
Someone had said,
"They are looking for guards",
"These people deserve an answer!"
Demands the prosecutor,
Killing her reminiscence,

And there she stood,
Before the law,
Trying to remember if she could
Have opened the door and saved them,
But she was just a guard,
And her duties were not to be barred.  

Shattering the Illusion

I remember,

When you were my hero,

My inspiration,

You meant the world,

For that little girl,

Who used to await your return everyday,

Waiting to cheer you

After a hectic day's work 

Were you just pretending?

Was it an illusion that you created?

Was it my naivety?

Or was I just blind

To your dark side?

What changed you?

Was it us? 

Or was it the inebriant?

You say it is a manipulation,

That I am under mom's influence,

I have grown up,

Begun to understand

It was all a lie,

You never loved us,

It was always about you

And your inebriant,

I thought I could change everything,
Change you,
I was wrong,
You were just blind,
To my suffering,
My rage, my frustration,
I am still wrong but forgive me,
For I can not stop hating you..........

It is You......

It is you,
Who I always sat next to
Every time the teacher grouped us,
It is you,
Who amused me
With all that witty talk,
It is you,
Who motivated me,
Whenever I thought I couldn't,
It is you,
For whom I cried
When you left to another school,
It is you,
The only one who would understand
All those family chaos,
It is you,
Who comforted me every time
When in the depth of sadness,
It is you,
Who I still miss
And yearn for that warm smile,
It is you,
My best friend
Without whom I am incomplete.

Passion

There is a famous quote by the philosopher Confucius which says that 'Chose something you love as your job and you will never have to work a single day of your life' and there is one person who makes me think that this is actually true. He is a photographer who happens to be one of my colleagues.  Whenever I go on assignments with him, I see how passionate he is about his profession. He pays complete attention to what he is doing and strives to capture the perfect moment even it means risking his life for it. Trust me us, news journalists come across many life threatening situations from time to time when carrying out our professional duties (luckily I haven't suffered such a fate so far :P). Last week I went on an assignment with him and was completely inspired by his hardworking attitude which made me dedicate this to him.

The passionate photographer

In the midst of the common man's struggle of life,
Capturing its complexity,
Its beauty,
Or in the midst of a chaotic protest,
Where there are clashes of bad institutions,
He fights, he strives,
With his third eye,
He captures emotions,
Anger, sorrow,
Happiness, the joy of a poor innocent child
He captures all this,
He is the modern day hero,
With creativity as his superpower,
And his undying passion
To capture the perfect moment,
Within a split of a second,
As the shutter clicks,
I see him,
His satisfying grin,
As he admires his exposure,
It is not his job,
Nor his money-maker,
It is his passion and his muse,
And Indika Handuwala,
Will be my favorite photographer,
And greatest inspirer.

Peace

In the depth
Of solitary moments,
In the comforting ease
Of summer's breeze against my skin,
In the sway
Of soothing musical lullaby,
In the bliss,
Of endearing friendship
It lies,
Plain and precise,
And there will I find
My way to eternal peace

Woes

Life's a chaos,
A twisted clew
With Gordian knots,
Everlasting struggle to untie each knot,
To find happiness,
To find peace,
Each soul trapped in its own woes,
Fighting to break free,
Some cry,
Some scream,
Some even give up,
And some silently bear,
While it is plain and simple,
It is just a case of mind over matter,
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.......

It is a Long Story.......

"I don't hope meet him ever again in this vicious sansara"!

All that blaming, all that cursing,

The fighting,

The denial,

Agony in her face,

Frustration in him

That turns him to a beast,

And then there is me,

Seated on the floor,

Myself against the bedroom door,

Crying,

For I can hear them,

Each and every word they say,

Endless accusations,
I hear her shouting and cursing,
His ghastly retaliations,
Cries, swearing, more cries;
The battle goes on,
To preserve their egoistic pride,

Prove each others' sanity,
Justify their actions,
On the grounds of collapsed family,
Lost children,
Ashes of forgotten love,
Tears of a child,

Through a decade of torment,
The child lived,
And grew up,
But over the years she had lost her faith,
Gave up her hopes,
Let herself be blindfolded,

I have lost respect,
For all that is eternal and sacred,
For all that is true and pure,
I have never seen the truth,
Never felt the warmth of love,
Never saw lasting relationships,

I saw my mother's struggle,
Her loneliness,
Her diassapointment,
Her strength,
Sacrifices she made,
For her children,

There was a nominal father figure,
Who claimed his relentless love
His commitment,
Towards his family,
Just a sweet lie,
A mere deception,

By now I have learned to be strong,

Not weaken my self,

Not to be decieved,

For love is just a concept

And marriage a contract,

I am just a another victim......

The Confused Soul

To believe or not,

Stay in or walk out,

For in my world contempt,

There is bliss with no regrets,

I am not a believer, never was,

Nor had faith or hopes

Of ever being involved in such a cause,

It is a rough mountain, not a sliding slope,

I have seen sorrows

Of broken hearts,

Pain and endless weeps,

And the unbearable part,

They say, "You can't die alone"

Is it worth it? I wonder,

Taking the risk

Of believing,

Believing can lead to pain,

Believing can be the gain,

I stand alone confused,

Whether to believe or not.......